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While walking in the woods near my house,
I came upon a lost glove-
it was just sitting there undisturbed and unmoved
on a bush at the foot of a tree;
a lone glove, which I couldn’t tell
if it was intended to be worn on the left hand or on the right;
a lone glove that for some reason had been parted from its pairing,
which lay as if it had fallen from above,
instantly intrigued me, made me smile, and made me wonder
what and who had brought it here to the middle of the forrest
only to leave it- something just didn’t seem right.
Every time I returned to my favourite place to walk,
to think, and to marvel at Mother Nature,
I always made a point to go to where I knew the multi-coloured
and multi-patterned glove continued to lie;
for weeks, months, maybe,
I returned and to my delight the glove remained where it always was-
it always brightened my day to see it, for some reason-
maybe it was the randomness of the sight of a lone glove, a lost glove,
far-away from the hand of anyone, that amused me,
and also inspired me in some way.
One day, I returned to the woods,
I took the same path that I always take-
I walked and I looked in anticipation of seeing the lost glove,
but it was nowhere to be seen-
I walked the same path again and again, over and over,
but all I saw in the place that I remembered it being
was just a multitude of growing green.
The first time I saw the glove,
I had thought that its sudden appearance
and consequent reappearances were a sign, an insight,
an easter-egg into the inner-workings of chaos,
nature, choice, subtlety, fun;
and when I realised that the glove was gone-
it had been picked up by someone else,
reclaimed by its former owner,
or it had been taken by an animal-
I felt genuinely sad;
but every time I walk passed where it was, even now,
I wonder where it came from.
The glove that was once lost was found by me.
I did not take it, I did not claim it,
but for a short-time it was a talisman to me,
a charm of life that I was always pleased to see,
a seed of joy, a flower of hope that grows in my imagination,
which I am in-awe of;
and that is why I will never forget the autumn days
of the lost glove.
A
Boy
Called
David
Eats
Fruit
Gingerly
Happy
In
Jubilation
Knowing
Life’s
Meaning
Never
Obligates
People
Questioning
Reason
See
The
Universal
Variables
With
Xenial
Youthful
Zeal
Icicles on bicycles, frozen spiderwebs on flowerbeds;
it’s spring now, but the snow just doesn’t want to go.
Children are enraptured in the joy of playing outside,
building snowmen, and having snowball fights;
eager travellers, who want to jet-off to warmer climates,
are checking-in at their airport arrivals desk
and finding out that their departure from winter England
may be delayed, or sadly one of the unfortunate “Cancelled Flights”.
The weather is the topic of almost every-other conversation-
some people are embracing it for pleasure,
some people are venturing out at the cost of their own lives,
some people are saying that they “have had enough”;
while other people make the most of the snow-
the way it falls like sprinkled sugar on a bowl of cereals,
the way it lies so beautifully on the ground,
the way it records the momentary paths of passersby,
animals, birds foraging for food-
some try to go as fast as they can,
while others just take it slow.
The wind blows the snow like dust;
the world looks like another planet;
on every window there is a thick white frost;
every pavement, every road, is covered so overwhelmingly,
and the snow is so compacted it is as hard granite.
People live in a perpetual ice-life everyday somewhere on Earth,
and they carry on regardless;
we here in the UK always say that we are prepared
for all weather eventualities,
but when weather like the cold-front
that has been visiting us recently, and testing out tolerance, comes,
we are always left dazed for days,
we always struggle to adapt-
some reach their peak, and some surpass their peak,
of being overcome with debilitating levels of stress.
I, on the other hand, take every step in my stride
and I treat every footprint in the snow
as if it were one small step on the moon.
I will always have great memories of my time growing up:
playing in the snow with my sister,
remembering my Dad taking my sister and me
for a sledge-ride to the shops near our home-
magical memories that take my breath away
and rise like hot air inside of a balloon.
The temperature is rising,
the sky is turning blue,
the snow is melting,
the wishes of millions are coming true.
The snow is returning to from whence it came;
people thinking about their commute to work tomorrow
breath a sigh of relief-
until the weather presenter on the TV says that
snow may fall again during the night,
and that “there may be a chance of some rain”.
Spring is here, Summer will arrive before we know it,
and I think I can safely say that the climate of Earth
and the seasons of nature are changing,
and we must all change, adapt, and be prepared for everything-
because, who knows what is waiting in the wings to arrive,
who knows what the winds of uncertainty will bring.
