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When you are a child
the future seems like a far-away country,
as you grow up you become interested in many different things;
when you look around and everything and everybody
is telling you that you have to make a choice
about what you want to do,
and what you want to make of your life,
as your compass turns and becomes fixed on a particular direction
that even just the thought of always makes you happy,
and you cannot deny the flutter in your heart
and the surge of positivity in your mind that it brings,
you know that you have found the stepping stones,
the stride, the rhythm, and the trampoline
that you need to take you high.
It can be hard to find your way,
sometimes you have to try to truly know
if something feels right;
it can feel like a miracle
when you get an idea in your mind
about the epic possibilities that are so close you can touch them,
and those that never go away;
sometimes you need to imagine something before it can happen;
you have to mute the voice of non-believers around you
who tell you to stop dreaming-
because although there opinion may be cautionary,
the only opinion that is the most important
is that of your heart,
and that is one you should never fight.
Life-changing and amazing things happen to you
when you find your obsession, your passion,
your intuition, your reason,
fate comes to fruition
when you walk with a piece of magic inside you,
and your touch changes the life of someone else,
and gives a gift of wonder like that of a magician.
Looking, listening, thinking, believing,
seeing, making, inspiring, embracing,
accepting, changing, awaking, racing,
and before you know it
your life is noticeably and infinitely amazing,
and better and more phenomenal and special
than what you had always been imagining.
Time is the first gift
that we are all given at birth,
and it is up to us all to do with it what we will
before the lids of our eyes become too heavy for us to lift-
so, be incredible, be inspiring, be indispensable,
be as fast as lightning:
whether you are destined to be a manual-worker,
a clerk, a painter, a manager, a teacher,
or someone who has the power to change the world
and weave a tapestry of hope
that is bestowed to the most gifted of wordsmiths.
Sitting on a sandy beach looking out to sea;
sitting at a chess board behind pieces of black and white;
sitting on a deck chair in a beautiful garden
surrounded by birds, trees, flowers, and bees;
sitting, waiting, meeting, thinking, talking,
on a gorgeous morning, on an inspiring afternoon,
under the stars that shine so bright at night.
Talking into the air;
writing what comes to mind;
feeling the sun change the view right in front of you
to reveal something hopeful hidden in the glare;
realizing the importance and the meaning instantly
of a thing that you find;
seeing a photograph and flashing back to the past;
witnessing the building blocks of something
and imagining the finished product in the future;
being the first in line,
when for so long you thought you were the last;
connecting with life like you do with friends on a computer.
Life is sometimes about what you feel,
and about how you make other people feel,
rather than what you know for sure, or what people say;
life is sometimes tough;
life is sometimes good;
life is sometimes rough;
life is sometimes about taking off your shoes
and walking barefoot in the woods;
life is sometimes about making a return to your roots,
especially after travelling far and engaging
in a life-experiencing and world-spanning tour.
When you find ‘the one’ hold on tight to them-
no matter how or why things happen,
make no mistake that there is a greater force
and meaning to everything that is a part of a bigger plan.
When you remember everything that everybody goes through,
you make the most of every miracle that was always meant to be-
even though it may seem to have come out of the blue.
We could not have asked for a more beautiful morning,
we could not have awoken to a more peaceful, calm, epic,
sounding music, that can be heard on the wind,
along with the birdsong of the phenomenal dawn calling;
there could not be a day that feels like more of a dream,
there could not be another day like today,
because today is a moment of a lifetime
which will finally tie together what has happened,
what will happen, where we are going, and what will be,
and also what has always been.
I am sure that there are lots of emotions, expectations,
thoughts, hopes, fears, heart-rates,
that are running away with themselves at this very moment;
I, myself, am an optimist, a romantic, a story-teller,
as well as the main protagonist in my own epic,
and in every thing in life I always hope for the best
and for overwhelming happiness-
so today, the reality of what is going to happen
and what it means, could not be more potent.
Every day up until today has led to this day,
and every choice made has been a part of all of our lives,
and will propel us all in a new direction, in the days,
months, and years, ahead, forevermore;
every link that we make always creates a new link
to a new chain that is connected to every other link
and chain forged, but you can never know why what happens
happens when it happens until the time is right,
and the right meetings have taken place,
and the right day has come,
and fate taps you on the shoulder and makes you look at the world
for all its incredible complexity and wonder in unparalleled awe.
Today is a day that has been long dreamed about,
today is a day that has been planned for
for so long and constantly talked about;
today is the day that will be remembered in lots of ways,
today is the day, today is the big day.
On a morning walk down the city high-streets,
passed countless people, passed shops,
stores, restaurants of all names,
I am stopped in my tracks instantly when I see
a Golden Gunslinger reading a book
while sitting at the foot of a tree.
