My Poem ‘Be Like Mark’

I am Mark.
I love writing.
I love making art.
I love thinking.
I love imagining.
I love believing deeply.
I love going far –
over oceans of water,
and to the ends of my knowledge
and my imagination that always takes me
further away than the night-sky’s
farthest stars.

I am in love.
I live to love my angel of heaven on Earth.
I have explored.
I have marveled at the beauty of above.
I have seen many sights
that I will always remember seeing all my life –
however, there is no perfection
that could ever compare to my muse,
to my Melissa.

I am a dreamer.
I always have and I always will
see the guiding-light of hope,
even on the darkest of days.
I am a true-believer.
I know things, and slowly-but-surely
I have come to realize
that no matter who you are
or where you are from
the world can be important to you
in a myriad of different ways.

I am unique.
I return to the same places week-after-week.
I value people.
I love hearing and I love learning
about the new stories
that come into being.
I love how the happiness of those who I love
and care about makes me feel.

I remember so much,
but I am in no way smart.
I know that anyone can make something
even the size of the entire world
fit on to the head of a pin,
or make it as large and as incredible
as the universe is both beautiful and dark.
I have felt an intense understanding
of how all life works
and what everything means, many times –
while sitting on the porch of a house in Tennessee,
or while walking through New York City’s Central Park.
I would not ever advise everybody
to live like me, or to do all that I have done –
but what I would always tell everyone
is that things happen as they are meant to happen –
and if you truly want to live your dreams, and be happy,
then, even if it is for just one day in your life,
choose to be just like me, and be like Mark.

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My Poem ‘Children of Tomorrow’

Children always adapt to change quicker;
learning new things to a child is always easier;
children are always asking questions
in search of answers –
sometimes even from strangers;
there is no one as braver as a child,
because to them there is no such thing as danger.

Even though I am slowly growing up
I still share the same fascination
and the same keen interest in the world
and in people as I did when I was a boy;
I can still remember who I was –
what I saw, what I thought,
what I heard, what I felt –
and when I hear a child of today
ask the same questions as I did
when I was younger it fills me with joy.

A city is like a playground to a child;
to a child all the different people
and everyone’s amazing eccentricities
are both wonderful and confusing
at varying times of a given hour;
a city is like being on a great adventure,
when a child is with their parents
and guardians, and to them
it is like being out in the wild;
to a child in a city
every skyscraper is like a magical tower.

The sights and sounds of the world
echo louder and are more profound to a child
than to the ears of an adult;
as we grow older our minds and our hearts
become filled with so many memories,
feelings, and emotions that sometimes
only serve to distract you
from seeing the wonders of the world;
adults are constantly comparing,
where as children never stop seeing,
imagining, and dreaming.

Children know what it means to be alive,
and they never waste a moment to let it show;
a child knows things that some adults have forgotten
and unfortunately no longer understand and know;
children – in body, mind, and spirit –
constantly crave to be on the go;
oh what I wouldn’t give to be a child of today
and one of the lucky children of tomorrow!

My Poem ‘The Wonder City’

I don’t know if anyone
could ever say enough or all
about New York City,
“The Wonder City”,
in every respect –
to me, it is a perfect place:
a place of inspiration,
beauty, and infinite opportunity;
a place for anybody and everybody;
a place that I have not seen for a long time,
but a place I still dream about and think about,
which is constantly calling to me.

I knew New York City was important to me
the moment that I saw it,
I knew I loved New York City
from the moment I saw the skyscrapers of its skyline
through the window of the taxi;
I knew I would not be the same person
after having lived, breathed,
and become a part of New York City;
I knew I did not want to leave,
and I wanted to return as possible,
when a tear fell down my cheeks
at the thought of all the incredible memories I made
in the place that no matter what time of the day it was
was always brightly lit.

The Statue of Liberty, the Empire State Building,
the Rockefeller Center, Central Park,
the New York Subway, Fifth Avenue, Sixth Avenue –
everything I saw, everybody I met,
was beyond my imagining, and instantly I knew
that New York City was the one place on Earth
where I would feel at home living;
it is hard to describe and explain
why New York City means so much to me –
every second I was there I never took for granted,
every step I walked had deep and intense meaning,
every time I felt my heart beat hard at what I saw
made me feel so happy,
every day felt like a year;
and after walking up, I loved doing my ritual of
getting a take out coffee from Starbucks,
taking a walk around and through Central Park,
returning to my hotel room with a breakfast bagel,
and then leaving my hotel again
and going off on a new adventure
in my favourite city.

At night, when I was in my hotel room,
near Central Park, and I sat at my desk near my bed,
I dreamed, I wrote, I remembered,
I ingrained every moment of the previous day
into my DNA forever;
while walking the New York City streets in the moonlight,
I knew that I was where I was always supposed to be;
while sitting in the shadow of a statue of Christopher Columbus,
on a bench at Columbus Circle, in New York City,
I knew and I felt an incredible and energizing feeling
that felt like I was in my own version of heaven,
and a perfect paradise for anyone artistic,
creative, especially a writer.
Every minute that I was in New York City,
I knew and I understood why the best city on Earth
was also the worlds most spectacular city,
and why it was known as “The Wonder City”.

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My Poem ‘Let me go, and I will run’

It’s fun to let your thoughts drift away from you;
it’s good to let your thoughts run away from you;
it’s exciting to experience your thoughts changing;
it’s incredible to have an idea
that spontaneously pops into your head,
as if from out of nowhere,
which just takes over every other thought of your mind
and function of your body –
and which also becomes all that you can talk about,
and to you it is all that is worth saying.

I have a brand new idea for something,
usually for the title of a new poem,
every hour of every day;
however, of the sixty ideas that I have,
by the end of every hour, they have become one idea,
and by the end of every day –
usually just before I fall asleep –
the first words of a perfect thought,
and the first verse of poetry of my own imagining,
has been ingrained in my consciousness,
and is just waiting to be written,
in my own unique way.

