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Majestic, beautiful, graceful-
the angels of the sea;
intelligent, empathetic,
perhaps even a little telepathic-
dolphins are the holders to many secrets
of what connects the things that fly in the sky,
those who walk on land,
and those who live, swim, thrive,
and dive with ease in the waters of the deep.

Dolphins say more with a click and a sound
than I could say in a life-time;
dolphins could probably tell me more about myself
than I could ever know;
dolphins feel more and are more aware than anything
or anyone of the energy that surrounds us all,
and the importance of learning and enjoying
all of the experiences that not only expand our hearts,
as well as our mind;
dolphins have the freedom to be happy and content,
and they are fee to go anywhere that they want to go.

A dolphin’s life is a fascinating one;
a dolphin’s world is filled with more beauty
than we could ever see, perceive, or imagine;
a dolphin’s song can raise your heart-rate,
and has more levels and layers to it than you could hear
even if you were to really listen;
a dolphin’s nature is to care deeply,
to think about the feelings and emotions of others beyond their pod,
and the gift to be able to see into the heart and soul of anyone,
and bring that out for others to see
with greater power than a reflection.

Dolphins are the guardians of the oceans;
dolphins are the protectors and the teachers of ancestry and lineage;
dolphins are capable of infinite states of emotion;
dolphins are eternal, and are not just of an age.

If you have ever been lucky and blessed to see a dolphin,
to swim with a dolphin, to kiss a dolphin,
to talk to a dolphin, to be touched by a dolphin’s limitless spirit,
you never forget that experience,
and such an encounter with a divine oracle changes you forever,
and their way of being really gets under your skin,
and that is why there is nothing more magical,
mysterious, amazing, miraculous, meaningful, special,
than coming face to face, heart to heart, eye to eye,
with a dolphin.

The sound of a spanish guitar being played
wonderfully and exquisitely by its player
echoes around the circular chamber
at the centre of the Birmingham Museum and Art Gallery,
and everybody standing, sitting, looking, is enraptured,
surrounded by magnificent and beautiful paintings and artwork,
and all before a statue by Jacob Epstein sculpted
to represent the archangel Lucifer “the bringer of Light”
from John Miltons epic poem ‘Paradise Lost’,
and the resonance and the music that fills the crowded space
noticeably lifts everyone off their seat and off their feet,
and I can tell that I am not the only one who feels like
they are in another world, and we all are feeling this sensation
of being cleansed in some way-
just like that feeling we all have
after we have splashed our faces with water
just after we wake up in the morning
and the first thing we all do when we wash.
I feel like a deep-sea diver, at the bottom of an ocean,
in a magical underwater realm,
and I feel like I can actually see the beautiful
and wonderful sound waves being created
and travelling through the air and touching everyone squarely in the chest;
as as if in slow-motion, I see the moment in everyone’s eyes
when the power of the music hits them and they feel it
at the same time that they hear it,
and I watch them be drawn in and be enraptured
and be lifted in so many ways.

There were points during the performance
in which I clearly remember what I was thinking
and who I was thinking about-
during the faster guitar playing, for example,
‘The Spanish Dance’, I could actually feel my heart racing and beating fast,
while during the slower songs I remember having flashbacks
and recollections of fallen and lost friends
who I will never see again.
Unfortuntely, I cannot remember all of the names
of the beautiful guitar pieces-
they all had an interesting italian- or spanish-sounding name-
but they were all amazing, and I honestly felt so
privileged to be there to hear them being played
to me and a captive audience,
and I can honestly say that being lucky enough to be there
was a true right-place, right-time, moment,
and it was a magical experience in which all that there
felt like there was in the time that the music was being played,
and we who were hearing it were all that existed,
as well ad our own individual memories and shared emotions,
and everything that we all brought with us to that echo chamber
of a room, which was filled all the way up to the glass dome above
with divine sound and necessary silence.