When people ask me why I started writing poetry,
I tell them: “because I fell in love.”
When people ask me what my poetry means to me,
I tell them that “my poetry is a gift from the heavens above.”
When people ask me why I am here,
I tell them that I am here to be inspired and to inspire others,
to make people think, and to be the best person I can be,
as the Poet of the Sphere.
Chaos, confusion-
at times these states of being
seem like the fundamental forces that rule all of our lives,
but then something happens that brings order back into the world,
back into our lives, and gives us again a reason to stay alive.
Life can hurt sometimes.
Through no fault of your own, through no planning on your part,
you find yourself falling on your face, falling on your knees,
hoping for someone to reach out a hand and save you,
because you believe that you can no longer save yourself alone.
Life is a succession of opportunities that are presented to us-
that if we take the time to truly think about,
those opportunities could take you somewhere that you never envisioned,
and build a world around you that wherever you are
you know that you are home.
You need people around you-
you need a family, you need friends,
you need to go forward and not back.
We all think that we can do things on our own,
we all think that no one can possibly understand what we are going through
when we are literally on our hands and knees-
but we are wrong, there is always someone there,
we just need to look for them, because there are people out there to help;
sometimes you have to get out of the drivers seat of your life
and hand someone else the keys.
It’s hard to let go of what has been pulling you down.
It’s hard to listen when someone is telling you what you should do.
It’s hard to free yourself of your pride and step in another direction.
It’s hard to not worry and to look at your reflection and not see a frown.
Your family is all that matters.
If they are your true family they will be there for you no matter what,
if they mean anything to you, and if you mean anything to them,
they will stand by your side and be there for you
no matter how much you have got.
People have more than they sometimes realize,
sometimes the less you think you have of something
the more of it you have in abundance;
life is not a straight-line, after-all-
if anything, it’s more of a dance.
Life never turns out how we dream it will be,
life just has to be accepted for what it is:
amazing, astonishing, challenging, thought-provoking;
but things that mean the most in this life have to be worked-on,
worked for, and worked towards, if they are to mean anything at all
after we are all gone-
that is the challenge that we all face every day,
that is the journey that some people have to take
while walking the motorway.
I miss you when I don’t see you,
I miss you when we don’t talk,
I miss you when I think of how much I love you,
I miss you when the feeling in my stomach starts to bubble
and fizz, and then my love for you rises and overflows
like champagne flowing from a champagne bottle,
after the pressure inside overcomes and pops the cork.
Talking to you has always felt so natural,
what we have said to each-other has always felt important,
intimate, integral, illuminating;
having the connection that we have is incredible, amazing, beautiful;
sharing our lives, our likes, our loves, our looks, with each-other
makes the time that we spend together all that more worth the waiting.
I think a lot about what brought us together;
I have thought a lot about why we keep coming back to each-other;
and when I think about who and how I was before I met you-
the years that I spent without you, that now feel like the whole time
I was traversing through stormy weather-
and the thought and the sensation occurs to me
that we were always fated, destined, to meet
and to find one-another from birth;
I believe that my love for you has been entwined into the path of my life,
has traveled miles, and has overcome distance and oceans-
we are forever linked by an unbreakable tether.
I have spent hours looking into your eyes
reveling in the spell that you cast on me;
I have spent days in-awe of your beautiful smile,
from which only the most perfect voice could arise;
I have spent weeks immersed in everything about you that I remember-
and I have come to the conclusion that every perfect part of you
is a thing of unbelievable beauty.
Our relationship with each-other has been a fascinating one,
our time spent in each-others thoughts has been more precious,
passionate, and inflamed than the surface of the sun.
What you mean to me is never going to change.
You are like my life-force, the reason that my heart continues to beat,
you are forever in my mind, you are in my blood.
One day, a beautiful butterfly flapped her wings
and the course of my life was changed forevermore;
one day, I saw the face of the one person I will never stop loving,
and who I will always adore-
and from that day, through all that life has tested and gifted me with,
I know now that there was always going to be me and you.
You mean so much to me, and I just want you to know that I love you.
Book 1, 20/1/2011
Icy. Frosty. A day of great beauty.
This book feels special.
This time in my life feels essential.
This day feels inspiring.
The future, I can tell, is going to be exciting.
