My Poem ‘Perfectly Imperfect’

Some people find perfection in stillness;
some people find perfection in silence;
some people find perfection in chaos;
some people find perfection in the instance
that they find balance.

Some people find perfection on a beach;
some people find perfection in a smile;
some people find perfection in what lies out of reach;
some people find perfection in a mosaic picture of broken tiles.

Some people find perfection in a photograph;
some people find perfection in a sunset;
some people find perfection in the sound of someone’s laugh;
some people find perfection in the sound of a clarinet.

Some people find perfection in a meal;
some people find perfection in a ceremony;
some people find perfection in being able to heal;
some people find perfection in the flowers, fruit, and leaves of a tree.

Some people find perfection in a waterfall;
some people find perfection in a coral reef;
some people find perfection in art painted on a wall;
some people find perfection in a recurring motif.

Some people find perfection in sharing;
some people find perfection in keeping something a secret;
some people find perfection in being daring;
some people find perfection in keeping the things
that no one would ever have thought to have kept.

Some people find perfection in words;
some people find perfection in music;
some people find perfection in telling someone something
they have never heard;
some people find perfection in the people, the places,
and the things that will forever be perfectly imperfect.

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My Poem ‘Keep Writing’

When it’s 4 o’clock in the morning,
and everyone around you is still sound asleep;
when you are up and awake and already imagining,
still dreaming, thinking, creating, writing,
and you feel comfortable to open the door
to the place inside you that leads to your soul,
the place where everything you can imagine
is just waiting to be let out and allowed to run and leap;
when an idea comes to you,
when you can already hear the melody and voice
of a beautiful and exciting new piece of music;
when you feel something that seemed so small once
begin and never stop growing inside you,
the feeling, the experience, the time, you,
are heart-racing, away;
the silence, the noise, the close, the far,
feel like they are all inside you, and connected to you,
and I can tell you that when I have those moments
and I am touched by true inspiration, like I am every day,
it is absolutely breath-taking and epic.

There are times in your life
when you can’t say what you want to say,
because words simply fail you;
there are times when I say everything I want to say with one word-
I realized once that the more powerful thought and idea of anything
can be found when you seek out the far-between and the few.

Never give up on love;
never turn your back on something that means everything;
never doubt your heart,
and never even think to stop the flow of what makes you who you are;
never stop looking, never stop talking,
never stop cooking, never stop doing,
never stop believing, never stop watching;
keep being inspired, keep being inspiring,
keep being too awake to be tired, keep calm,
and do what everyone keeps telling me to do…
keep writing.

My Poem ‘Come through the phone’

Not every couple has the luxury
of being in the same place, at the same time,
in the same room, or even in the same timezone sometimes;
not every two people who are meant to be together
can get together when they want;
not every couple can be in each others arms
and look into each other’s beautiful eyes-
but that doesn’t matter,
because they are still and will always be together
in one way or another forever,
and can talk and laugh and cry together,
and do lots of things, and share lots of things,
and even though they may not be face to face
that doesn’t mean that they can’t share things between themselves.

A message can be a god-send;
a note or a letter can be the most beautiful thing you have ever read;
a picture with the words ‘I love you’ attached to it
can fill you with joy, energy, and love,
of which there is no end;
a phone-call, the sound of the voice of the one you love
echoing in your ear, no matter what they say,
can be to you the most amazing and beautiful thing anyone ever said.

Connections are precious;
a ringtone can sound like a heart beating;
thought means so much;
a particular voice can be healing.
A well-timed call can be life-saving;
a fateful call can be life-changing;
a single sentence of connected words
spoken in a particular way
can open up infinite possibilities;
someone’s laugh can sound like the melody to a song-
no matter if that voice has said a billion words in their lifetime,
or the voice of that of someone with a limited vocabulary in their twenties.

The great thing about the miraculous technology of the 21st Century
is that it has brought people who live vast distances apart
within touching distance of each other,
and it has connected lives and spirits,
and forged new and lasting relationships.
and love for life,
for so many people who may never have met otherwise;
technology is a stepping-stone to the future,
and it is one of the most valuable tools and gifts
of creating, making, and sustaining, unbreakable ties.

A phone-call from someone can be an invitation;
a phone-call in the morning or late at night
can bring you back home;
a phone-call that you were not expecting can be a revelation;
a phone-call can be enough for a while,
but then there comes a time
when all you want to do is find a way
to come through the phone.

