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As I dream at night,
when I wake up in the morning,
as I walk in the sun, and in the rain,
through forests of trees,
and along streets of light,
I hear a sound,
I feel a calling,
I decipher the chaos,
I feel on fire,
I see, read, and imagine poetry,
in every leaf, in every smile,
in every look, in every raindrop-
the energy of the world gets into my veins,
the inspiration of the universe
makes me feel like the king of the cosmos,
everybody I know and everything about them,
and all that I know, has my imagination and thoughts
jetting off faster and higher than an airplane,
and just as I am right now-
everything twists around me
and I feel like I am in the eye of a storm,
seeing and watching things that appear fractured
from the outside looking in
come together and fuse forever
like a blanket of frost.
I will never forget the moment I heard the sound;
I will never forget who inspired my voice;
I will never forget the shock-wave that I felt,
like a lightning-bolt hitting the ground;
I will never forget who I was and who I knew
I would always be- as a matter of destiny, not choice;
I will never forget what began, what came first,
and what it was like to instantly feel
like all this time I had been traveling through the heavens,
but I just hadn’t realized it;
I will never forget the moment I became the poet.
The journey has been bumpy;
the road hasn’t always been smooth;
the sky above and my vision has on occasion been cloudy;
however, I have not stood still, I have kept on the move;
I have written about love,
I have written about loss,
I even wrote a poem once about a lost glove;
and every day I write with a pen and paper,
or I create something with my soul
on the canvas of my mind, with all my heart,
and I am consumed, happy, free of fear,
alive with life and inspiration-
like I have emerged from the waves of a sea
and I am now walking in the soft sand of the wash.
When you realize that you have a gift;
when people tell you that you should pursue your talent
and see where it takes you;
when you know that you have something to offer someone
who needs what you have inside you
you can feel your own heart racing in your chest
and your pulse beating in your wrist;
when you see truth, hope, purpose, potential, and goodness,
emanating like an aura from certain people
that you are fortunate to meet,
the things and the people who give us so much
are who we too want to do all for and give back to.
The ‘Poet of the Sphere’ is who I will always be,
and the first book of my poetry
is only the first chapter, the first volume,
the first teaser, of the whole story that is me;
now, I am stepping into the future
with memories and experiences from my life,
hoping to share who I will always be in the light of the day
as well as in the twilight of the dark,
and you can be sure that when you read
or hear the voice of the Poet of the Sphere,
you will forever know, and you will forever recognize,
the unmistakable sound of Mark.
There is something so beautiful;
there is something so breath-taking;
there is something so amazing;
there is something so special;
there is something so mesmerizing, fascinating,
hypnotic, gorgeous, and true, and a part of you;
there is something so wonderful, brilliant, and incredible,
and nothing more personal and exceptional,
than something, or the name of someone
who means something to you,
drawn and painted on your skin in the form of a tattoo.
I am always amazed when I see someone’s tattoo
and beautiful body-art and it makes me go wow!
The human body is a thing of indescribable beauty anyway-
from birth to death-
but someones beautiful and ingrained designs
that they choose to mark their skin and paint themselves with
to me are beautiful, great, and magical,
and someone’s tattoo, to me, is also an important part of them,
and a noticeable tease of who they are,
what they like, who and what makes their heart beat fast,
and ties them and writes even more so
into the constantly-evolving human story and living myth.
I have seen tattoos and body-art of many forms-
from the beautiful painting of a heart with a keyhole inside it
on someone’s chest, to the gorgeous and phenomenal sight
of butterflies on someone’s back that I cannot get enough of;
I have seen the names of someone’s beloved and soulmate
written up someone’s arm;
I have seen and read the most staggering and wonderful
indellible inscriptions of eternal love;
I have seen song-lyrics, artists,
sacred and meaningful symbols of hope on someone’s body
that look as if they have always been a part of someone;
I have been in-awe by the sight of Angels wings,
the face of a tiger, a spider, a web,
a unique design of someone’s own imagining
that I always look in wonder,
and I always want to ask why and how
they chose the design and where the thought behind it came from.
To me, tattoos and body-art are like poetry.
To me, tattoos and body-art and are a written chapter,
an answer, and a question, that you and anyone
can see, remember, ask, think.
To me, a tattoo and body-art is a symbol
and a celebration of someone being liberated,
connected to something greater,
as well as being free.
To me, art is inspiring and the best thing in the entire world,
and the most sincere, and the most amazing expression,
and there is no better, resonant, long-lasting, and important,
than art painted on your body,
and a beautiful tattoo drawn in ink.
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’.
The lonely word.
The lonely heart.
The lonely world.
The lonely art.
The lonely voice.
The lonely face.
The lonely choice.
The lonely race.
You can sometimes think you are walking alone
even when you are in a crowd;
you can sometimes feel you are hearing nothing
even when the world sounds so loud;
you can sometimes see the world distorted;
you can sometimes hear the distant call
of someone who you may not have seen for a long time,
who is nowhere even near you at that exact time-
like the voice of a ghost,
but even though you can’t see that person
you have no doubt as to its origin,
and you will swear on your life
that you heard the person that you heard say what they said
in the way and in the voice that they said it.