I’m not sure how long he had been there,
I’m not sure what he was thinking,
but when I looked at him looking down at his book,
to me, the gunslinger looked
as if he didn’t have a care in the world,
and it seemed as if to the gunslinger
the rest of the world could carry on their way
because he was lost in thought, in state,
and frozen in time, but like a performer at a carnival,
the gunslinger sat with a tin pot
just to the left of his right boot
asking politely of his generous passer-by
for a token of interest, fascination, respect,
and a thought to show that they care.
I sat in-awe of the gunslinger on a bench nearby,
and I even took a picture-
I felt like I was looking back in time,
or as if the gunslinger had been transported to the future,
to our present-
and as I sat looking at him, the sun shone brightly on him,
and made him glow even more golden,
and he looked even more amazing than he did before,
and even the sky above looked even more blue.
I thought long and hard about approaching the gunslinger
and putting some money in his pot,
and I wondered what he would do if I did-
would he lower his book? Draw his gun and take a shot?
The incredible living-statue of the gunslinger
that mesmerised me, painted head to toe in gold,
in himself was a work of art-
he was so brilliant to behold,
because as soon as I saw him I was instantly transported
back in time to my childhood,
and my fantasies of wanting to be a cowboy.
The Golden Gunslinger was like a living photograph
of a time of adventure and a reminder of the heroes
and out-laws that fill the stories of the Wild West
that once was in America that for so many
still holds a special place in their heart;
The Golden Gunslinger reminded me of how care-free
and amzing it is to a child, or someone who acts on and follows
their instinctual passions-
whether you are a man, or a woman, a girl, or a boy.
As time caught up with me,
even though in all the time I was sitting there looking at
the gunslinger he did not move an inch,
I realised that it was time for me to move on.
I decided to approach the gunslinger and give him a coin
from my pocket to repay him for his time,
his inspiration, his generosity, and his golden spirit,
and even as I got closer and closer
he still didn’t look up or look away from his book
and didn’t for a second flinch;
and then, as soon as my £2 coin hit the rest of the coins
in his golden pot and made a sound,
The Golden Gunslinger suddenly came alive
and he looked up at me-
he lifted his left hand to touch the rim of his Stetson,
he looked right into my eyes, and I saw him smile
without him having to move his lips at all,
and he bowed his head slightly,
and it was in that moment that I smiled too
in appreciation, and I too began to shine as the sun shone.
As I stepped back the gunslinger reverted back
to the pose in which I first saw him,
and he immediately went back to his prefered-posture
of reading his book, at-ease against the base of his tree;
while I turned to my right and continued to walk down the high-street-
I didn’t look back, but I knew and I was so glad to have met him,
to have given him my time, and for him to have given his time to me
and to everyone who saw him, because he reminded me
in lots of ways of myself, and he was obviously someone
of great patience and a deep-thinker.
I promised myself to capture this moment that would never come again
in as much detail and with as much meaning as I could,
and I also promised that I would never forget
The Golden Gunslinger.
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’.
Out the door I see Eden,
out the door I see hope,
out the door I see new possibilities,
out the door I see a beautiful day
bathed in the light of the sun,
out the door I see a direction to go,
out the door I see a mystery, a world,
a people, a life, that never stops fascinating me.
Out the door I see a new adventure,
out the door I see the future and the past,
out the door I see breathtaking nature,
out the door I see a play being played out
before my eyes with an infinite cast.
Out the door I see light,
out the door I see lions,
out the door I see flags
and clouds being blown in the wind,
out the door I see colour of all depths of the spectrum,
out the door I see all that is bright, magnetic,
connected, built, maintained, keeps going,
stays standing, through everything;
out the door I see reality, as if I am seeing it through
a mirror of one-way glass, or as if through the eye
and the vortex and event horizon of a wormhole,
and I imagine that every atom, molecule, energy,
person, building, animal, plant, and thing,
is constantly talking to each other
without them even knowing it,
on another level and frequency of communication.
Out the door I see people I have never seen before
and will probably never see again;
out the door I see history, fate, destiny;
out the door I see heritage, culture,
the beginning of spring-
the change of a season;
out the door I see choice and preference,
joy, and shadow;
out the door I see things that will exist and have existed
for each and every millennium;
out the door I see a world that can be testing at times,
but over all just wants to be friendly;
out the door I see where I must go.
Out the door I see and I think of what is out there for me,
and what would someone think of me if they saw me
while they were looking up and looking out,
and I wonder if anyone else somewhere
is looking through a similar opening
and considering the world they see
for how it feel and appears to them-
what is what it is, and what is in store.
I wonder where I am going
and I imagine someone behind me saying and asking
that same question of themselves and of me,
as they watch me get up and walk out the door.
There is no sound,
there is nothing to be heard;
there is a couple sitting at the next table from me
in the cafe I am in
talking completely and fully without words,
and the beauty of their silent conversation,
even though I do not mean to pry in any way,
has me not only lost for words
but also lost in thought,
and I can feel my heart start to pound.