My Poem ‘My Face’

I have never been able to hide my feelings,
I have never been successful in disguising my emotions,
I have never been able to figure out
how not to have everything I am thinking
written all over my face,
I have never been good at realising who and what
it is people observe about me in what they are seeing,
I have never been able to wear a mask of my own face,
because my expressions are apparently so blatant
they change more frequently and are more noticeable
than waves of an ocean,
I have never been eye to eye with someone
and worn an expression that was the opposite
of what I was feeling on the inside-
like the winner of a card game,
who is able to bluff better than anyone else
because they have the greater poker face.

I am a very open person in some ways,
but not in every way;
however, my face paints a picture of my thoughts
and contorts like no one else;
I do not reveal every detail of my heart,
but when it comes to sharing as much of me as possible
via involuntarily manifested external emotions,
I am as transparent as a cell.
Being so noticeable and open has got me into a lot of trouble
and has allowed people to read me whenever they want to like a book-
people have told me that they know exactly what I am thinking
from seeing my reaction to something they said with a single look.
When I am sad, everyone knows.
When I am happy, I let it show.
When I am thinking about something,
it is as if others can see the hemispheres of my brain sparking.
When I am angry, people can see in me
that I am ready to strike and burst with energy
of the power and the electricity of a bolt of lightning.

Everything about me is plain to see.
Everything that I think about is as deep and as vast as outer space.
Everything about what is on my mind,
I am sure people can read and have read
without me having to say a word or write a single line of poetry.
Everything that you want to know is there every second
and written all over my face.

My Poem ‘Night’

Night is when I come alive.
Night is when I am free.
Night is when I feel my drive.
Night is when I am me.
Night is when the universe can truly be seen.
Night is when the sonnet of the stars can be read.
Night is when I go to the places I have never been.
Night is when I live the dream others imagine
as they lie asleep in their bed.
Night is when the heavens look there most beautiful.
Night is when the call of the wild can be heard.
Night is when people change into something
that connects them with that
which goes beyond the physical.
Night is when no one needs to utter a word.
Night is when you see, hear, and feel things
that take your breath away.
Night is when sound reigns supreme.
Night is when you look back and remember
all of the things that happened to you that day.
Night is when you reflect on the way things are,
the way things were, and the way things could have been.
Night is when the best stories are born.
Night is when we all cloak ourselves in the wonder of the dark.
Night is when the world catches it’s breath
before the awe of the new days dawn.
Night is when fire returns to being
the seed of its first spark.
Night is when we find peace.
Night is when we gain a new sight.
Night is when every dog is let off the leash.
Night is when we become the embodiment of the night.

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’.

My Poem ‘The Lonely Word’

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.

My Poem ‘Communication’

Every second we are transmitting;
every minute we are all broadcasting;
every hour we are all receiving;
every day we all sharing and revealing.

Every morning I feel something I have never felt before
and I reach out;
every morning I write something I might have said
a thousand times before,
but every time I say it again I mean it even more than before,
and to me it is like an ice cube that will never melt.

I have a tendency to repeat myself,
to watch something, and read something, over and over,
and to listen to a song continuously on its own
or part of a playlist;
I love seeing, hearing, and remembering,
things, music, people, places, memories, song-lyrics-
especially when all those wonderful things
combine into one perfect moment-
like the time you are listening to one of your favourite songs
while looking into the eyes of the one you love,
and sharing your first kiss.

I am addicted to communication, and sharing a connection.
If I think, read, see, or hear something
I feel other people would respond to, love,
like, and share too, I get so much pleasure in writing,
tagging, re-blogging, texting, and tweeting, messaging,
a link, a quote, a photo, a picture,
or writing a poem about it,
and seeing the ripple-effect of reactions.

I could talk for hours about hundreds of different things
and have a myriad of opinions about everything-
from religion to literature, from music to television;
I could talk for days about who I have met in my life,
what happened, and what I have seen, where I have been,
and what I heard, and why I was inspired,
because I chose to stop and listen.

Everyone and every thing has a story.
Every life, every love, every heart-break,
every inspirational, magic moment is a song, a musical,
a novel, a poem, a piece of art,
waiting in the wings to be released.
Every person, every leaf, every animal, every coffee bean,
every planet, every cloud, every fish, every grain of sand,
is on a journey, and that shared journey is a journey
of growth, motivation, reflection, impression, disconnection,
reconnection, intuition, in infinite ways,
and with infinite gifts of communication.

My Poem ‘Wake up, Mark’

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”.

My Acrostic Poem ‘A to Z’

A
Boy
Called
David
Eats
Fruit
Gingerly
Happy
In
Jubilation
Knowing
Life’s
Meaning
Never
Obligates
People
Questioning
Reason
See
The
Universal
Variables
With
Xenial
Youthful
Zeal