The lonely soul just wants a mate.
The lonely journey is always more bareable
when you have got someone to travel it with.
The lonely note just wants to be played
until it becomes a source and a beacon of hope.
The lonely time can be when you are on a break.
The lonely place can be when and where you feel
like you have nowhere to be and nowhere to live.
The lonely mark can be the brightest and the most wonderful
and wise question and answer that can help you to cope.
Sometimes when you feel the most lonely,
you are the most surrounded by friends, energy,
affection, and love;
sometimes when you feel like you need somebody so badly,
you already and always have them with you-
because they are like the stars that are always there
twinkling in the dark heavens above.
Sometimes when you feel like you are being infected by something,
you are actually being cured;
sometimes the most inspiring and breathtaking thing in the world
can make you feel something incredible,
but can also be the loneliest of words.
The events of life are uncertain;
what will happen to us cannot be planned;
most of what makes the world work
is hidden behind an invisible curtain;
what is supposed to happen to us
is something that we have to come to and get to
on our own sometimes,
because there wont always be someone
to show us the right path and guide us by the hand.
Life is not always good.
Life is not always spectacular.
Life can sometimes feel like a lie.
Life can sometimes feel like you are standing in an ocean
with the water-level just below your head,
or like you are trying to withstand
a raging torrent in the middle of a flood.
Life can sometimes feel like you are walking around
with the pain of a fracture.
Life is what you succeed at every day,
just as long as you are willing to make an effort
in something that you believe in and feel passionately about-
and something that might not always be a work of art
that everyone will love,
but it doesn’t matter as long as you can always say that you tried.
One day can feel and can be a perfect, beautiful, sunny day,
while the next can be a rainstorm that doesn’t want to stop;
one day you can feel on top of the world,
while the next can be like you are living and existing
in an infinite reality of bubbles that are continuously forming,
floating, dancing through the air,
and then when you least expect, they go pop!
Some days can appear beautiful and bright,
some days can seem claustrophobic and dark;
some days can feel endless and hopeful,
and even at the end of the day when you think
you have seen and experienced it all,
you can suddenly look up at the sky
and see a vibrant display of colour,
even as the stars shine at night.
Some days, some days can seem like you are
constantly trying to escape from a prison,
and like a prisoner people just look at you
and see a number instead of a name-
as if at some point in your life
you were branded with a barcode
that can be read, or some other indelible mark.
You can’t always be who you want to be all the time,
because not everyone is able to understand you,
and most of the time you hide behind something
to disguise your true feelings and emotions-
so as to not start a hopeless fight, or get into a drama;
you can’t always say what you want to say,
because even though we can understand
a little of what someone says
sometimes you realize that you are in fact
talking a completely different language entirely-
because every conversation feels like a struggle,
and getting across what you want to say
just feels like it is getting harder and harder.
Every day can’t be aurora’s, shooting-stars, rainbows,
happy-filled, new adventures, that are blessed above
with blue sky and golden sunshine-
some days you may not even have a minute to yourself
to do what you want to do,
because it feels like everything is just work, work, work.
Every day is a lesson.
Every day is a mixture.
Every day is a creation of something that is of you-
some days it feels like you are a cook
cooking with an infinite number of ingredients,
that you just hope will come together at the end,
to make something worthwhile,
and so that when you look back on your life
you know that you did everything you did for a reason,
like a true Heisenberg.
I asked a friend who I should write about next,
and they said that I should write about me-
and then I started to think about what people know about me,
what my friends know about me, what those who I have loved,
and who love and have loved me, know about me,
and what I know about myself,
that I haven’t told anyone else before
that still remains a mystery.
My family know the day I was born,
where I was born, and where I grew up;
my friends know where I went to school,
who my teachers were,
and who I was in my developing years;
my close friends know what I like, what I love;
my best friend knows what I am thinking about all the time,
and knows the road I walk every day,
and knows the direction I am going,
and knows what makes me smile, and what brings me to tears;
my muse, my love, the voice I hear all the time in my head,
the one I dream of every night, knows me better than anyone
and knows my heart’s desires, and is with me every second
of every day, and who wants everything to turn out for the best
for both of us, and is my inspiration, strength,
and my future, every step of the way.
I was born on the 21st of April, 1981,
on the maternity ward of a village called ‘Marston Green’.
I grew up and still live in a village called ‘Meriden’
in the Centre of England, and surrounded by the most beautiful
and inspiring scenery, fields, and forrests, I have ever seen.
I went to high school at ‘Heart of England’ school
in ‘Balsall Common’, where I first fell in love with English
and literature, and where I had my first crush
on a girl called ‘Helen’.
When I left school, like most of my friends
and like anyone of the age of 16, braving the undiscovered
and new horizons of an unknown and scary bi wide world,
I didn’t know what I wanted to do, nor who I wanted to be-
I had no definitive direction to go in but forward,
but where that would take me I did not know,
but I knew that only one person would be the only one
to give me what I needed and who would be the key-
and that person was me.
I could never have predicted what would happen in my life.
No one could ever have told me what I would see,
what I would feel, what I would write.
