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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’.

image

Above the Atlantic Ocean beneath me,
above the world that appeared in every direction
consisted of white fluffy clouds
and a beautiful light-blue sea-
above me, below me,
as I looked out the window from my airplane seat,
I looked, my mind drifted to the horizon,
and I felt something come over me:
I felt unburdened, I felt anticipation, I felt free.

Everyone around me just sat in their seat,
reading, listening to music,
watching a film on the screen in front of them,
escaping in their own way,
and passing the time to their destination,
to our shared destination-
I just looked away from the beautiful sight outside the window
for a few minutes and simply looked up
and around me at my fellow passengers,
and I have to admit I was amused by everyone I saw
with fascination.

I was drawn to a smile by all the faces that looked back at me;
I was drawn to wonder who it was that I was sitting behind,
in front of, to the side of, and around;
I was drawn to listen to what was being said
and in what language that orignated in what country;
I was drawn to feel a shared experience, a mutual thought,
a genesis of unclouded memory,
thirty-five thousand feet off the ground.

The vast cotton-like expanse of the white clouds below
reminds me and somehow makes me think of a far-away land
completely covered in snow.

Before we all know it our time together on the plane
flashed before our eyes like a sudden burst of bright
beautiful light from the small windows,
and our 6 hour, 3000 mile journey came to an end
the moment we descended from the clouds
and landed at Newark Liberty International in New Jersey.
When it came time to disembark,
I must admit I sat there for a while longer in my seat,
watching everyone else get their belongings together,
before I too got up myself
and took everything that I had brought with me
and everything that I will take with me-
all that I saw, heard, and felt on my flight across the ocean,
from my seat, Seat 32C.

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