I can’t hear a word that they are saying to each other,
but I know that that is because their voice
is not meant to be heard by me-
they could be saying anything to each other-
but what I do know, just from observing the looks
that they are giving each other,
is that this couple is in love;
I recognize and I have seen this unmistakable,
silent, and mutual, connection of spirit
in myself and in others a thousand times,
and it never fails to read, at least to me,
like the most beautiful, natural, and special, poetry.
The eye-contact, lip-movements, and hand-gestures and signs,
they are making is entrancing,
the way they are so compelled and in-awe of each other
and do not need or want the attenton of anyone else
in the entire world is mesmerising-
I am not afraid of confessing.
I wanted to be a part of their conversation,
but I also, secretly, did find it cool that I and everyone
was an outsider because we couldn’t understand their code
and are not meant to.
I must admit I did smile at the thought of them
having so much privacy, and the gift of one to one communication
without the potential of being evesdropped on.
They looked like they only had time
and only had eyes for each other,
and that truly touched my heart and made me happy-
the joy they were feeling about talking to each other,
sitting facing each other, of one mind and intent,
was noticeable, palpable, and wonderful to see.
Communication on every level of society and by every means
all around the world in a million different ways
has always fascinated me,
and the gift of being able to reach out to someone,
especially someone that you love, in some way, in any way,
no matter who you are or how it is done
never ceases to fascinate me.
The couple that I was watching had their own language,
their own code of communication that even I could see,
surpassed the language they had been taught
to share what they want to say;
and it occurred to me after I left the cafe
that they have a code, everyone has a code,
and even I have mine-
my language, my code, is that of patterns and poetry;
and I also realised that if I or anyone wants to be a part
of any conversation, I and they have to learn and read
what is being said all around us every second,
sometimes silently without a sound,
because the answer to what is being said is
all in the signs.
A picture to remember us by,
a photo to look back on
and relive the happy memory
of a shared experience and a shared time;
a shell from the beach where two people used to walk
hand in hand and barefoot in the soft wet sand;
a ticket stub from a trip to the cinema you took with someone
to see a great film late at night;
an old receipt from your favourite restaurant,
a birthday card, a letter, a message-
a tangible memento that you can still feel
and still remember when and where and why and with whom
this meaningful and special thing to you
became a memento to you, and became so important to you
because of its connection with that someone that effected you
and always will, or because it just reminds you of the days
when you and your life were in their prime,
and everything felt perfect and right.
When times get bad,
when the waves of the sea of reality get rough,
when instead of looking forward you want to look back,
when you want to appreciate something in all it’s greatness,
when you want to remember the instant when you first fell in love,
when you want to go for a walk in the park of a relationship
when things were at their best,
when you are stuck inside on a rainy,
it’s good to take out and look at things-
things that may be spread all over your house
in places where you can constantly look to and know they are there,
things you always carry around with you in your pocket,
or things that you have collected together in a scrapbook for yourself
to look at and remember-
and that is why it is so important to keep what you can,
and don’t throw everything away.
I think photo-albums are amazing;
I think keeping a diary or writing in a journal is a fantastic thing to do,
and I think it is a brilliant way to record days, events,
and recollections of moments in your life;
I think a scrapbook is the best thing to start with a child
when they are just beginning to understand why certain things
and certain times mean more to us than others,
and why certain people constantly pop-up in the memories we have
and we return to, because it teaches them early-on,
and will remind them every time and always,
why we replay and know all the lyrics to the songs we remember and sing,
and that everyone can live on, as can we, after we die.
It’s sometimes only when we are alone
and looking for some reassurance about something
that we choose to look, re-read, remember, recall,
where something in our possession originated from
and who gave it to us-
it could be a faded photo;
it could be a worn-out piece of paper
with someone’s unique handwriting on it;
a t-shirt that you refuse to wash
because it still has someone’s smell on it;
it could be a precious, special, memory,
from which there are no souvenirs, or photos,
or anything that you can ever hold in your hand,
because it was so brief, instantaneous,
and because you simply did just have to be there to understand
the true meaning of the moment-
they are the very best, and they are the incredible,
and irreplaceable, mementos.
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.
I smell burning.
I feel the world turning.
I see the sun setting.
I witness the light fading.
I walk the roads that are flooding.
I feel the cold wind blowing.
I see the trees swaying.
I need to make my homecoming.
I feel my heart aching and breaking.
I feel the air and I see my breath in front of me
because it is so freezing.
I wonder if it again will start sleeting,
or even start snowing.
I have this sense of something impending.
I believe hope for me is being carried on the wind,
but like with everything in life there is no telling what
and no way of knowing or saying.
The Life, the Light, the Tears, of the Poet of the Sphere 