“Redux” is a poem taken from Mark’s 2025 poetry collection ‘The Storyteller‘ – now available to purchase in hardback and as an ebook from Amazon.
Listen on Apple Podcasts and read a transcript.
Repeat
My Poem “Square One”
Just like in the game of Monopoly
when everybody first arrives in this world
they start with the word “Go”,
and then they roll the dice
that will decide for them
where the game they are
involved in will take them –
and the rules of life
are similar to the rules of a game:
each of us start somewhere,
each of us are given a name,
each of us are given choices,
and as we learn more about
who we are and what motivates us
we find ourselves being pulled
down particular paths,
by particular things,
by particular people,
into making decisions
that will effect the rest of our lives.
No one in this life
is immune to influence –
because our brains are driven
by stimulation and information,
even from a young age…
no one can stop themselves
from making the “wrong choice” –
because up until a choice or a move
has been played to its conclusion
there is no way of knowing
the outcome of anything…
everybody dreams of becoming
something or someone when they are a child –
something or someone
who they see and want to emulate;
but I wonder how many people
actually became who they wanted to be
when they grew up,
if they did what they wanted to do,
and if they became who they wanted to be
when they were a kid?
Life has a way of making certain things happen,
while other things never get off the drawing-board…
people have a way of changing
their minds more frequently than they would think under certain circumstances…
the terrain that people think
will always stay the same
has a way of being remade
that cannot simply be returned
to how it used to be –
because nothing, no one,
and nowhere stays untouched
by outside influences.
From the moment that
the necessary components of our planet
coalesced and began to slowly
but surely evolve into
the wild testbed of experimentation
that it will always be,
even before humanity entered
the mix and started effecting
the world by any and all means,
Earth has been visited from space
many times by its fellow
celestial cousins
and it has continued to
thrive and go with the flow
of whatever course
plays out upon its surface.
Everything and everybody
begins their journey with
whatever and whomever
they have at their disposal,
and then, before long,
everything and everyone
finds themselves being
taken to places that they
do not choose to be –
but places where others want them to be;
and that is when the seeds
of rebellion are first sowen,
that is when the first ideas
of defiance start to get louder and louder –
until every individual decides to do something for them
and for no one else,
and that is when it starts:
that is when the power of chance
can start to change the map
of the world within our mind
and start to alter our opinion
of what we are here to do
and who we are supposed to be.
We all think that we will not
make the mistakes that similar people in our shoes have made in the past…
we all think that we can somehow
be different from other people
if we have “more” of something
than someone else…
we all think that we might get to see
something that no one else has ever seen,
or experience something
that no one has ever done before;
but each of us discover
that we are all constantly stuck
in a loop of repetition
that is hard to break free of –
especially when we find out that
there are powers in the world
that wish to control others
into thinking and believing
that one way is the only way
and supercedes all others…
we all think that there is a way
to see something before it happens,
and perhaps prevent the inevitable –
but time and time again
each of us are given a wake up call
that reminds us that some things
will always happen
because they were always meant to happen:
including proceeding down a path
for as long and for as far as we can
before realizing that we have
actually returned to where we were
and have to start over again
from Square One.
My Poem ‘It’s a tradition’
I love reunions;
I love keeping traditions;
I love catching up
and reconnecting with old friends;
I love being there when a friend of mine
is sharing their gift with me
live and in person,
that instantly transports me back
to a time way back when;
I love giving all the support that I can;
I love the feeling of hearing someone I know
remember me, mention me,
care that I am who they always know I am going to be:
a passionate, supportive, friend,
moon in orbit around them, life-long fan.
To forget a face is impossible for me;
to not be there when a friends calls out to me,
even from far away, is beyond imagining;
to overcome anything in my way,
to be where I am needed, is what I do;
to believe what I know and what I feel
deep in my heart and soul
is something I am proud of;
and if you know me,
then you will know that
that is nothing new.
Time-traveling is a passion for me.
I may not be able to physically travel through time,
but I have perfected the skill
that everybody has to quantum leap
back into the body and mind of their younger-self.
Time travel is not just something
that people can do in science-fiction –
it is a gift that for me is easy to do
and use to remind myself,
without changing anything
that might affect the present in any way,
what the most important things about life there are to remember,
and to hold on to them so they can’t ever drift away.
I do forget sometimes
how much I do share, and have shared, with people;
I often need reminding
who I am, and how lucky I am –
however, as soon as I hear a certain voice,
as soon as a particular song starts playing,
it is a moment for me that is beautiful,
and I again believe with every fiber of my being
that the universe does indeed have a plan.
I have always believed that traditions are important;
I will remember as much of my life,
for as long as I can, with a passion;
I am constantly learning about new and old ways
of not allowing things to be forgotten –
every day, in every way, everywhere on this planet;
I will continue to return, repeat, keep,
and remember that things and the places I am remembered for;
and for as long as I can, I will be there,
doing what I do, and keeping my own
meaningful and amazing traditions.
My Poem ‘Like Clockwork’
Every form of biological life
has a rhythm to their biology
that the very cells of their body
run by, and run on-time to –
from the first light of a sunrise in the morning,
to the dark at the end of the day at night;
everybody’s body is governed by a Circadian cycle,
that repeats daily, that happens naturally,
that does what it needs to do, silently,
that we all partake in,
like a life worshiping disciple.
Rhythms and cycles surround us all;
and we too have a set orbit,
like that of a planet circling around a star,
that we need to maintain or things just don’t feel right;
rises and falls, ups and downs;
someone’s heart-rate, or the beat of someone’s pulse –
something so regular, it can easily be measured,
and can give focus to all of our senses,
like the sound of footsteps down a long hall.
Everyone has a revolving ‘merry go round’,
a carousel, that they jump on at some time in their life,
which they stay on, and once they are spinning happily
and contently they find it hard to get off;
everybody ticks in time with everyone around them,
and walks at a pace like that of the fast hand of a watch,
and their heart beats like the resounding tock of a clock;
everyone who has a job is more than familiar with routines,
and doing things over and over in the same way
that they were first shown, told, and taught –
and if changes need to be made,
and if you need to adapt,
like the gears of an engine,
you need to shift up, or shift down:
you must do what you must do,
to save the engine of your life from a stall.
Most of the conscious things that we do,
we do based on a feeling;
most of the things that we know we have control over,
we can make slight modifications
as to how we do them –
but when we do something over and over again,
we most likely revert to our finely-tuned quirks;
most of the unconscious acts that take place,
happen out of our sight, and the reason for some of them
is beyond even our understanding;
almost everything that we all do,
happens based on a repeated and constantly repeating rhythm,
that keeps going no matter what,
and is as predictable and precise as clockwork.
Mark The Poet 