This episode is a part of Mark’s “A Journey Through Poetry” – a personal reflection of his life as a poet, a writer, and an author – in which he recites a different poem from every one of his poetry collections. In this episode Mark recites his poem ‘Dreams Of The Moment’, from his poetry collection The Rambler, and he gives some insight and some context into why he was inspired to write this poem in particular.
dreams
The Storyteller: Dreams Come True
“Dreams Come True” is a poem taken from Mark’s 2025 poetry collection ‘The Storyteller‘ – now available to purchase in hardback and as an ebook from Amazon.
The Storyteller: The Sea of Unfulfilled Dreams
“The Sea of Unfulfilled Dreams” is a poem taken from Mark’s 2025 poetry collection ‘The Storyteller‘ – now available to purchase in hardback and as an ebook from Amazon.
The Storyteller: The Stuff of Dreams
“The Stuff of Dreams” is a poem taken from Mark’s 2025 poetry collection ‘The Storyteller‘ – now available to purchase in hardback and as an ebook from Amazon.
My Poem “Dreams Come True”
As far back as I can remember,
I have always been a creator…
when I was younger,
I used to draw, I used to paint,
I used to use colour to express myself –
however, for some time now
I have used words and language
to paint a picture within someone’s mind
of what I see, what I believe, what I think about,
and what excites my imagination in such a way
that I am inspired to write about something
that I have never written before.
As far back as my memory goes,
I have always been someone who
can never stop asking questions
and looking for answers that I know
are there to be found –
like a detective, I have always believed
that if you keep going then every day
you will discover something new
that will further unveil a new layer
to life’s endless possibilities,
mysteries, secrets, and stories.
When I was younger,
I always gravitated towards,
and I was always spellbound by,
the characters that I saw in films and TV shows,
as well the songs that I heard on the radio
that all seemed to be conveying something
deep and profound about the human experience
that made me feel something akin to a spiritual awakening:
because what I saw, and what I heard,
touched and implanted something inside of me
that would take years to grow into
whatever it is that sustains me
and never stops inspiring me.
As far back as I can tell -
though I was not always as gifted
as I am these days at grasping the reasons
why things happen and why people do what they do –
I have always believed that
the best things in life are always
the things that make us happy
and fill us with joy and love,
and if we are lucky enough
to one day find certain people in the world
who are willing to take a chance on us,
and give us a little bit of their time,
to show them who we are
and what makes us different
from everyone else,
then anything is possible,
anything can happen,
and anything that can be imagined
can be made real and can change the way
that people perceive the world,
as well as the universe.
When I was a child, everything –
time in particular –
seemed to take forever to change;
however, these days it feels like
every moment seems to fly by
and I don’t get enough time
to take something for what it is,
or what it could be,
and see where it takes me,
because there is always
something else to do,
somewhere else to be,
and there is always news of someone else
who was there one minute
but who seemingly, in the blink of an eye,
left us without a word for the world to come.
As far back as any of us
can go back in our thoughts,
and as far back as any of us can sometimes
see echoes of what we have done,
where we have been,
and who we have known throughout our lives,
there is nothing that is more important, significant,
nor a more powerful part of our existence
than the fact that we get to live
and we are free to do
whatever we choose
with what we are gifted with
to make up our own minds about
what we want our future to be
and what we need to do to make
our words and our dreams come true.
My Poem “The Sea of Unfulfilled Dreams”
I used to think I knew everything...
I used to think I was
going to do everything...
I used to think I would
fall in love with someone
and spend the rest of my life with them...
I used to think I would
learn my lesson
and never again return
to that place that caged me
for so long like a prison -
but, as it turns out,
of course, I was wrong,
because here I am again
shackled to my memories of the past
and tormented by
what was never meant to be...
it's my own fault,
I was the one who opened the door
that said "DO NOT ENTER" on it -
but I just couldn't help myself
from wondering if who
and what I thought I had locked away
was still waiting to be found
on the other side.
I should have known better...
I should have stopped myself
from reawakening the power
of what I have struggled to put behind me...
I should have been stronger...
I should have talked myself
out of being who I am -
but, once again, I was weak.
