Upon returning from
the land beyond the horizon,
the man in black -
almost blinded by the light
that he raced towards
because it promised answers
he had sought all his life -
walked upon the golden fields of his home;
however, he found himself unable to find the words
to describe what he had seen while he was away -
but he knew one thing for certain:
life, nor the world, ends when,
nor where, you think it does…
upon returning to the place he used to know
more than anywhere on Earth,
the man in black had to attempt to make himself
remember who he was before
he had untaken the journey he chose to make
after feeling as if his connection with the world
had somehow been lost…
after losing himself within the shadows
that lie behind the curtain of the universe,
beyond the light of a sunset,
the man in black had been taken
to somewhere that seemed to exist beyond
time and space, beyond identity,
and a place of infinity and energy
that was tempting to stay within;
however, after hearing the call
of duty and familiarity,
the man in black chose to return
to the world of chaos and disorder
seemingly the same instant that he had left -
after spending what felt like an eternity
in another reality that was what
he had been searching for all his life.
He had not felt for so long -
not since he had been broken and scarred
by the loss of his father and his hero some years before -
but upon his return from the place
he felt he had to make the decision to go to,
the man in black immediately found himself alone
as the sun shone down upon him
and glistened in the dark glass that covered his eyes
from the light that he had not been used to
for what seemed like forever
but in actuality had only been
a matter of hours, and no more…
he had lost his voice, lost his muse,
lost the inspiration that once brought him
and his artistry to life on multiple occasions,
and he also feared that he had left
something of himself in the other place he had visited -
a place that felt like his version of paradise -
and that was what made him hope and pray
that he had not made the wrong decision
to return to the world he was born into.
The man in black immediately found himself
in a state of shock and despair,
and so much so that he fell to the ground
and called out within his mind for someone
or something to once again give him
a calling and direction to go;
however, the only presence he felt
and the only voice he heard
was that of himself -
perhaps a version of him from
another time or a parallel universe -
and it was him, or they, who told the man in black
to rise to his feet and proceed upon the path before him,
because he was told “he had much still to do”…
the man in black questioned himself,
and the voice that sounded like his own for a moment,
before he stood up and looked ahead
to the horizon before him,
and once again he walked calmly,
confidently, and defiantly towards his future;
however, the man in black now felt
like someone or something else -
as if he had been struck by a moment
of silence and revelation
and it was now clear to him that it did not matter
who he was, because his actions meant more than anything else -
which is why he did not fear feeling
how he felt, and would undoubtedly feel
for the rest of his life:
like he was a stranger, even to himself.
fiction
My Poem “Sunset Storyteller”
Just before sunset
on a cool and calm evening near the seashore,
a group of friends gathered together
to go for a walk and follow a path
lead by a storyteller of infinite
creativity, imagination, and inspiration…
the promise of the evening adventure
was palpable by all who had been
inextricably drawn together by something
akin to the force of gravity;
however no one could have known
just how much of a magical experience
this away mission would be…
a gentle tram ride; a short walk down quiet streets;
the eventual arrival at the beach
all felt like moments filled
with rising levels of energy, excitement and joy –
because as the party of friends
proceeded to walk together
it felt as if new connections were being created
that would last for a lifetime.
The storyteller of languages
both spoken and unspoken
then guided the group of starry-eyed friends
along the beach and pointed out
landmarks of significance
which were a part of a tale that speaks
to the struggle that sometimes rages within people
after they have lost a loved one –
and as everyone followed along
and listened to every detail of the story being told
there was no one who was not spellbound
and entranced by the words and the imagery
that was forming within their minds.
The group then came upon the statue
of the same sea-ogre within the tale
they had been told about
and everyone who looked upon them
actually believing that they might come to life
and threaten the group;
however, because the group were protected
by the ensorcelling words of the storyteller –
an entrancing and spellbinding daughter of the sea –
no one came, nor could ever come, to any harm,
and once again the fellowship
were guided along the beach
until they came upon a giant metal shell
that as they got closer to it
seemed to encapsulate
the various voices of the group
into one harmonious chorus.
The ensemble of companions remained silent
as the sun began to set and the beautiful light of life
bound this group – our group – to one another
as we all looked out to sea towards the magnificent
sphere of fire seemingly dancing
upon the surface of the water;
before long the light of the sun faded,
but the magic of the shared experience remained –
as did the meaningful, profound, lasting,
and beautiful words of the tale
that had been shared continued to echo –
and I was so overcome and overwhelmed
with feelings of gratitude, as well as with
memories of my father who I miss every day,
that I shed a silent tear and thanked
our “sunset storyteller”
for the blessed and everlasting gift
that she had given to me.
