Mark The Poet – The Podcast: Episode #24

My Poem ‘Where art endows’

As soon as I boarded the train to London;
as soon as I set foot on the bustling platform
at Euston Station;
as soon as I rode the tube to Bakers Street;
as soon as I looked down at the wet pavement
shining under the shadow of a statue
dedicated to ‘The Great Detective’,
I saw art in everything above me,
everything around me,
and everything underneath my feet,
and the art that I saw left me breathless
because it was so epic.

When I was a child,
I used to look at the cover of The Beatles’ album
‘Abbey Road’ and imagine that I was John Lennon –
dressed all in white, and the one to lead
Ringo, Paul, and George over the crossing
to the other side of the road;
and, while in London, I decided
to follow in the footsteps
of the greatest band that ever was
and go to ‘Abbey Road’,
walk over the famous zebra-crossing –
and I swear that while I was there
I felt incredibly emotional
and so privileged to be there,
and I absolutely felt an abundance of love:
because even though I was walking across by myself,
I didn’t for a second feel alone.

The London Underground is like a warren of rabbits,
a hill of ants, or a hive of bees –
there is so much activity,
and there are so many people
traveling from place to place all over the city,
and everybody is in such a rush;
if you are a daily commuter,
keeping calm and knowing where you are going is a must.
Traveling on the tube is exciting –
everything and everybody I saw
were different from each other,
and to me wonderfully inspiring:
my fellow commuters fascinated me –
all the conversations that I heard,
and all the faces that I saw looking back at me,
were like feeling the pulse of the city,
and it was like the people were the blood
and the plasma of London
traveling down tube tunnels
that made me think of a human bodies
blood-vessels and arteries.

When I first arrived at Trafalgar Square,
and I looked up at Nelson’s Column
towering above two giant statues of Lions
that were the size of two large cars,
as soon as I saw the sight
of the beautiful National Portrait Gallery,
I could literally see hundreds of people outside –
and each person looked to me
like the peaks and waves of a multicolored sea.

While in the National Portrait Gallery,
I found myself completely in-awe
at the beautiful artwork within
which can be found through every open door,
and when I stood in front of Vincent Van Gogh’s
“Sunflowers” painting I was completely entranced
by its magnificence – and every second that I spent
gazing at Van Gogh’s masterpiece of art,
I felt connected to it, and to Vincent Van Gogh
so deeply and profoundly, that I am still engulfed
in the power and the feeling that comes
when you touch something that is
the source of so much inspiration and energy.

From the gallery, I then searched,
and caught a train to Soho,
and eventually came across a wall
that had a piece of art painted on it
by the graffiti artist “Banksy” –
and as soon as I looked at the amazing
piece of modern, incredible,
thought-provoking art that symbolized,
at least to me, the creation of beauty
through self-expression,
in the form of the painted outline of a yellow flower,
I was reminded of another incredible artist
that I had seen earlier,
and the day at that moment came full-circle,
and I knew that everything was connected,
and the world was, and is, a gallery of artistic destiny.

On my way home from London,
I mused and I could not stop thinking
about what I had seen and what I had heard,
and what I had felt during the time
that I had been drawn
from one side of the city to the other,
and I wondered what it all meant.
As I sit here now,
I know, as I have always known and believed,
that things in life do not happen by accident:
I know that the world and I
are connected in ways
that no one else but me will ever know.
In this world there are places with many people
living and working in them
that are fountains of inspiration on so many levels,
and every day I see sources of energy that inspire me –
and that is why I return to certain places time after time,
because these sources and places are exquisite art
that will forever continue to endow me and everybody.

London-collage2015-1

My Poem ‘The Great Detective’

The great detective knows the streets of his city
like he knows the indelible lines on the palms of his hands;
the great detective sees the world and its people
as if they are an intricately-interwoven and infinite puzzle;
the great detective walks with knowledge and conviction,
with a mystery to be solved in his pocket,
and he knows of nothing that he has not already considered,
thought about, and played out in his mind in a hundred ways,
and because he sees and knows only
solutions and answers to every question,
the great detective walks with phenomenal confidence;
the great detective is not oblivious to breaking a sweat
and fighting for what he believes is right,
should the time and need arise –
however, he strives to find a way to win the day
without having to encounter, or get involved,
in any sort of tussle of trouble.

The great detective is always thinking,
and his imagination and his thought process
is boundless and second to none;
the great detective has a vast palace of memory
in which he keeps the things he holds the most precious;
the great detective has a mind as fast,
and a tongue as quick, as a bullet from a gun;
the great detective has seen wonders,
and has met people who exhibit traits of humanity
from all ends of the spectrum,
but he is still proud to call himself
a member of the human race –
however, he believes that when people do start listening
to what he has to say he will be the saviour of all of us.

The great detective believes above all else
that through logic and reasoning
even the improbable can have a reason for being
that can be simplified to a simple sentence;
the great detective is not afraid to act
and think simultaneously, and adapt on the fly;
the great detective thrives on the rush of a new experience;
the great detective knows he is good, perhaps great, at what he does –
so when asked if he is modest about his gifts he does not have to lie.

The great detective can conjure up a deduction in the blink of an eye;
the great detective has seen things that are so beyond words
and description, the only other way to classify them
would be to think of them as magic;
the great detective himself cannot not pigeon-holed,
nor his ego or self-belief subdued –
although some have failed when they have tried;
the great detective is like a force of nature,
and even to himself, when he looks in the mirror at his reflection,
or when he considers the most perfect of callings for himself,
he always returns to the most elementary conclusion
at the end of his deductions:
and that is that, beyond anything or anybody that he could be,
he is, and was always meant to be, who he is,
and who he will always be – the great detective.