Once again, everything feels complicated -
where before, not that long ago,
everything was finally
beginning to feel simple...
once again, I am a storm
of thoughts and emotions -
but not that long ago
I swore that I felt as if
I were truly at a place of peace...
once again, I have fallen hard
and I do not know how long
it will take me to rise
even so much as a little...
once again, I have been triggered
into a state of intoxication
because I dared to venture
to where I have been before
and from which I still wear the scars -
I just hope that I will find a way
to not drown under the dark waves
of the sea of unfulfilled dreams.
My Poem “The Stuff of Dreams”
Everybody wants to go back...
some people want to go back
to the 1980s, or perhaps to the 1960s -
to a time when things, in retrospect,
seemed better than now...
whether it is the music,
the television, the movies,
or the fact that the world
felt more hopeful and optimistic,
people who grew up at a particular time -
before the internet,
before anyone who is anyone
could be famous
whether they are talented or not.
Everybody who looks back
at a time when technology was in its infancy,
when if you wanted to talk to someone
you either had to call them on the phone
or see them face to face,
remembers how simple, and yet wonderful,
the world seemed to be...
some people long for the first time
that they saw something,
for the first time that they heard something,
for the first time that they learned something,
for the first time that they felt something -
because the first of anything
influences everything that comes after.
Everybody wants to repeat the best of times
and forget about the worst of times,
but the world is not as black and white
as our television screens
used to make us believe it was -
because when seen beyond
even the marvel of technicolor
the clarity of real life
shows us all details that are too
complex to ever be captured.
Everybody occasionally hides
what they wish had never happened,
what they wish they hadn't done,
and what they would choose to undo
if they had a time machine of silver or blue -
but what people forget
is that if you were to change the past
then you would unravel
what made what was what it was:
the source of love, inspiration,
beauty, simplicity, poetry,
and hidden complexity that it will always be.
To go back would be fun,
but there are some things that matter more
because they are unrepeatable -
which is why the future is more important
and compelling to contemplate and hope to see,
because what could be, not what was,
is the true stuff of dreams.
My Poem “Train of Thought”
Waiting for an idea
is like waiting for a delivery to arrive,
but you have absolutely no clue
what you are about to receive...
waiting for an idea
is like being told that something
is about to happen,
but you aren't told
how, when, why, where, nor what...
waiting for an idea
is like waiting for a fish
to take hold of the baited-line
that you have cast out into the water...
waiting for an idea is sometimes fruitful,
but,
most of the time, waiting for an idea
is a fruitless endeavour -
because, sometimes, when ideas
feel like they are not coming to you
then you have to go wherever the ideas are:
up in the sky, under the water,
all around the world where life exists,
and where instances of wonder
happen more often than
what we are told to believe...
waiting for an idea
is like waiting for a bus
or a train to pick you up
and take you on a journey -
and sometimes you have to
accept the fact that inspiration
runs on an indefinable schedule,
and not the one you might want it to...
waiting for an idea
can be like standing on the edge
of something epic -
like the Grand Canyon -
and marvelling at what it takes
for something so breathtaking
and unique to come into being,
and then to throw a pebble below
and to not hear it fall -
that is when you can come to realise
what an idea is, and what it can take
for an idea to grow into what
it will ultimately become:
imagination, belief, trust,
and the ability to allow
your thoughts to run free
like a wild stallion,
and be ready for whatever
and wherever your train of thought
will take you.
A Poem A Day #462: The Best of All Dreams
My Poem “Open to interpretation”
When a writer writes something, that is just the beginning... after a writer shares what they have written and takes it beyond the limits of their own eyes only, that is when things truly get exciting... when a writer first gets an idea they never truly know what it will ultimately come to be... when a writer uses their gift and naturally infuses a part of themselves into whatever they have written or are writing they always leave something that they may not have planned for their readers to read. When a writer let's there words go they can have no idea by whom, when, nor where their art will be enjoyed - and there is no knowing why, nor how, their words will touch a reader and inspire their dreams as they lie asleep in bed... when a writer first puts pen to paper, or finger to key, they must resist any and every thought that might occur to them in which they might attempt to cross out, erase, or delete something of them that they felt had to be said. When a writer creates something of their own heart, mind, soul, and imagination there is always an exchange of energy that takes place that can cross time and distance instantly... even if the first intention of a writer after a while becomes like that of a whisper, the first spark of inspiration that brought an idea to life will always be there to be felt, read, heard, seen, and like the world of a dream open to interpretation.
Mark The Poet 