My Poem “Every Story Ever Told”
Every story ever told,
published within every book
ever written about the life of someone,
there are always things that people want to know,
there are always things that people want to find,
there are always secrets that people want to uncover,
there are always questions that people want answers to;
however, not everything can be known about everyone -
and, as the saying goes:
“History is written by the victors”,
and of course “to the victor go the spoils”…
every story ever told isn’t always a true
and completely accurate portrayal
of what actually happened
where, when, why, how, and to whom…
every story ever told has had its share of reinterpretation -
which is normal, and especially when you are talking about
a story concerning a person, a place,
and a time a long time ago…
every story ever told has always been
a one sided narrative of certain events and people -
because once a story has been told,
and it is ultimately retold to others,
and perhaps even translated
into a completely different language,
when it is read or heard once again
something will always be left behind -
perhaps something fundamental in deciding
the true meaning of the story in question…
every story ever told originates
from a universal source of inspiration -
however just because the source of something
may be the same that does not mean that
the end result of something that comes
as a result of the same spark as something else
will always appear similar;
in fact, that is why the likelihood
of a multiverse of infinite possibilities
all existing and playing out in parallel to one another
is so intriguing and exciting
and may be proof of such a concept
that things can turn out differently
if different choices are made
by different versions of ourselves
when faced with the same situation…
every story ever told has a hidden meaning
and a hidden story within that will only
show itself after the same story is repeatedly enjoyed
and after a period of time in between -
because time, space, and our own individual
lives and experiences are always a factor
in how a particular story impacts upon us…
every story ever told -
from one set within a world of science-fiction
to one set in the past and involving
characters who live a life of privilege,
from a love story to one that is about
people trying to make a new life in a new world -
is all about relationships and about
the vastly different ways that people
are capable of treating one another,
as well as about how the actions of people
can affect the lives and the intentions
of those around them…
every story ever told is a testament
to humanities inner-most understanding
of the importance of sharing knowledge and information
to help in the development of our relationship
with one another as well as with nature
and the rest of the universe…
every story ever told are not all to be found
if you were to physically visit a library,
or if you were search on the internet,
because some stories have literally
been burned from history
and all that is left of them now
are fragments of what they were
and who and what they were about -
which is why I believe we should all strive
to do our best to preserve the memory
of everything and everyone for future generations
in every way that we can
so that the world of tomorrow will always know
what past versions of ourselves wanted
passed down to those who followed them
so that humanity would never forget
the messages of consciousness
encoded within every word
of every story ever told.
My Poem “All that has happened before”
Since the beginning of everything,
the universe has been remaking itself…
since the first flash of existence,
reality has been changing the definition
of what it is supposed to be…
since our version of the laws of nature
settled upon a seemingly stable form
and continued to do things in the same way,
a cycle of repetition has been what has become
the most important aspect in the process
making sure that nothing stops
and then starts running in reverse…
since the ignition of the engine of
the world in which we live within
began the series of mechanisms
that keep every single one of the worlds orbiting their stars,
as well as keep the stars of their individual galaxy
encircling the dark maelstrom of
the supermassive black hole at their centre,
nothing has been able to break free
of what was set in motion when
space, time, and all the elements of life
in all its varied forms was created by something powerful -
unlike us, but connected to us -
whose purpose was to make the most
of the moment that was needed
to bring order to chaos…
since the first eyes looked up
and gazed at the heavens above,
people have been asking: why?
Why are we here?
Why does what always happens have to happen?
Why allow us to question our existence
and to ask the ultimate question: why?
since everybody has their own
individual answer to the question
of how we got to where we find ourselves,
all each of us can do is remember
that things happen for a reason,
life is sometimes what it is
and what it was always supposed to be,
questions and the search for the truth
are what will keep people exploring
as they always have, forever;
but one thing is for certain -
and something that stories, myths, scripture,
and the picture of the cosmos that anyone
can see with their own eyes every night after dark:
all that has happened before
will happen again, and again -
because it is supposed to.
My Poem “The Story That Did Not Want to End”
Once upon a time, I wrote a story…
once upon a time, I thought that the story I wrote –
the first original tale I attempted to tell –
had been written and had been told…
once upon a time, I put what was once a short story
away and did not share it with anyone;
but then, one day, almost ten years
after writing my first story, I started to wonder
whether I had saved my story for a reason,
and whether there was more to my story
than even I knew there could be…
once upon a time, I wrote about two best friends
who went their separate ways
but who one day found themselves back together –
both with their own stories
of their own individual experiences –
who discover that though life has taken them both
on somewhat of a rollercoaster of emotions,
some things will never change, including:
who they are and what they mean to one another…
once upon a time, what was once a short story
was rediscovered by its author
and made the first chapter in a story
that would take its characters to places
that they could not have been taken to ten years before –
because the author had not yet seen what they had seen,
nor had they done what they had done,
and because the story could not be
what it was always meant to be.
Where does a story begin?
Where does a story end?
