Against the blue and gold hue of the sky at sunset I watch the silhouette of a flock of birds fly across the sky, as the daylight drains away and darkness rises... the moments of twilight are so beautiful that I cannot look away, because I am always entranced by the transition between the world of day and the world of night... there has always been something magical to me about sitting in the dark, while watching and waiting for the clouds to clear and the divine light of the stars to pierce through the vastness like some kind of celestial knives... I love living where I live - in the countryside and away from the city sights and sounds - because I am able to be inspired by nature, up close and personal, and every day and every night look up to the sky and feel as if I can see the face of heaven looking back at me, perfect and bright, at the same time gifting me a vision and some sort of second sight that makes me feel like a shooting star arching from left to right unimpeded through the evening sky.
love
My Poem “The Chair of Chairs”
There is something about the energy, the memory, the legacy, and the connection attributed to a particular chair that, though it may not be called as such, is a throne in its own right because of the way that it gives a rise and an ascendancy in power and inspiration to whomever sits in it... there is an impression, a weight, an indentation that is left by every sitter in every seat that can be as individual as that of a person's fingerprint. There are chairs that are legendary... there are chairs that are just as synonymous as the person who used them many times for rest, for relaxation, or for perhaps other purposes beyond what a chair was first thought to be used for... there are chair's that helped in the delivery of a person into the world and there are chair's that have been used to execute people after being charged, convicted, and sentenced for heinous crimes of which they are guilty... there are chairs that were designed and built specifically to assist in the comfort, the protection, and safety of someone flying on a plane; and there are chairs that are like the trees from which they were built and will forever be thought of as precious and timeless works of art. There are some things that you can do lying down, standing up, or even while floating upon the water of a swimming pool; however, there are some things that people do - painting, or writing, for example - that can only be done if and when someone is where and when they need to be to create art and poetry... there are some activities that can be undertaken while doing other things simultaneously, but, for some people, they can only attain the required focus that they need to do what they need to do only when they feel constrained, but at the same time free... there are some things that you simply can only be effective at doing when you have the right tools at your disposal and you can make the most of every moment without a worry or a care... there are some moments when you can feel as if you have been transported backwards or forwards - to first times, to last times, to emotional times, to happy times, to sad times, to times of transformation, to times in your life that will always be unforgettable for one reason or another - that you can only be transported to while sitting somewhere that is like nowhere else on Earth, because to you that place, that seat, is more than a chair and is more like a rocket ship to another world: and that place is what I like to call "the chair of chairs".
Episode #30: “The Mark The Poet Experience” – Recent Poetry
My Poem “Back to the Theatre”
Finally, I am back in the seat of a cinema, sitting in the dim light, and waiting patiently for the room to go dark and the film that I am here to see to start. It's been a long time since I was able to embrace my cinephile side and get back to where I always looked forward to returning to every so often... it's been a long time since anybody who loves the magic and the experience of seeing a film on the biggest screen there is has been able to go to the movies, to perhaps get some popcorn and a cold drink, sit in a comfortable seat, and switch off from the world at the same time that they are transported away to a place of fiction and fantasy, and embrace the gift and the opportunity of pure, unadulterated, escapism. I am a dreamer, I am an artist, and I am also someone who loves enjoying the labor of other people's imagination and creativity... since I was a child, I have always been someone who loves going to the cinema - because I have always understood the language and the power of visual and audiotory storytelling, and the way that subtleties in colour and sound can feed the mind, as well as revitalize and influence the thoughts, the feelings, and the emotions of people young and old far into the future. I don't see every film at the cinema, but when I see the trailer for an upcoming film that immediately grabs my attention, I try to make the time, when the film is finally released, to see it in a place where I can make the most of every moment of movie making poetry - which is why I am so happy, which is why I am so energized, and which is why I am so in awe to once again be back enjoying a movie projected upon the screen of a theatre.
