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.

My Poem “The Baton”

It is only natural for things
to continously be passed
from one person to another,
from one place to another,
from one time to another -
because life is an endless continuum
of infinite connections...
thoughts, feelings, emotions,
experiences, scenarios always
find a way to reoccur, repeat,
and be revived for another setting,
for another generation -
but the key part of what makes them
so everlasting always remains intact...
depending on how life is lived
informs how echoes of the past
will be interpreted by the present,
as well as by the future...
trends, fashions, attitudes,
buried treasure, lost keepsakes
have a way of returning to the surface
from wherever they found themselves
until the time was right for them
to be found once again...
people see perfection in nature...
people see perfection in art...
people hear perfection in the way someone laughs...
people see perfection in patterns...
some people see perfection in math...
everybody finds something in their life
that instantly takes away their fear
and makes the path before them clear...
like people participating in a race,
or a collective journey of togetherness,
everybody is constantly picking up,
passing on, and reenlivening
life's universal and constantly moving baton.

My Poem “A Poet and Their Muse”

It is not as easy
as some people might think
to imagine something from nothing
as fast as it takes
for someone to blink…
even for those people
who are skilled at improvisation,
the ability to be able to
come up with something on the spot
is a miraculous gift of inspiration…
unless you know someone or something well
then it is almost impossible
to create an expose about them
without first spending some time
with a particular person or thing
and observing everything about them –
from the way that they talk,
to the way that they look,
to the way that they listen,
to the way that they move…
and unless you ask questions
and get answers then no one
can know anyone, nor anything,
nor find out how, nor why,
they do what they do.

How does a painter paint?
How does a writer write?
How does a human being
or an animal live and breathe?
And the answer to all those
questions is the same:
simply by doing so –
because creativity,
like most facets of instinct,
is involuntary,
and it is done first and foremost
without any thought of personal gain.

Artists create art because they must…
sometimes there is more to say
about something old than
there is about something new…
there is something more interesting
about finding out how, why, when,
and where something emerged
into this world as a result
of a specific converge and configuration
of cosmic dust that had to occur.

Artists can describe an idea,
a thought, a piece of art
that they have originated –
but, in all honesty,
no artist could ever
accurately tell you
where, when, why,
nor how they are able
to do all that they do,
because the sharing of inspiration
from the source to the artist
is a language that is only known
by a poet and their muse. 

My Poem “Rabbit Holes”

I think everybody can attest
to the experience of
once in a while watching something,
reading something, hearing something,
and then finding themselves
inextricably falling head first
down a “rabbit hole” of interest
and intrigue in regard
to something in particular –
a subject, a song, an artist,
a film, a TV show, an idea
that slowly captures your imagination
and compels you to dive deeper
below the surface and discover
what lies beneath what something
appears to be, and find the structure
that binds everything together
to make something everything that is:
experiences, words of wisdom,
influences, impressions, interpretations,
vital pieces of the creator
that will forever remain infused
into what coalesces into
making a piece of art.

The internet is a place
full of “rabbit holes” –
one moment you can be watching
an interview with somebody
whom you want to know more about,
and the next you can be
automatically recommended
to watch another video
involving someone or something
with a unique and vital insight
into a subject matter that has
a close association to the video
that you original sought out –
and it is the ever present
links that are there to be found
that make the internet the warren
of tunnels for acquiring
and dispensing knowledge,
insight, entertainment, and connection
that makes it a wonder of the modern world.

“Rabbit holes” leading to new,
wonderful, fascinating, and vastly
different worlds, of course,
is a metaphorical allusion
to the rabbit hole that Alice,
in Lewis Carroll’s “Alice in Wonderland”,
deliberately climbs into –
which of course was in fact
an unsuspecting entrance to
the magical world of “Wonderland”,
while following “The White Rabbit” –
has been the inspiration for many
fantastic tales in every form –
from literature to cinema;
and every day everybody carries with them
at all times portals that enable
anybody with access to the World Wide Web
of content that is the Internet
the ability to find themselves
drawn down metaphorical “Rabbit hole”
after “Rabbit hole” that while using
to expand their knowledge
and their horizons they are
all unknowingly also contributing
into the creation of what the wonderland
of the future will look like.

My Poem “Superpower”

The life of an artist
is not always easy…
the inspiration imbibed
by an artist is the combination
of a marathon of many steps
of a long journey…
an artist sometimes has to walk
a line between darkness and light…
relationships, experiences, loss,
the stories of other people
are a vital contributing factor
in how an artist will grow
and what an artist will choose to create…
the art of an artist is
a subjective perspective of life
that is neither wrong nor right.

The explosive power of an artist’s muse
is unparalleled and indescribable,
and when fully harnessed
the inspiration felt by an artist
can feel as amazing and invigorating
and as dangerous as holding
a stick of dynamite…
art is an obsession and it can be
as addictive as a drug,
and as intoxicating as love.