I could never have wished, or ever have guessed,
that I would have been truly blessed every day
by something, or someone, that was both my day
and my night light.
So, is there more to say about me?
Is there a secret that has yet to be uncovered
and admitted to the world?
Why of course there is!
But what that is, both you and I will have to wait and see.
This is the last page of the last chapter
of this edition of my book, before I begin a brand new chapter
of a brand new book, and on the first page I will begin
the first poem of the next chapter of my life
and my journey-
I already know that it will be filled with so much
of what and who is in my life now, and always will be;
but I also know that my new book will be full, infused,
inspired, interlaced, with new muses, and new musings,
new dreams, new experiences, that could only have been possible
because of everything that has always been and is constant,
and will never change-
but I know with complete certainty that what is to come
and what I am going to write about
will be about things beyond my imagining,
and, unlike this poem, wont be all about me.
My heart feels like lead.
I don’t even want to get out of bed.
My head is pounding. My mind is swimming.
I feel numb. I have forgotten the touch and the heat of the sun.
At work I am making mistakes, I can’t do anything right.
At home I am reminded of every thing and every one that I have lost,
but the worst thing is that I feel like I have lost the will to write.
The words and the conversations that I have had with people
over the last couple of days have been rattling around in my head
and driving me insane-
to me, love is not something you can pretend to be in,
you are either in love or you are not-
love is not a game.
I am not perfect, and I don’t claim to be and never have,
but what I am is someone caring, passionate, full of energy,
full of life, and the farther the distance between me and someone
I put every second of thought into bridging and connecting
with someone as much as I can.
I have been told that I simplify things too much,
that I sometimes focus and obsess on things and people too much,
and I have to agree with that, I know that about myself,
that is what makes me such a good writer, I like to think-
I like to think, I like to feel, I like to be lost in something
and someone, I like, I love, to be in love.
Anyone on the outside looking in on me and on my relationships
would think that I seek out chaos, that I like the rocky road
more than I do the flat, maintained, tarmac of a highway-
however they would be mistaken, because, believe me,
I want nothing more than to be with someone, to be happy,
and for them to be happy with me,
living the quiet, simple life of embracing and making the most
of every second together,
and never even to think or ever want to walk away.
I have walked away from things and people in the past,
and every time I have hated myself after for it.
I don’t want to walk away from anything ever,
or anyone that I care about and love-
but sometimes I feel like I have worn out my welcome
and I have said and done all I can,
but what is below my feet now resembles a worn-out piece of carpet.
I am hurting.
I am confused.
I am like a computer that needs rebooting.
I am like a battery that has lost its charge and is now used.
It will all be ok tomorrow- I keep telling myself.
It will all work itself out- a friend of mine once told me.
It will be a brand new day, a brand new year.
It will be a fresh start- at least I hope it will be.
It will be a time to change again,
it will be a time to change everything,
and even though it will be hard,
I am willing to see how far I can go-
as long as I remember what my sister told me yesterday:
to “don’t change (my) good heart”.
I had forgotten the restorative powers
of nature, music, and walking, combined
as one entity in my heart and in my mind;
I had forgotten how much I love the intense colours,
the deep sounds, the meaningful lyrics,
until I see them, I hear them, I feel them again,
but as if it were for the first time.
Nature has always fascinated me.
Being outside and free,
you see things that no one else can see.
All worries become like islands that lie far-away,
all your fears feel like they are being exorcised
from your spirit, and you want to run, dream,
enjoy your surroundings, and play.
My home is always with me,
the village that I have lived in and grew up in
never stops inspiring and surprising me.
All is quiet. All is still.
I never get enough of trekking for miles on my own
on a beautiful morning-
sensing and knowing that I am carrying out the universe’ will.
This morning I awoke and I heard the voice of nature
calling to me and inviting me to see
something mystical, wonderful, to recall something,
and to find something truthful and beautiful
in the chorus of nature’s rhyme.
This morning I chose to believe that anything is possible,
and that life is capable of everything, as are people-
because this moment in time is an example of life at its prime.
The charm of life is that nothing is ever truly forgotten-
the consciousness of the world has a memory of its own
that is as rich and long-lasting as cotton.
Charm comes in many forms, captivation can originate from a single spark;
the avatar of the inspired can be as subtle as a whisper, a look,
or the way they make their mark.
There are charmers of the world from all walks of life,
be they a poet, a gardener, a teacher, an idol, or a housewife-
someone who when they enter view dazzles the senses and the mind,
someone who puts a smile on your face just because of who they are,
and the manner in which they are refined.
Many of those who cast a spell are not aware that they emanate such charm,
many of those who enamor with ease don’t know that they carry such grace,
or personify such calm.
Of course there are those who know that they are special,
and that their words and their demeanor mean more to others than anything-
a paragon of the times that they live in,
the sound and the resonation of the instrument of the days string.
The great charm of the charmers is that they give a positive bearing
as to the direction that people might choose to point their compass;
a road of optimism, hope, confidence, and belief, that only we ourselves
can build before us.
The Life, the Light, the Tears, of the Poet of the Sphere 