Every time a story is told
it always starts differently –
even if the words look the same
and sound the same,
every story changes depending upon
who is telling the story
and who is engaging with it…
when every story begins
it asks of its audience to believe
that it happened, or could happen,
exactly as they are told it did happen,
or would happen;
however, every story is always retold
as if whomever was telling the story in question
was there when everything played out
and they are confident that the story
they are sharing is true to what they heard –
even though we all know that sometimes
stories seem to take on a life of their own
and go on their own journey of translation
and reinterpretation,
like every piece of art goes through.
It’s not uncommon for the original artist
of a work of art to be forgotten,
or misremembered,
because so many reproductions and remixes
have been made by others who were
influenced and inspired by something
that they wanted to emulate the feeling of
that they had when they first encountered it…
it’s not uncommon for someone to prefer
what they saw, heard, or read, first
over what was created afterwards –
but sometimes what follows
as a result of something else
still merits to be taken notice of,
because though the first of anything
is where and when the spark of creativity will always reside,
sequels and continuations of a story
always have something to say about
why they were made and how they connect
to what they were inspired by –
and sometimes there are stories like my first story –
that took almost ten years to become
what it ultimately became –
that were begun for a reason
and were not intended to be truly “finished”,
because some characters and some tales
are stories that have had to be abandoned,
because the truth is that no story
ever wants to come to an end.
My Poem “By the book”
As a child, books always felt like doorways
to worlds and to stories that felt like places
that I could travel to and influence with my imagination,
as well as with my memories
of where I had been and who I had met…
as a child, books always felt magical to me –
as if they had this power to them
that could always spellbind me with their words –
and which were always capable of speaking to me
on a level that made me want to continue reading
the tales of the characters within,
and written by some of the most talented
writers and authors on this planet.
Growing up, stories have always been important to me,
and the stories that I have discovered
and read over the course of my life
have only fuelled my love of language,
inspired my imagination,
and empowered my passion
to write stories of my own…
growing up, stories kept me awake at night –
however, when I finally drifted off to sleep,
my dreams were always full of characters,
landscapes, possibilities,
and a new infusion of energy
that had been created within me
that for most of my life has kept
me from ever feeling alone.
When I was first given the opportunity
to author a collection of poetry
that many others could read and enjoy,
it didn’t take me long to jump at the chance
to make a dream of mine come true
and share a love and a passion
that I felt growing within me –
magical words of my own heart and mind
that could give people the ability to read my poetry
and see, hear, taste, and feel
what I saw, what I heard, what I tasted, and what I felt,
as if they had the gift to be able to reach out
and experience something transcendental
and meaningful, beyond that of the sensation of touch…
when it became clear that writing and storytelling
was what defined me and would always define me,
I began to believe that as long as I continued
to do what I loved,
and as long as I continued to live my life
in such a way that welcomed the arrival
of anything, everything, anyone, and everyone
who could continue to keep me
engaged and enlivened by what I saw all around me,
and what I read between the lines
whenever I see the signs of life, nature,
beauty, synchronicity, and the ability
of stories long and short to keep people
believing that they have a purpose
and a reason for doing what they do –
and whenever I write a new story,
and whenever I publish a new book,
I never stop marvelling at how
the muse of the universe continues
to bless me with the words to describe
what sometimes feel as if they were personally intended for me to do with them as I wish,
and as I have lived I have discovered
that sometimes you have to take a leap of faith
and choose not to always do things “by the book”.
Happy World Book Day!
My Poem “Once Upon a Time”
It is said that every story ever told
has a beginning, a middle, and an end -
which is true, from a certain point;
however, every story of everything
and everyone is connected…
no matter when, where, or why a story is told,
and no matter how a story is told,
what a story is about, and the reason it is
a story in the first place,
is always retained within it -
because at the heart of every story
there is always a reason that binds the many
elements and fragments of a story together
that all then fit together perfectly
like the pieces of a puzzle
or the strands of connectivity
that maintain a net.
All stories have certain things in common with one another…
all stories are different, and yet similar…
all stories are true, and all stories are false -
because perception of reality is key,
and sometimes multiple people
can have varying opinions on what happened,
as well as when and why something happened,
even though they might have all been witness
to the same thing happening…
all stories change and take on a life of their own
the more that they are heard and retold -
and sometimes a seemingly insignificant
aspect of a story that captures the essence
of the tale being told can grow to have more prominence
and can become what people remember
in greater detail more than most,
because of the manner and the demeanour
of the storyteller doing the retelling.
