My Poem ‘Passport’

If I could go anywhere, where would I go?
If I could be anywhere, where would I be?
I would love to be walking the streets of New York City,
or looking out the window of Starbucks on 6th Avenue,
where I vividly remember sitting, reading a book,
writing a poem, and enjoying a cappuccino.
I would love to go for a walk in Central Park,
hand-in-hand with my best friend,
and then sitting by the pond at the centre of the park
on a bench with not even the sounds of the city
to be heard, as we sit there in bliss,
as we hear the call of birds singing in the trees.

If I were to wake up in the morning and find myself in Georgia,
I would be over the moon.
Right at this moment, and almost constantly throughout the day,
I fantasize about climbing the Blue Ridge Mountains
and being inspired by my muse as she guides me
and shows me all the beautiful sights of the “Peach State”
and being in two states of America simultaneously at times,
because I will literally be able to walk and cross a state line
with the ease and simplicity of whistling a tune.

Listening to my favourite music with my friends, at the same time,
in the same place- all of us together for the first time ever-
would be so awesome and so epic hearing the same songs,
moving to the same beat would be one of the best,
the most perfect, the most amazing experiences of my life,
and the most fantastic and idyllic.

Eating an orange on a beach in the hot Florida sun,
would bot only be incredible right now,
it would be so much fun-
hearing the waves crashing, as I take a bite of every segment
of the most juicy and delicious piece of fruit I have ever had
in my entire life, would feel like being in heaven,
and I would give anything after finishing my orange
to be able to get up, take off my flip flops,
and go for a long barefoot run.

If money was no object, if any wish that I made could come true,
I would go to my nearest airport and I would book a one-way ticket,
I would go somewhere special, I would go somewhere new.
If the destination could be anywhere,
and if the means to get there could be any form of transport.
I would go to the place that my heart beats for,
and where I dream of being, fly off into the sunrise-
whilst all the while seated in my window seat looking out,
looking forward, while still holding on tight to my boarding-pass
and my passport.

Advertisement

My Poem ‘Mr. Poet’

I love sitting down in Starbucks and looking around me,
I love seeing people and hearing people,
I love looking out the window,
I love listening to the song being played
and instantly being inspired to write a poem or two
of my finest poetry, while enjoying a muffin and a coffee.
I love my ritual, I love my habit of drinking a sip or two
of my drink, opening up my notebook, readying my silver pen,
on the empty page before me, looking around,
taking in what I see, and letting out what I am thinking
at that moment, and finding a convergence of parallel energies
and inspirations, and watching them come together before my eyes
and grow into a piece of art I am constantly molding
as if in clay until it becomes something recognizable, and beautiful-
even if what I am trying to say and express at first
is like a wave on the rise, and I absolutely love riding that wave,
I have to say.
I love watching my pen do all the work,
as if it has a mind and a will of its own,
and letting my imagination, mind, heart, and soul, and my breath
be taken away, as my spirit is carried away,
and when that happens to me nothing can stop me,
and no one can get in my way.

This is the life, and it is great to be able to do it if you can do it.
I am lucky to have a lot of time on my hands to connect
with some of my favourite people in the entire world
on a daily basis, and be inspired, and I am inspired
every hour of the day.
The life I am blessed to live and I are definitely a good-fit.
My hunger for knowledge and new thought,
and my awe at seeing dreams become a reality,
and witnessing people being able to do what they love
with who they love, and be happy, is a feeling inside me
that can’t ever be kept at-bay.

I see people connecting all around me, in words, in stares,
in thought, in actions, in ink, in text, in voice,
over the air, on paper, and wirelessly over the internet;
I see people enraptured in conversation in different ways,
and in different forms, and at different speeds-
all caught-up, and balancing, and feeling, and responding,
to all the vibrations that they hear and sense,
like a spider on a web.

Whenever the torrent of inspiration becomes too much,
and swamps me so much, I sometimes find it hard
to stay afloat and see everything that I need to see to keep going;
whenever I need a raft to help me traverse the raging river
that I love to ride and paddle down at full-speed,
or at a leisurely-pace, sometimes,
I only need to look at a photo of my beautiful muse,
and everything becomes clear and comes together,
and I see and I feel every part of the energy inside me,
and that which I take in from the rest of the world
in my blood, and I can’t stop my train of thought,
or my pulse, nor the endorphins in my brain,
from surging and flowing.

My muse is my saviour.
My muse is my heroine.
My muse is so caring,
and I have never met anyone in my life more braver.
My muse is my best friend, and the one who I love
in infinite ways and always,
and who vibrates effortlessly with unbounded love,
appeal, and inspiration, like no one else I have ever seen.
I am inspired every day by everything and everyone,
but without my life, my experiences, my instinct,
my family, my friends, my muse,
I would just be someone of much thought and deep feeling
and emotion who had so much to say
but who had no way of knowing it
or a means or the magic of words to say it.

I am many things to many people,
but first and foremost I am a friend
who is always here for you when you need me,
and I go by many names: Mark, Poet of the Sphere, 1066,
someone on the street who wanted my attention
even called me ‘Heisenberg’,
and I don’t mind being called any of those great names-
but I must admit, I do love it when someone sends me a message
and calls me ‘Mr. Poet’.