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.
messages
My Poem “The Code of Poetry”
It has always been hard for me to describe just how much poetry means to me - because it is hard to put into words the power and the magic that I feel whenever the title or the idea for a new poem comes to me. It's breathtaking! It's amazing! It's exciting! It's revitalizing! I have been writing poetry for so long now that the ability to do so almost feels like a sixth sense that I can't turn on or off - in fact, sometimes I almost feel like a conductor who can always find a way to reach out and attract an abundance of poetic lightning. I have experienced moments of exhilaration and levitation while writing poetry that I can only compare to instances similar to how people describe what it feels like to have been touched by the divine hand of an Angel or a God - and every time that I do feel inspired to write something I have never written before the only way that I know how to describe the experience is to say that it feels like I have been given a message that was for my eyes only, because I alone was the only one who could decipher this hidden, but ever present, code of poetry.
My Poem ‘Missing Letters’
Messages can be exchanged
in an instant;
feelings can be communicated
with a heart-beat;
some letters
that never reached
their intended recipient
and destination
could be those
of the highest importance;
gone are the days
when you would literally
have to wait weeks for a single reply –
however, I still believe
that the most powerful of contacts
that there could ever be
are those that are made
by using your feet.
First-person perspective,
face-to-face,
eye-to-eye and infinitely expressive
is always the best,
especially when it does not wholly
require the assistance of a satellite
orbiting in space –
but in this day and age,
we who are living here on Earth
are so lucky to have
all the means of technology at our fingertips.
I must admit that I too would feel bereft
if I could not speak what I am thinking,
as well as express myself
via my facial-expressions –
like the blowing
the one I love a goodnight kiss.
The written word and the printed white page
is a thing of beauty, to me –
but the power of text and the images
of a back-lit and bright screen,
I must admit, are, to me,
a draw, and to one
I am like that a moth to a flame.
I adore books and stories
written be fantastic and phenomenal writers,
but what you can see and share online
on the internet is an incredibly evocative,
vivid, and epic, world-changing domain.
I recently read a news story online
about the discovery of an amazing find:
a leather trunk from the 17th century
had been unearthed that contained
over two thousand letters –
most of the letters that have been translated
tell stories of a people
and what they were feeling and thinking
at a particularly eventful
and momentous time in their life,
while most of them thus far
still remain a mystery
as to what they say –
and I truly believe that such a discovery
is one of a treasure
that may never again come to light,
because those letters are fragments of time.
Letters can be lost, misplaced, forgotten about
sent out across the sea in a bottle –
however, messages that are sent electronically
follow you wherever you go
and are like coin thrown into a well
that never reaches the watery bottom.
Our electronic messages are like our own
digital ghosts and shadows
that we are responsible for;
our electronic images and profiles
can be seen by everyone and anyone,
24-hours a day, from the last light of dusk
to the first light of a new dawn.
There is a lot to be thankful for
about living in the times that we do;
we have discovered answers to questions
that our ancestors prayed to god
that they wished they knew;
there are things that we all do well –
but we as a species, in my opinion,
can all do better;
we may all find what we have been looking for
all our lives if we too were
to somehow miraculously discover,
or rediscover, buried over time
a treasure trove
of lost or missing letters.
My Poem ‘Eudaemonic’
A simple act of kindness
can give you an upbeat feeling;
a new arrival can instantly make you smile;
a message in a bottle is always a thrill;
a new idea is like a newborn child.
Watching a child grow before your eyes
is like going back in time
and seeing your early life
acted out in front of you;
watching a plant grow and then wilt
does not have as much of an impact
on some people as it should;
watching an animal grow so quickly,
be so active, however only live a short life
in comparison to a human being
can be a joyous but sometimes
incredibly hard thing to do;
watching the world change around you
makes you wish frequently
that if it were possible
to live inside a single special moment forever,
if you could you would.
Some days go by fast,
some days go by slow;
the art of happiness
is to make something last;
the art of acceptance
is to not worry too much
about what you do not know;
some days are filled with fireworks;
some days are spent in reflection;
some days are so perfect
that you could swear
that there were some invisible inner-workings
making everything in life run like clockwork;
some days you are just waiting
for something to grab your attention;
the art of life is to live.
There are words in every language
that are rarely used,
but still exist;
there are faces hidden behind masks
that not everybody are able to see;
there are people who win;
there are people who lose,
but who never stop
and never give in;
there are unique pieces of art
created solely to be one of a kind
and temporary – like graffiti –
that in time will fade from view
and be covered over and forgotten –
but the fact that even one person
knew about them and remembers them
makes the artist that made them
more of a magician than anything else,
because they were able to make the once seen
the thing of a person’s dreams.
What keeps me upbeat is love;
what keeps me writing is hope;
what keeps me smiling only I could think of;
what keeps me from not retreating is never doubting;
what I have always known is that
if you try to silence your doubts,
if you try to see past the illusion of walls
that sometimes feel like they surround you
that can almost feel like a prison cell,
if you try to come to terms with the fact
that not everything that happens to you
is not always all your fault –
then one day you may wake up
with a smile on your face
and realize that all is good
and all will be well.
My Poem ‘The Ghost Orchid’
There are some things
that can and will
only happen once in your life;
there are some things
that come to life for a short time,
and then die just so you could see them;
there are some things
that can only be seen in the moonlight;
there are some things
that are a true, rare,
wonderful, and magical phenomenon.
There are some people
who make life worth living;
there are some people
whose presence keeps you breathing;
there are some people
who you wonder:
‘where have you been all this time?’;
there are some people
who were there all along,
and who when they are standing
right in front of you
appear as if they have stepped
right out of your mind.
There are some things
that disappear and may never be seen again;
there are some things
that reappear from out of nowhere,
like a ghost train;
there are some things
that are just waiting for the right time
to show their face again in the light,
after spending almost a life-time in the dark;
there are some things
that are secretly really other things,
but are so enigmatic and unpredictable
they could easily be mistook,
until their identity again looms large.
Secrets become known every day;
hidden music is found and played
that was once thought lost forever and forgotten;
memories return to the surface of consciousness
in infinitely different ways;
messages continue to echo,
and colours are always recurring, year after year
in the leaves of autumn
and in the flower-buds of blossom.
There are some things
that I haven’t seen since I was a kid;
there are some people
who can’t be seen, but who are always there,
and their touch can be felt like the wind;
there are some things that go,
but do return to shine and remind the world
of their ‘specialness’ in all the ways they always did;
there are some people who are like wildflowers,
who vanish, but who one day come back
and are seen again after so long –
like the mysterious phantom flower,
‘The Ghost Orchid’.
Mark The Poet 