Stories are how life communicates
aspects of itself with future generations -
just as the DNA of humanity has being doing
even before we as species emerged
from the ocean of possibilities
and we were driven to become
what we have evolved into…
there are so many recurring motifs
that repeat throughout many of the chapters
of history that seem to demonstrate
a cycle and a rhythm of some sort of
underlying pattern and system -
which is why several stories
sound familiar when they are shared,
reconstructed, and sometimes given
a new name that is more contemporary
and easier to understand from a modern standpoint…
stories can be a source of inspiration, insight,
and a key to unlocking and understanding
why something, why someone,
or why somewhere is that way that they are -
because everything, everyone,
everywhere, never stays the same -
except for those things, people, and places
that exist in the middle of nowhere
and are only discovered by those not knowing
what, not whom, they are going to find…
things sometimes get lost,
people sometimes get forgotten about,
places something get abandoned;
however, then there are those things,
those people, those places,
that refuse to be taken for granted
and always find a way to be remembered,
to be recorded, to be given a special place
in the story of history and are allowed
to continue to exist in some form,
even though they might only be responsible
for something that they never have imagined,
nor ever expected, to be given the status
of becoming a story -
because what happened, when,
where, why, and how, only happened
once upon a time.
Coming Soon: The Storyteller
Hi everyone!
I am thrilled to announce that my ninth official poetry collection, ‘The Storyteller’, will be available to purchase on February 2, 2025, in hardback and as an ebook from Amazon.
Filled with over 60 previously unpublished poems, ‘The Storyteller’ is a collection of poetry, as well an insight into the mind and the life of a writer and an author of stories – not to mention an exploration and an explanation of why storytelling is important and has always been important to humanity, as well as to life itself.
From the back cover:
I always wanted to be a Storyteller…
As we all grow, we all change and we all realise that even our heroes can bleed, even our heroes can cry, even our heroes are sometimes tested to their limits, and even our heroes are unable to live forever.
I have always believed that I am here for a reason and I have a purpose to live, to explore, and to be inspired by what I find, and by whom I meet along my journey, and to tell the stories that I believe were always waiting for me to tell – because I believe I am the only one who can tell some stories as they have always been meant to be told.
You can check out ‘The Storyteller’ on Amazon now, and as soon as it is available to purchase physically, as well as digitally, on February 2nd, I will share a link to a purchase a copy right away.
-Mark
Playing God – republished
Get your copy of the new hardback version of my book ‘Playing God’!
‘Playing God’ is a book of “Seven stories. Seven perspectives. Seven experiences. Seven morality tales of one immortal Rebel, Hero, Friend, Fan, Father, Son, Playing God” – which was originally published in 2018.
This new hardback version of ‘Playing God’ features a new front-cover artwork, depicting the main protagonist and character of each of the seven stories – the enigmatic “Man in Black”, and sometimes “Man in White”.
The stories of ‘Playing God’, and the character of the powerful and mysterious “Man in Black” and his interactions with those he meets, are some of the most compelling and inspiring tales I have written, and I often think about them and what they personally mean to me.
And I also have to mention that ‘Playing God’, its stories, and the character of the “Man in Black”, is dedicated to, and was inspired by, the late, great, David Bowie.
You can get your copy of the new hardcover version of ‘Playing God’ from Amazon now!
-Mark
My Poem “Lost Trust”
I have always believed
that trust was one of the most
important things in life
that can be given
and one of the most
painful things that can be lost;
however, the problem with trust
is that people are not always trustworthy -
people lie, but they always have
a reason and a motive
for why they do what they do,
and for why they say what they say.
I have been told that I am näive
when it comes to making a decision
when it comes to helping others
as well as too quick to
open my heart too easily
for others to take advantage of -
and though it pains me to admit it,
I am, and I have always been,
someone who has worn my heart on my sleeve,
and I have always given more
than I have received:
and I have been told that
that is the sign of a good person.
I am not sure if I am a "good person" -
but what I do know is that there are
people in this world who use others,
who cheat on others,
who have no respect for others,
and when it comes to making a choice
between what they want
and what others want
some people will always choose
to be selfish every time.
The number of people
whom I have trusted over my life
began small when I was younger,
and then, of course, began to grow bigger over time;
however, now I could probably count
on one hand the people
who I truly trust and why.
Love is not the allie of mine
that I used to think it was;
people have seldom been truthful with me;
my love is something I have
been too readily to offer another -
but I am here to say
that is about to change.
I have been hurt one too many times;
I have had my opinion of people
repeatedly overturned more
times than I can count;
I have done things for others
in the past the instant that they asked -
but now I am not so sure
if my ability to trust people
like I used to will ever return,
because I am recovering
from all the years and all the scars
of being psychologically,
as well as emotionally, burned.
All my muses have left me...
all who once aided my creativity
and made me believe that they loved me
have found someone else to leach from...
all I have left is what
and who truly matter to me -
those who can rest assured
that I will be there for them,
just as they have always been there for me,
because our pull to one another
is the strongest force of the universe.
All I know for sure is that
what has been lost will never return -
but one day, perhaps,
I will discover that I have
more faith to offer
and that not all my trust
has been lost.