Book 2, 23/11/2011
Icy. Frosty. A day of stillness. A day of great beauty.
This book is me. This is the beginning of a future I cannot wait to see.
Today is the day.
I have so much that I want to do. I have so much that I want to say.
Book 3, 5/6/2012
Calm. Peaceful.
As Venus prepares to transit The Sun for the last time this century-
the energy in the air is wonderful, palpable.
This book is me. This book is my destiny.
I am in the cusp of something great.
I am at the end and at the beginning of a journey.
The hour is early, and yet it is getting late.
Book 4, 23/9/2012
It is the 23rd of September, 2012.
It’s a warm, restful, inspiring Saturday afternoon-
perfect conditions and a perfect day to be inspired, to write some poetry,
and a perfect day to take your favourite book down from the bookshelf.
This book is me. This book is my thoughts. This book is the world that I see.
I feel inspired. I feel brand new.
How can anyone feel tired, when they are on the verge
of having all their, my, wishes all come true.
Book 5, 13/2/2013
The last few weeks have been hard.
The last couple of days have been a revelation.
The last few weeks have felt like one big condolence card.
The last couple of days have given me something that I truly needed:
a peace, an acceptance, a discovery about life,
that, for me, will have lasting ramifications.
This book is my story. This book is my life.
This book is more than my poetry.
This book is what keeps me going,
and sustains me in my struggle to stay hopeful, and to stay alive.
Back story: Since the 1st of January 2011,
at the beginning of every new notebook
that I start writing my new poetry in,
I have written a little poetic-message to myself
and to anyone who may one day read my notebooks in the future, in ink,
trying to capture who I am and what is going on in my life,
and how I feel at the exact moment that I am beginning a new book-
one of the most thrilling times, if you are a writer.
Anyway, since today is World Book Day in the UK,
I thought that I would share these little notes of insight
and put them all in one “evolving-poem”, as I call it-
I call it an “evolving-poem”, because I intend to never finish it:
every time I begin a new notebook again,
I will update this poem with a new verse! I hope you enjoy reading it!
-Mark
There is not a day that goes by
when I do not doubt how lucky I am;
there is not a moment in a day
when I don’t want to see as much as I can-
because, in life, there is always something to do,
somewhere to go, something to learn about others
and yourself that you did not know.
Not everyone has the time, or even the inclination, to stop and think,
or to do something that they have never done-
especially if you have a family to feed, love, and support,
as best that you can, when thinking about others has to be your sole-focus;
but if you can afford, even for a few minutes of every day
to take the time or to make the time
to really see passed the bubble that surrounds you,
and digress to whomever you wish something that is on your mind,
and then watch it grow as the idea becomes too big for you
to continue to repress.
This wonderful world continues to amaze me, faze me,
embrace me, raise me, craze me, at times;
but I am always thinking about it,
I am always learning about it,
I always want the best for it-
however, no one knows what the future will turn-out like,
no one knows how individuals actions
will affect the lives of everyone on our planet-
but to save ourselves from losing ourselves,
to me, everyone- every child, every adult,
every free-thinking person of consciousness and conscience
with the means of speech-
has to be able to have their say.
To me everything that I have thought on and experienced is a day in the life;
but I know that every day, especially today, is not just another day.
Every day of life means something to someone in every way.
Sitting in the park on a beautiful morning,
surrounded by light, life, and sound,
what I am doing feels life-reaffirming,
what I see is phenomenal, stunning, inspiring-
everything feels new, fresh, original, one of a kind,
never been seen before, bright, beautiful, pulse-racing, exciting.
I don’t want to leave.
I don’t want it all to fade-away.
I don’t want to take anything for granted.
I don’t want this to just be another day.
It doesn’t have to be, not if I don’t want it to-
not as long as it is all about the me and the you.
Everyone walks though life at different speeds.
Everyone lives different lives with different needs.
In the city, I see people of all ages and nationalities going about their day:
students coming to and from university,
smart-dressed men and women commuting to work,
children with a day off from school enjoying the sunshine-
as they smile, run-around and play;
kids discovering things with their parents,
parents discovering things about their kids-
from where I am, I see and I embrace
what they will probably never remember or think about
until they get older;
those moments that define a child and a parents relationship with each-other.
It is really nice to see and to read the under-lying language
that only a member of the same family is fluent in and privy to-
those looks and expressions that only they know the meaning of,
which if you are an on-looker it is like a foreign-language,
or a code that you can never know.