Ideas are important;
every idea that I have ever had
has set my imagination on fire;
ideas are building blocks, as well as foundations;
of all the ideas that I have had,
deciding one day to write down
what was on my mind at the time
was the one muse that is still a constant;
ideas are the offspring of desire;
every idea I have had has enlightened me in some way;
and following the path of an idea,
and taking the journey of the eternal dreamer,
is my way of reaching a higher state of consciousness,
and in a way it is my own form of meditation.

Ever since I was a kid,
I have been used to exerting my body
and using every physical muscle at my disposal
to achieve feats of strength and speed;
as a child, as an adult,
I was off like a shot,
running my heart out to somewhere I needed to get to,
and perhaps to someone in need;
ever since writing has become my passion, my devotion,
my love, and one of the defining parts of my heart, my soul,
my identity, there has not been a day that has gone by
when the question ‘what am I going to write about next?’
has not been uttered by me –
and even now I am asking that question, and answering it also,
and to me there is no more perfect
and beautiful form of writing than poetry.

When I can be myself;
when I am not constrained by glass, brick, wood, metal,
windows, doors, walls, and locks;
when I can step out into the daylight
and feel the beating warmth of the sun;
when I am unaware of time, and I can move with stealth;
when I am thinking wholly, completely,
and tantalizingly, out of the box;
when I can cut the strings and the ties
of anything that might be holding me, my mind,
my imagination, back in any way –
I promise you, world: let me go, and I will run.

My Poem ‘Beautiful Extremes’

There is more happening
every nanosecond in the universe
than we could ever conceive
in a lifetime of imagining:
there is life emerging, evolving,
taking their first steps,
communicating, aspiring,
inventing, and understanding,
brand new concepts,
leaving the atmosphere of their planet,
seeking, meeting, interacting,
inspiring, believing,
knowing that they are not
the only intelligent life in their galaxy,
on a planet orbiting around a star,
existing with a purpose,
dreaming about other beings of life and light,
who are as inconceivable to us,
because we are in the dark about them
and who they are, as they are about us –
however, no matter how different we are from each other,
and no matter how we choose to express ourselves
in our own individual ways,
one thing unites everyone and everything in the universe,
and to all but who will be there at the end of all things,
and who will see the last few seconds
before everything starts again,
the knowledge of what it is that binds us all
will for now, and most likely for a few eons to come,
remain a tantalizing, compelling, inspiring,
driving, enlightening, fascinating, exciting, mystery.

The nature of planet Earth teaches us
that life will find a way to exist and thrive
in great extremes of environment,
even in a vacuum, even in a toxic soup,
even somewhere where the temperature is so low
and so past absolute zero that most things would die,
and even somewhere where a living thing
would spontaneously-combust
because the temperature is beyond
that of the hottest fire;
why things work out for some, but not for others,
is a constant cosmic question
that does not have a simple definitive answer,
because everything revolves around circumstance
and timing, and everything finding its match –
however, the meaning of life can be found
when you find the balance between what you have
and what you desire.

Believing in what we cannot see,
imagining what is impossible to imagine,
witnessing and remembering the light of what has been,
reading and interpreting the world and it’s moments
and years, like epic words and verses of poetry,
finding infinite connection, experiencing perfection,
holding in your hands, imagining in your mind,
feeling in your soul and in your heart,
that which is made in a place, and at a time,
is a miracle of beautiful extremes.

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My Poem ‘The Shard of Hope’

London called, and I replied;
London is like a beautiful city from another world,
and the whole time I am there
I feel like I am on a magical ride.

I have always been drawn to inspiring places –
that is why I love going to cities,
because they are filled with so much energy, life,
and a myriad of interesting, fascinating,
fascinated, voices and faces.

London is something else, though,
and like another unbelievable city, New York City,
London is a hive of intense and magnetic activity.

Riding the Underground,
feeling the beating vibe,
while walking and traveling overground –
whether on the tube,
or going from place to place on the city streets –
London takes you and shows you things
you have been imagining and have seen in your mind
in all there grand and epic scales,
and around every corner, or on the skyline,
there is a constant gallery of treats.

Standing outside the gates of Buckingham Palace;
being next to the Houses of Parliament
when Big Ben struck two;
bowing my head while facing the Poppy-wreath flooded Cenotaph,
and remembering the fallen in silence,
as countless people walk past;
crossing Tower Bridge, and marveling at everything about it –
from the sandy colour of it’s castle-like towers,
to its suspensions of white and blue.

The biggest thrill,
and the sudden appearance that wowed me and struck me the most,
was the towering and phenomenal sight of The Shard
shooting up to the sky,
as I was standing outside the London Bridge tube station –
I truly could not believe my eyes;
when I saw it, and every time I could,
I took a chance to look at it,
and be completely lost in instances of fixation,
adoration, and gravitation.

When I reached the Tower of London,
and when I walked around its high walls,
and finally reached the place where the final pieces
of a memorial of red ceramic poppies remained to be seen
and marveled at,
I felt that I had reached the end
of my amazing London journey of discovery;
however, I also knew in my heart that that wasn’t just that.

I came to a realization, as I was looking at the sun setting
behind the city skyscrapers on the other side of the River Thames;
and as I looked at the majestic Shard against the blue and golden sky,
I knew that this time was both a beginning and end:
I realized that London, Great Britain, my home,
was, is, has been, will always be,
one of the most beautiful, gleaming, and timeless, jewels of Earth,
and one of the most important beacons of acceptance
and greatness on the globe;
I realized that London, and our world itself,
is a constant spark in the dark of the universe,
and a powerful shard of hope.

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