“Silent/Listen” is a poem taken from Mark’s 2025 poetry collection ‘The Storyteller‘ – now available to purchase in hardback and as an ebook from Amazon.
silence
My Poem “Biting Your Tongue”
Knowing what to say
and when to something,
or if you should even
say anything at all,
can be "tricky" -
because sometimes what people believe
can directly contradict
the beliefs of those closest to them...
keeping your your thoughts to yourself -
especially those that you know
will not be popular or be shared
with those around you
and those who you like and interact with -
can be frustrating,
because everybody should be able
to say what they think and feel about something,
especially when you want to talk
and discuss what matters to you
with those whose opinion
you have value and trust.
Trying to keep the peace
by staying quiet,
because you worry that
if the way that you see
some aspects of the world and people
were to become known
you might become isolated
from a particular group,
can cause people to choose
to express their views
in ways that to some
might seem unconventional
and perhaps incomprehensible;
however, when you know that you
have a valid reason to disagree
with what someone says or thinks
then each of us should have the right
to be speak and be heard.
People are always going
to have differences of opinion
about certain things,
because each of us is always
arriving from a different time
and from a different starting position...
the gift and the opportunity
to be able to truly debate a subject -
so that opposing sides can put across
their own individual version
of what they believe, why, and how -
are few and far between these days,
because the fear of opening your mouth
and accidentally insulting someone
seems to constantly linger in the air.
When you give someone a live microphone
to a large proportion of people,
some people will use the means
and the moments at their disposal
to say things that they know will
be hurtful to a large group of people,
and may only say anything
for the sake of saying something,
and do not really care who
their words effect -
which is why fake and faceless
monsters need to be exposed
and brought out of the shadows
with the brightest of lights
and stopped in their tracks
before they can cause any further harm.
It would be nice if we could
all talk to one another
without judgement and without prejudice,
as well as without there being
this constant feeling of tension
underlying every layer
of almost every conversation -
and while some people will never
be able to help themselves
from saying what is on their mind,
whenever they want,
without a care in the world -
most people have to try and bite their tongue,
for as long as they can,
until they know the time is right,
because sometimes words are like weapons
and that can do more harm than good.
A Poem A Day #389: Don’t Stay Silent
A Poem A Day #352: The Silence
A Poem A Day #344: Deathly Silence
My Poem ‘Manchester’
A minute of silence…
a handful of moments…
a precious gift to those
who tragically lost their lives…
sixty seconds of stillness
to remember the children of Manchester.
Only days ago
young and old gathered-together
to enjoy the music of their idol…
not even a week ago
men and women, girls and boys,
showed their love
and shared the love
that they felt for life
with one-another…
it was only the other day
that new angels were born in heaven.
Time does not stop,
but we cannot move on –
we are all still mourning the loss
of the beautiful and innocent souls
who left their homes
but who will sadly never return.
How can a father, a mother,
a sister, a brother,
a cousin, a niece, a nephew,
a relative, possibly understand
and recover from what has happened?
What can a city, a people, a country,
a way of life, a world do to make sure
that the selfish and murderous deeds
of a demonic coward that walks among us
does not win a battle in the epic struggle
that is constantly being fought
between good and evil?
The only way to keep somebody
and something alive
is to never forget them…
the only way that I know how to live
is to hope for the best
and to pray that the entire world
will one day all share
the same hopes for one-another.
After something indescribable
and shocking happens
being there for those in need
is what is the most important…
today and everyday,
everybody and everywhere,
all over the world,
will never forget
and they will always remember
the lights that went out
and were reborn in heaven,
who were born in a city
and in a country
who they will always be a part of,
and they will always remain
in the hearts and in the minds of
the people of Great Britain
and the great city of Manchester.
Dedicated to all the children and all the men and women who lost their lives on the 25th of May, 2017, and for all of the people who have been affected by the horror that took place in Manchester… you will never be forgotten.
My Poem ‘The Meaning’
As with most things
it all begins in our eyes
and with what and whom
we see with our eyes…
as with most things
we all come to things,
places, people,
from different directions
and at different times…
as with most things
there are always things
that we regret…
as with most things
a part of something
always remains within
the heart and the soul of something
even after the outer-layers
have withered away and died.