When the players were not playing
you could hear everything- a foot-step, a pin-drop, a heart-beat,
the vibration of a still vibrating guitar string.
Sound is special. Music is unparalleled.
The voices of people and man-made instruments
of all types, shapes, and sounds, fascinate me.
Sound is something we feel deeply.
Music is like a constantly ringing bell.
The voice of an instrument would not be the same
without the unique voice, gift, and life of it’s player,
and there is nothing else like living, hearing,
and feeling, the most beautiful string poetry.

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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’.

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Her sparkling eyes dazzle more brilliantly
and twinkle more brightly than the shining stars
I see at night;
her warm and glowing smile radiates more amazingly
and stunningly than the sun that blesses my day;
when she wakes up every morning;
as she opens her eyes and spreads her wings,
she takes off from her slumber
and she just briefly takes flight;
when she yawns and opens her mouth to greet the new light
a slight growl can be heard in her voice to warn any bad spirits
that might want to come her way.

When the golden sunlight first touches her face,
the beat of her butterfly heart intensifies
and thunders silently in her chest;
when the heat of the day is felt by her
on the crown of her mane of hair,
her tiger eyes close and then widen in extreme delight and pleasure;
when she feels the sensation of the cool air of the wind
captivate her and carry her,
her butterfly beauty changes the colour of her skin like a chameleon,
and the whole world can see her mimetic spirit
pulse and vibrate and reflect her inner infinite beauty
outwards in every imaginable colour of the rainbow-
like witnessing a deep and meaningful secret of nature confessed;
when she walks with confidence and with purpose,
the impact and the sound of her inner tigress stride
hypnotizes everyone who sees her,
and sometimes when people see her walk by them
they have to look twice to see whether she actually
walks on two legs or four.

The sky is like the dreams that she plays in daily,
and those that she inspires in the minds of others-
and when people do dream of her, at night or in the day,
they know she is still with them,
because the hopeful symbol of renewal is ever-present,
and because they know that the appearance of the butterfly
that they see is no coincidence or accident-
because the human butterfly that she is is also the one
and the queen of all the beautiful butterflies of nature
that influence and make possible the momentum and the magic of the whole;
as she walks passed other people, and she sees their inner animal guides
and nature walking along side them,
while still being a part of them,
and the instinctual representation of them, to those with the sight,
and as she bows her head to stone statues that welcome her to pass by them
and cross their path, like a Bridge of Lions in sunny St. Augustine in Florida,
she feels her wild beating heart and the blood in her veins surge with energy
and intensity, and make her feel incredible emotion
and an overwhelming connection to all things that walk on the ground,
or those that fly in the air, that she has felt all her life,
and the joy that she feels every time makes her imagination
come alive and race out of control.

She is a butterfly.
She is a tiger.
The world see her in so many ways,
but there are not enough words to ever describe her by.
No one can ever not be touched and effected by her.
She is a tiger butterfly.
She is a butterfly tiger.
When you see her you too will feel wild,
when you feel her your heart and your spirit
will lift you off the ground too,
so that you know what it is like to see true beauty
in all its forms, and fly higher and higher,
with the strength and the courage of a tiger,
and with the wings of a butterfly.

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There are times when you feel you have to get away;
there are times when you need to have a change of scenery;
there are times when the weight of reality
can feel too heavy;
there are times when there is only one thing
you can do, and one place you can go,
to bring you back down to Earth,
and which has always been and always will be
your sanctuary for reasons you could never
share or ever say.

For some people their escape can be a dream
that they imagine and remember;
for some people their escape can be somewhere
filled with people, music, intensity,
and outward displays of freedom and emotion;
for some people their escape can be a place
they have been coming back to ever since they were a kid,
and would go back to every day of the year-
from the 1st of January to the 31st of December;
for some people their escape can be somewhere quiet
that they go to by themselves when they are alone,
or somewhere they go to with someone else
who feels the same about the place as you do
and is the only other person in the world
who can understand why your heart beats so fast,
because they too have been spiked with the same love potion.

