It all started with my first - the one who inspired the first poem I ever wrote; and then, over the years, there have been others whose names now sometimes get stuck in my head as well as in my throat. It has always been hard for me to move on - to resign myself to the fact that my relationship with some things and with some people has now been and is now gone. Whenever I meet someone new I never anticipate ever saying goodbye... whenever I know that it might be the last time that I get to see someone who I love I always feel sad and I always want to cry. If someone has inspired me that means that there is something profoundly special about that person... if I have fallen for someone that means that I made a connection with them than for me can never be undone. If things were once good between someone else and I then that must mean that there must have been something wonderful between us at one time - especially at the beginning... even when some things ultimately go bad that does not mean that everything that happened should make you feel as if you wasted your time - because what you went through was unbelievably memorable and deeply meaningful and inspiring. Even after a heart breaks love lingers on... even after you lose someone the memories that you shared with them continue to mean something to you - sometimes long after you thought them to be lost. Your first is never your last... you can never hide from your past... we all have our own individual version of a story that only we can tell our side of... we all know what we have to sacrifice when we find someone who we instantly love. I have loved... I have lost... I have been inspired... I have felt fulfilled... I have felt the pain of lies... I have felt the most powerful force known to man - love - in times of utter darkness that has given me hope, happiness, and light - and it is to those people who inspired me, once upon a time, that I wish to pay tribute to: those people who gave me a gift that I will never forget and who to me will always be a muse.
muses
My Poem ‘Forest of Forever’
Many years ago now,
in my forest of forever,
I stopped, I stood,
I looked, I dreamed,
I listened to the song
that played as the wind blew
through the trees,
I was alone but surrounded
by ancient spirits –
even though there was no other
man, woman, or child
around to be found,
I knew that I was being visited
by the ghosts of poets
and the muses of fellow dreamers –
it was as if I were communing
with my younger-self,
as well as with my future-self
and the one writing this poem:
the one who sees
and the one who believes
that every thing that happens
happens for a reason.
As I write, as I think back,
as I use the infinite sight,
as I remember all the steps
that I have taken along my path,
I am again in the woods of yesterday
and breathing in the air
and being intoxicated by the smell of pine –
I am again standing in the sunlight,
as if I have managed to leap back in time,
and I remember all that I felt
and all that walked with me
when my poetic gift was still in its infancy,
and I can know and I can remember
things that have not yet happened
but have already happened
that I have been immortalized in my poetry.
I see in my memory a land far-away;
I see the beautiful face of the one person
in the entire who is the true light of my day;
I look in front of me and I see
the man who would be me;
I turn my head and I see a boy
with blond curly-hair
who was once and will always be me;
I see an incomplete circle;
I see an unfinished masterpiece;
I see a continuously ever-changing world;
I see a shadowed version of myself
looking at me from afar
from their vantage-point
from which they can see every incarnation of me.
I cannot hold-on to my flashback for too long
before I flash-forward again;
I continue to write as if all that was
had always been just the words
that I had written by my own hand
with my own pen;
I look out of my bedroom window
and I see a floating white feather
and I am reminded of the falling leaves
that will be always frozen in time
when I return in my mind
to my forest of forever.
My Poem ‘The Muses’
The muses visit me early in the morning;
the muses tuck me in bed last thing at night;
the muses bring alive to me a painted drawing;
the muses make me smile after learning something
I never knew before with sheer delight;
the muses come to me when I am having a shower;
the muses sit next to me
when I am watching a film at the cinema;
the muses listen to my thoughts and talk back to me
through my imagination for hours;
the muses sit facing me
and whisper to me when I am having my dinner.
The muses sit around the table with me
when I am in Starbucks having a coffee;
the muses ride along with me on the train;
the muses are guiding me and picking out interesting finds
every time I walk and look around a bookstore,
and even before I read any of the books
they are already talking to me;
the muses are always a close fellow passenger
whenever I fly on a plane.
The muses helped write, helped produce,
and they also perform and they sing
on every one of my favourite songs;
the muses influenced the creation, the sculpture,
the inspiration of every piece of art;
the muses have kept people motivated
when they are on a journey that is sometimes confusing and long;
the muses will keep the stars in the sky shining
at the end of time, as they have done from the very start.
The muses introduce themselves to children from the day they are born;
the muses walk, talk, and show us things when we dream;
the muses can go anywhere they want
and do not believe in restrictions, borders, walls, or laws;
the muses are more ubiquitous than you would believe.
The muses see all of time and space
and they understand every bit of it;
the muses were the universe’s first poets;
the muses are known for their quick humour
and their lightning-fast and incredibly creative wit;
the muses sometimes even take the form of animals and pets.
The muses never sleep;
the muses are always on the move;
the muses never have to stop and eat;
the muses are always at the front of every line
and never have to cue.
The muses are whom everyone consciously or unconsciously daily uses;
the muses are why everyone closes their eyes and then chooses;
the muses are whom no one refuses;
the muses are all-powerful, all-knowledgeable,
all seeing, all doing –
so if you ever want to know something,
or if you ever want to ask something,
24 hours a day,
ask the muses.
Mark The Poet 