Humanity is fragile…
every day of a person’s life
they are in a constant state of change;
humanity by nature is fallible…
every day of their life
a person can do things
that when looked upon in retrospect
they would see them as a collage of mistakes;
everybody is prone to repetition
and we value our routines;
we are all so caught up in our own lives sometimes
that we are mostly oblivious
to the changing of the times
and the rhythms of life.
A life is full of meaning,
even if you can’t see it:
music, children, love, sport, art,
work can give a person’s life what they need…
no two people live the same life in the same way…
no one and nothing ever stops changing…
what matters the most in life
is what you find in the moments of silence
when there is no sound, music, or talking –
there and then is where you find
what lies within your heart
and what you cannot live without
because of the way that it fills
your life with such meaning.
My Poem ‘Sound of the Silence’
Stars, planets, solar-storms, galactic-energy –
every sphere of the universe
produces music from a source within
that keeps them spinning
and generating their unique voice;
artists, composers, song-writers, vocalists –
every living and breathing man and woman
who has ever created something
and who has ever been inspired
to realise their lifes-work
is driven by a silent beating heart
within their chest more powerful
than could ever be imagined;
memories, recollections,
reminders of a time gone by
that just will not die
because they have no choice;
stories, movies, the eclectic soundtrack
of your childhood that is centred around
and continues to orbit
a wormhole of space and time
that continues to broadcast
and influence your life,
your thoughts, and your actions,
every second of every minute.
All hail the music of the silence;
all raise their hands to feel the vibrations
and the beat of something amazing and beautiful;
all hear the sound of the timeless;
all be entranced by the light of the light-house,
and look up in wonder at the sight
of the broken satellite;
all watch the disc of colour spin,
and allow yourself to slip back in time
to the endless summer days of golden sunlight;
all close your eyes and go on a journey
inside your mind and be carried away
by the waves of the universal
energy-current of the universe;
all listen to the crackle of the static
and then fall head-first into the vortex
that spins like an album of vinyl.
To me, silence is just music
that we haven’t yet discovered
how to listen to in the right way;
to me, music in its infinite forms
will always play throughout all eternity –
whether it is heard, or not,
the music of life can never be silenced;
to me, music is one of the only things
that can make you feel at home
as well as take you far away;
to me, all the world is a church of music
and all of humanity are receptors
and worshippers of a divine sound
that is sometimes both powerful and silent –
and that is why I say that we should all
put our hands to our chest
and proclaim with one voice:
all hail the silence.
My Poem ‘The Whispering Gallery’
Every Sunday,
bang on 10 o’clock in the morning,
the bells of St. Martin’s church
ring-out loud and far –
and every Sunday,
when I am standing and listening
in the most perfect spot
that can be found in all the city,
over time I have discovered
an amazing phenomenon…
just as every whispering gallery
that can be found in places
that are often places of silence
and peaceful serenity,
if you whisper a wish into the air,
and it is carried away on the wind
in the right direction,
then that same wish will come true one day
after having been delivered directly to heaven
by the wings of a listening angel –
and that almost silent prayer
will echo and create epic waves,
like an ocean being skipped upon by a stone,
and you will have been blessed –
even though the evidence of what has taken place
and by whom may have already disappeared without a trace.
The bells of St. Martin’s church ring for almost an hour –
the are a source of hope for many, and they have a power.
Church bells, to me, have always had a solemn beauty to them;
church bells are like the accent of a place of worship’s voice,
and I think they are wonderfully important;
church bells have a way of drawing people to them like a beacon;
you have never felt such a feeling like that
of being as close as you can be
to the breathtaking vibrations of sound
that are produced when ancient bells are ringing
and hammers are hitting their mark in a bell-tower.
The world is one big whispering-gallery;
the Earth has places on it
where the magical can be conjured into being
with the flick of a magic-wand
disguised as an ink-pen;
some people want something so much
but they are afraid to ask for help from anybody –
sometimes things can only be heard
when they are said in the first where
and at the right when…
so, I encourage anybody who feels something special
when they are somewhere,
even if that place may not look anywhere
that may be at all “somewhere to write home about”
to let their inner-most thoughts and wishes
be set free into the atmosphere
of the worlds biggest whispering gallery.
Mark The Poet 