Love inspires art,
and art inspires love…
art can be seen below,
as well as above…
in my opinion, artists
are like superheroes
and the gift to be able
to make art is a miracle…
art can save people,
and artists who make art that matters
have a responsibility to instill
into their creations ideas
that will help other people dream
and achieve things in their life
that will flower and continue
to reinvigorate the gift
that is their inner light
and their ultimate source of power.

My Poem “The Idea Hunter”

No one knows where ideas come from
nor where ideas will lead…
no one knows what an idea will do
nor what it will be until it is free…
no one knows who will be
the originator of an idea –
however, once an idea becomes something
that can verbalized, physical and “real”,
then an idea has a tendency to spread
like wild fire until it is captured
and it morphs into a form
that can be easily described.

No one knows how an idea
will change the world…
no one knows how an idea
will change a person…
no one knows how ideas take on a life
of their own the way that they do,
but when they do run away with themselves
ideas can sometimes have the gift
of finding a way to scale over walls,
to penetrate through solid stone,
to lift people into the stratosphere,
to free people of their fears,
to colour a person’s dreams
with all the hues of the rainbow.

For as long as I have been alive –
especially since I have been
expressing myself through poetry –
I have been venturing to places,
I have been meeting people,
I have been climbing high,
I have been digging deep,
I have been an imbiber of life,
in awe of the universe of wonder
in which I am a constant idea hunter.

My Poem “Up With The Crows”

I’ve always been an early riser…
I’ve always awoken before
the sun has risen above the horizon…
I’ve always bee someone lucky enough
to have been given the gift of being
able to hear and to be able to listen
to the beautiful symphony
and the majestic choir of the dawn chorus
sung by all manner of birds.

I’ve always been a poet who has looked,
listened, and took in the spirit
and the essence that greets me
every morning when I open up
all of my senses to all the wonders
and all the magic that I have felt –
all the inspiration that has been
conjured within my mind
that have been converted into perfect words.

Some mornings I wake up
and I am instantly and automatically
ready for the day ahead of me,
and then there are those mornings
when it takes me a minute or two
to find my bearings
and get my priorities straight…
some mornings I feel like
I am ahead of the game,
and some mornings I feel like
my brain is running late.

Every morning is definitely
a different morning than the one
that came before and it will definitely
be different from the one that will follow;
however, I am just like everybody else
and I too have my own version
of a morning routine that I believe
stands me in good stead
and starts my day off on the right foot –
and I like to think that every morning
I am prepared to zig and to zag
and to adapt to every thing that the world
is just waiting to throw my way.

Some mornings, my thoughts, my feelings,
my blood, runs fast –
and some mornings, like a car
stuck in a traffic-jam,
the highway of my consciousness runs slow;
however, I can honestly report
that there hasn’t been many mornings
during my life, even as child,
when I have not woken up
with a brand new idea in my mind
that I want to caw about
and at the same time as the crows.

My Poem “Ideas don’t die”

You can bury ideas,
you can file them away for a rainy day,
you can hide ideas –
but one day those same ideas
will return to haunt you,
to keep you up at night,
and continue to make you think…
Ideas come from places, from things,
and from people – sometimes randomly…
Ideas are like sharks –
and sometimes they are just too big,
too fast, and too strong, to get away from,
because they are so imposing
and so overpowering…
Life itself is an idea,
and many people have different
and varying ideas and opinions
on how people should choose to live their lives…
Art is mostly a nexus of many ideas
coming together to form a unified idea
that surpasses and eclipses
all the others that made it…
The creation of ideas is like
engaging in an act of reproduction –
and just like every spawn or offspring,
a song, a piece of music, a story, a poem,
has an idea running through it
that binds every note, every word,
every picture of imagery,
like a strand of DNA…
Ideas make “something” out of “nothing” –
but “nothing” in my experience
is ever truly “nothing”,
because everything does mean something…
Perception is everything…
Ideas are born from experience,
and by seeing, listening, and feeling
something that creates a connection…
Ideas are the greatest and the most powerful
source of fuel for any creative person –
however, even if do not deliberately make art,
I believe that certain ideas have a way
of changing someone in such a way
that they are never the same
after they have come into contact with them –
because, for some reason, some ideas just won’t die.

Listen to My Poem “Ideas don’t die” by Mark The Poet on #SoundCloud

My Poem “Always be a rebel”

Inspiration is the lightning,
thunder is the art…
writers and creators are constantly playing god,
creating new worlds, creating new people,
and giving reason and meaning to people
looking for an answer at a time
when they are willing to do anything,
to leap into anything, to experience everything,
no matter the cost…
every artist should be a rebel…
every artist should not fear going
where they have never been before…
every artist should take any and every idea
that comes to them and run, shape,
and make something with that idea
that burns within them like a flame…
that first idea is but the start, the spark,
the initial flash of light in the dark,
and it takes the passion of the beating heart
of a true artist to not be afraid
to watch that idea grow and change,
find its own identity and its own voice…
knowing where to begin with anything is never easy –
but the most important thing to do
is to make a start of any kind
that is significant and sets up
what came before, what is to come,
and why you decided to create something in the first place…
rebels are artists, and artists should always be rebels.