Autobiography

this doesn't quite feel finished yet...

Hi
My name is Mark and I write poetry
And woe is me
Because male writers seem to be in the minority
At my age
And whilst I enjoy writing on little scraps of pages
In my notebook

Kopek views the whole panorama of human existence as a mere Zen paradox.

I wrote this following the 'scandal' where Cambridge students were asked to compare the lyrics of Amy winehouse to the lyrics of Sir Walter Raleigh. It's Sir Walter's response to the speculation.

Your pain is incurable.
Abandoned by every lover who felt
the intemperate shadow cast by eyes
that know there is no medicine.

At night you fetch juice from the refrigerator,

Burning.

Inspired by Ewan's 'September' - the title and the wistful quality of which is all-absorbing!

Barcelona (5th August 2008, 1.15am)

My head is spinning, are my eyes sparkling on fire? -
too much Sangria and a heart dancing on a livewire
to the Mediterranean sounds of La Rambla by night;

...already caught, any thoughts of the future had to involve prison. How would anyone fill their time waiting to be locked in a cell? Maybe he needed to learn a new skill.

a poem for my niece's naming ceremony

Just an idea about institutionalisation, how it can be interpreted and reversed and a very misunderstood concept in general.

We could all live forever, if not for the cool agents of entropy in their mirrored glasses and mannered clothes.

I long for clarity
and find only rust dust
(and a vague sense of 'must').
I long for truth
and find just
ambiguity.
I long for pride
and sense the evil tastes
of vengeance
and despair.

I could never have known that my last story would be a fore-runner to what would happen so soon after. The poem is my grieving. I needed to let it all out.

And the vision did happen...

Leave earlier than you could ever anticipate.
Leave enough time for the train to change its mind,
switch direction, think: not London - Leeds,
haven’t been there in a while.

Isn't it about time that somebody gave me a break?

It's like your favourite show on TV, you want to catch every single word and not look at the clock so it might go on forever. An old magazine gets transformed by origami into neat little envelopes...

If you wouldn’t mind
sitting still,
just for a minute:
your hair would be a butterfly sanctuary,
white lichen would grow on your elbow
and moss at your knees,
the farmer would come

I am a writer, its taken me a long time to be who I am meant to be,
Not writing because of expectancy or acceptance,
Writing because of the beauty bursting out of me,