You don’t realise how precious time is until you get older
and you see the people and the places that you remember
change beyond recognition;
you don’t realise how much you miss
until someone reminds you of something that you shared together,
that meant so much to you at the time,
but unfortunately got filed-away in the filing-cabinet of your memory-
now only a snap-shot of a moment, which you never meant to ever forget
but which fades over time like an old photograph-
that can be brought back to mind and life
with the help of only the smallest of reminders
and enjoyed again, if it is a good memory,
of a time in your life that you always want to put-away
and rediscover again over and over on a sunny day.
Every day I see someone I have never seen before-
even in places that I have been to a hundred times,
or down roads that I have walked down more times than I can remember.
I see a new face- I see the beginning, the middle,
or perhaps the last chapter of someone’s story-
and every time I share eye-contact with a new person
I cannot help myself from wondering who they are,
who they will be-
I do not judge anyone by how they appear,
because to everyone- even those who you think you know-
there is always more to see.
I cherish the little things about people and about life,
I adore the moments that people freely throw-away without a second thought
that tell you about them- a story that they recite to themselves
when they fall asleep at night.
Sitting seemingly alone on a bench, on a hill,
in a park of untouched green grass,
looking out, looking up, looking within,
I have a moment of ponderance,
and in silence I think about the story that I am writing,
the legacy that I am leaving;
why I am who I am;
why the people and the things that I care so much about
mean so much to me;
why even though I have no one beside me I am not alone-
what that means, and why that is so important to remember.
I am wide-awake at 1 a.m.
and I have just awoken from a dream,
in which crows and seagulls were at war with each-other
outside my bedroom window- in the sky, on the ground,
fighting for the air, the rooftops, the food to be found;
I dreamt that the crows and the seagulls were in the throws
of aerial-combat of the speed, manoeuvrability, and ferocity,
of a World War II dogfight- darting, swooping,
and attacking like winged-warriors of black and white.
4 a.m. and I am awake again.
I decide to read a book,
then I listen to some music,
then I return to my book again.
I am restless. The sun has yet to rise.
I get out of bed and decide to make myself a cup of tea-
the rooms of my home are dark, but I know this house so well
that I no longer need to rely on my eyes
to find what I can’t at first see.
I can’t remember what I was dreaming about before I woke up this time;
if I recall correctly I felt like I was still awake,
but I was definitely still dreaming-
the world looked familiar, but it didn’t make sense;
everything around me was something I felt a connection to,
but it was as if they were not mine.
Seven o’clock in the morning. I open my eyes, I close them again,
and then I open them wide, wondering whether I am awake, dreaming,
or in-between places, and I look again at my surroundings to be my guide.
Before I awoke, I dreamed that I was walking the streets of a bustling city-
not knowing where I was going, but that I had somewhere to be.
The city was full of people that I knew well,
I felt like I was walking through a memory-
everything seemed so detailed, real, clear.
I could have been dreaming, I could have been awake-
at first, it was hard to tell.
I was walking across an open square, with people standing around talking
and people sitting on benches conferring with each-other,
and no one was looking at me.
I tried to say something, but I couldn’t make a sound;
I looked to my feet and saw a notebook and a pen lying on the ground.
I picked up the pen and started to write what I wanted to say in the book,
and I realised that the notebook was already full of words and thoughts
written in blue ink and written in what looked like my hand-writing
but scattered in all directions- as if they had been shook.
Then I looked up and everyone who was looking the other way
was now watching me;
one of the women sitting on a nearby bench stood up and approached me
and took the red notebook our of my hand, closed it,
and then gave it back to me.
I was confused, disorientated,
but I wanted to know why she had just done that-
so I approached the woman who had returned to her seat,
and then I saw that she was sitting next to and talking to someone
who looked exactly like me.
I looked down at my “other-self”
to make certain I was seeing who I was seeing,
and then my other-self turned his head to look up at me,
and with a smile and a nod of his head
my dream disappeared in a flash of light
and I was opening my eyes, closing them, and opening them again.
In the morning light, as I stare out my window at the outside world,
so bright and beautiful and cloaked for now in silence,
I feel that things are not what they seem.
I get dressed, I make myself a cup of tea,
and then I muse to myself about the things that happen in between dreams.
The Life, the Light, the Tears, of the Poet of the Sphere 