The escape can be you home.
The escape can be a holiday you have been waiting to go on.
The escape can be a song or an album that makes you feel
more hopeful and more amazing the more you replay it
and the more you listen.
The escape can be a person who knows you
and who loves everything about you,
just as much as you love everything about them.

Your escape can have a plan.
Your escape can be a point on a map.
Your escape can and should be something that makes you happy,
and not somewhere you want to escape to forever-
your escape shouldn’t ever feel like a trap.
Your escape can be a life-long journey,
or a mission to fulfill something primal, or instinctive,
and could see you jumping from an airplane,
jumping off a ravine, travelling over many bridges,
and through many tunnels, just so that when you reach the ground,
or you finally feel the light you have been chasing,
you achieved something you wanted,
and you did something you needed to do,
and your reason and your mantra the whole time was
‘I am doing this because I can.’

Choosing to escape is not a mistake.
Choosing to escape is a choice everyone has to make.
Choosing to escape can be slow at first
and then accelerate into the speed of a chase.
Choosing to escape can be the first thing
you think about when you look in the mirror
and you see you own face-
everyone has a place to go to for what they need
and for what always makes them feel better,
and for me right now this is my escape.

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Watching the bubbles rising.
Watching the bubbles uniting.
Watching the bubbles becoming.
Watching the bubbles forming
and reaching the surface, and then existing
for a fraction of a second before bursting.

The air that rises from a tall glass of beer.
The swirl that turns in a cup of cappuccino.
The drops of rain that fall in a puddle,
like the build up of emotion that generates a tear.
The spray from a wave that hits your face
when you are standing at the edge of an ocean,
on a beach, and the still excited energy
from the constant pull of the moon
keeps you swimming in the moment
that seemed to have been short-lived,
but still continues to flow.

Watching a cloud appear and grow as if from nothing.
Watching a river transition from a trickle,
to a stream, and then to a raging torrent.
Watching a sandstorm in a desert sweep and collect
infinite grains of dust that are all that remains
of a land that was once lush, living, and thriving.
Watching an entire forrest grow from a single acorn
is like seeing a new world grow, and it is so great.

Many faces, races, colours, and beliefs,
make up the natural, needed, diversity of a country and a nation.
A bucket of a billion granules of sand can build a castle
that you can easily rebuild after it inevitably crumbles.
Many nuts and bolts make up and run a machine,
and work so well in-unison, that defy explanation,
and can be a source of fascination.
A head full of troubles can feel lightened and enlightened
by a glass or a cup full of bubbles.

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When I first began on the path
I was like the statue that I was standing next to;
when I first looked at what I could see before me,
I couldn’t see anything or anyone-
but at the same time I felt this draw,
I felt the edge of this wave coming towards me,
as if the path were a river,
or like the wind outside an open door;
I felt something in the cold air that took my breath away from me-
like the chill that you feel from a draft.
I knew that I either had to close the door or walk through it,
or perhaps turn back and walk away;
and then, right then, I heard you, I saw you,
I knew I had to be where you were,
but I knew you were not at the end of the path- you couldn’t be-
because that would be impossible;
but I have never believed anything is truly impossible,
and I have never, and will never, give up hope on anything or anybody ever;
and that was when all my answers came to me.

The sun was above me and behind me,
and its light guided my way and made the path shimmer and glow.
The trees that lined the path on either side
moved and jostled in unison for a second,
and as they did, for an instant, I could have sworn
that I was somewhere else, in another place, at another time-
like I was reliving a memory,
but which I didn’t recognise as being mine,
it felt like someone else’s thought,
it felt like yours-
and that was when I knew I had to walk the path.
I could see the end that awaited me,
and I knew where I had to go.