My Poem “The Mark of New York”
Every time I am asked about where my favourite place in the world might be, I close my eyes, I smile, and I am instantly transported back to the metropolis of my dreams: the one and the only, New York City... no other city compares, no other place is more special in my heart, no other city do I remember every second of and every experience that I had while being there, no other place shines brighter - because to me it will always be an inspiring constellation of 8 million stars each with their own individual story to tell about how they choose to leave their mark. It's been 8 years since I was last in the city that never sleeps, but there isn't a day that goes by when I do not think about all that I saw and all that felt while I was visiting the city filled with so many buildings literally capable of scraping the sky... it's been a long time since I was walking down the various avenues and streets from one side of the island of Manhattan to the other, but I always find comfort in the fact that, though I am far away, I can return to New York City any time I want, in my mind - and when I am there I see things, I remember things, I see details, I remember people who make the "Big Apple" the place that it is: like no other, special, powerful, and one of a kind. I would love to go back to New York City one day... I would love nothing more than to wake up, to get dressed, to head to my favourite Starbucks cafe on Fifth Avenue - where I used to eat breakfast, lunch, and enjoy a late night caramel latte or a machiatto on a regular basis, and during the daytime, as well after dark - and also revisit the places that I love and feel like I know so well, which got under my skin from the instant that I saw them and I immediately found myself in awe. I would love to go back in time... I would to get back in that yellow taxi and once again return to the pools of rememberance that lie in the shadow of the Freedom Tower, and once again pay my respects to those who lost their lives on 9/11... I would love to go back to the place that I could never get enough of and rediscover and explore the things, the places, and the feeling of unbridled kinetic energy and electricity that New York City has that has the ability to gift to those who are lucky enough to be able to visit it, or call it home - because, take it from me, no other city on Earth leaves its mark upon you after you have been there like New York.
My Poem “The Best of Us”
Each of us can find contentment doing things that make us happy... each of us can find hidden secrets about life, about people, about every day things or situations that can make us all take another look at the world, and at ourselves, and allow us to realise that there is more seemingly "small things" - simple gestures, simple tokens - that mean the most in the long run and down the line when a smile on a face is all that we crave. Each of us need things to explore... each of us need one another... each of us need both windows and doors... each of us need the feeling of being included and not excluded from what is going on in the world, in the galaxy, in the quest of humanity and all life everywhere to find the next check point on the journey that is their purpose - whether that is to be found in a forest, on a mountain top, above the clouds, or below the waves on the seafloor. Each of us can do extraordinary things - even if we might not innitially recognise our gifts for being as profound and as impactful as they are... each of us make mistakes, each of us do things that we regret, because each of us are human - and I believe our failings should not forever be considered mortal sins by some from which we can not move on from, learn from, and change as a result... each of us are a miracle, worts and all... each of us are soulful individuals who over our life will feel feelings and emotions from love to guilt - but, to me, the spectrum of what people are capable of symbolises everything about life that nobody can do anything about: some things just are what they are, just as each of us are who and what we are and have always been destined to be since birth - as were, and as will always be, the best of us.
My Poem “Forté”
Everything has a vibration... everyone knows if and when they are on solid ground... everything is what it is for a reason... everyone, whether they realise it, or not, has a sound: a gift to be able to break the barrier of distance and air between two points, just as unmistakable as the language of touch generated by making contact with a drum. Some people have an innate ear for what sounds right... some people have an observant eye for what looks out of place... some people have an natural ability to be able to pick up new things just as fast and just as easy as it was for them to learn how to ride a bike... some people have the skill to be able to never forget a face, while some people are better at remembering particular numbers and names. Some skills that we acquire are self taught, while other skills come over time and take a steady recurrence of repetition in order to assimilate the necessary muscle memory... some gifts are passed down from person to person, from generation to generation, as effortlessly as driftwood floating upon the surface of an ocean before finally coming to rest upon a sandy bay... some things are meant to be, while some things are not the right fit; however, all things and all people have a reason and a fate meant just for them: something that they are good above all else, which they might describe as being their forté.
My Poem “Same Language”
The language of thought is the same as the language of light... the language of stars is the same as the language of life... the language of music is the same as the language of the soul... the language of dance is the same as the language of the natural world... the language of a sunrise is the same as the language of eternity... the language of a sunset is the same as the language of gravity... the language of connection is the same as the language of purpose... the language of love is the same as the language of trust... the truth is that there will always be a universal language: the language of touch - which is more complex than any other language in the universe but which is inherently every other language combined into one.
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