It had been raining earlier,
and there was still a slight and fine mist in the air.
As the rays of golden light from the sun
bounced off the wet ground rainbows appeared
and veiled the path in every colour of the spectrum;
and that was when I felt caught and pulled,
as if by a current, or as if the very ground beneath me
was moving by itself and taking me along with it.
Walking the path as it appeared now made me think,
feel, and experience the sensation of walking
through a hall of mirrors at a fun fare.

I heard nothing but the sound of a slight breeze through the trees,
but there was also this faint echo
that seemed to be getting loauder and stronger
the farther I walked and the closer I got to there end of the path-
the echo was a voice, your voice;
the drumming I felt was my own heart beating.
As I passed the empty black painted benches with the brown wooden seats,
I thought for a second I could see someone sitting there
looking at me, or reading, or listening to their own music-
like impressions, echoes, or shadows in the sunlight,
left and preserved forever-
like a moment of emotion and contenment captured in time,
that may fade but wont ever be forgotten
and will draw back those who made those impressions
to this spot, time and again.

As I neared the end of the path,
I felt lost and consumed by the flow of energy all around me-
and like when you swim out to sea,
I felt compelled to turn back and look at the path behind me,
and in that moment that was when I literally felt your vibration,
because that was when I saw, realized, and then read
a message from you that you had just sent me-
and in that message was a picture of your smiling face
that you wanted to share with me,
and also a text from you telling me that you love me.

I instantly replied to you with a photo of me smiling
on the path in the park and a message from me
that ‘I love you too’, and as soon as I sent you that message
there was a blinding flash of light,
and as I turned around to look at the rest of the path in front of me
I saw that the path didn’t end as near or as soon as I originally thought,
and I suddenly had this epiphany that these next few steps
in the beautiful sunlight were not my, or our, last;
and I saw that there wasn’t an end or a definitive finish line
to where I was, where I am going, so that is why I kept going,
looking, feeling, and smiling, as I continued to walk the path.

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The first time I saw my father cry
was heart-breaking and world shattering to me-
I think I was about eight years old,
the night that our dog Jess died,
the night that everyone in our house came together
and cried with my Dad as we said goodbye to a part of our family.
Thinking back to that night is like trying to remember a dream,
but what is still real in my mind, and what has stayed with me,
is seeing my Dad overcome with so much sadness,
because it was something that I had never seen.
I cried on that night because Jess was my dog,
but the reason I cried and could not stop crying
was because to me my Dad was a God,
and seeing the most powerful
and one of the most influential people in my life powerless,
as he appeared,
it taught me from an early age that everything comes to an end
and that even the god that was my father had limits to his magic
that he was forced to adhere.

Whenever I see my father cry
I feel every tear of sadness, and joy, as if they were my own;
whenever I see my fathers tears well-up in front of his mesmerizing blue eyes,
I always take him by the hand and tell that he is not alone.
My Dad feels the world more so than anyone I have ever known,
my Dad is a lover and a genius of all things-
as would be more than apparent if you were to talk to him
and if you were lucky enough to visit him at his home.
There is nothing that hurt my heart more,
and there is nothing else that to this day brings more tears to my eyes,
than to see the powerhouse who is my Dad overcome with emotion,
and the sight of seeing my father cry.

Rain drops on a window pane, a teardrop on a face-
the landmarks of our memory that we can never erase.
Waves of emotion; tears of the Earth-
like waves crashing on a beach; like the feeling of rebirth.
When we cry is there more to be found than at first appears?
When we cry is there a melody to be heard to rival the music of the spheres?
Do tears still remain long after being first shed?
Does the music of our tears still continue to play in our head?
Just as our tears, like raindrops, fall silently until they make contact,
our tears, like the stars of the night sky, are only interpreted in the abstract.
The tears of a memory- both of joy, and of pain-
are more akin to the galaxies of the universe than I could possibly explain:
when a star reaches the end of its life it explodes into a new state of being-
just as when an emotion reaches its peak it can be seen and felt fleeing.
When an emotion becomes too deafening for us to not let it be heard, and cry out,
our tears is the melody that we play, and the music that we could never live without.

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