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Best Poems Written by Mark Norton

Below are the all-time best Mark Norton poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Mark Norton Poem

What Colour

What Colour?

What colour are the oceans?
On warm summer days the oceans are crystalline blue, with bright streaks
Of ivory flouting on the crest of each wave just before it crashes down
Into total oblivion!

And what colour are the mountains that enkindle a dying sun?
The mountains are bright red, like a burning ember in the flame
Of fire off our multimillion mile star, as it slowly dips to rest
Till the morning!

Oh what colour is a new born child?
A child holds the beauty of youth in colours that span the years of its parents 
Age, until the greying colour of passing seasons takes away the child in us all.

And what colour is the moon above us?
In late fall the moon flickers in shades like lucent charcoal as it slowly cools,
Then turns to black!

What colour are our hopes, what colour are our dreams?
Nevermore are our hopes mixed in the colour of our dreams, for in wake our 
Soul equates the mind for a second then is gone.

And what colour stands for the worth of our lives?
The motionless quiet waits silent, bound between colors more radiant than our past
But still more mysterious than our future

                  By M. Norton
















The motionless quiet waits silent, bound between colours more radiant then our past
But still more mysterious then our future


                      By M. Norton

Details | Mark Norton Poem

Though Minutes Fly

Solitude be damned to a final emotion 
 When we are puzzled by the mystery of life,
Inspired by misgivings in a distant memory 
 Touched by thought and opinion   

Contemplate the meaning of passion and want     
 When the sun escapes to darkness,
And presumed is the want for wisdom possessed 
 Here in a shadows conviction; 
Until the loudest sound came from quiet voices

Let the mind accept what our eyes imagine, 
 Until the solitude of inspiration is lost,
For meanings we gathered are soon forgotten
  Here in the specter of thought
 
But oh to death is our journey bound    
 Down a road to kingdom come, 
Where all is held to the quiet of its end 
 And judged by the silence within;
Until the loudest sound came from quiet voices

Details | Mark Norton Poem

Seasons Past

Bound is the significance of autumn’s course
Perished in Decembers cold,
And a symbol of its thoughts and deeds
Shall go to they imagined,
But I lay on a bed of polished silk 
Staring at an evening star 
And hoping for winters passage 

Trees ever sway in this calm breeze 
Gracing the air of the cool night,
And moonbeams dance to songs that are played 
While signs of twilight change,
Cast out a mark from banished light 
That shall melt the winter snow 
Under the softer rains of spring

Emotions dwell in the fallacy of life,
Like the whisper of a child’s tear,
When a meaning limited to its own intent
Remains in our desire;   
Come to see a seed take route 
In the quiet of the morning dew
As summer slips away

Details | Mark Norton Poem

Rhythm of Life

Death instills the final emotion, defining the rhythm of life,
While understanding its passage is left to a wiser man;
The simplicity of a moment lays deep within, and is limited to the meaning 
withheld’
But we may all be gone in a moment, condemned to the changing time …
Yet when I die just dig a hole and throw in my mangy bones 
 
Death mocks us in the starlight, and beckons on the suns rebirth,
Silent thoughts are thus imposed, when loud a church bell sounds,
In melodic rhyme the rhythm of time, came out over a graven mist, 
And how bitter the solitude foretold, when morn led on to day …
But when I die just dig a hole and throw in my mangy bones 

Death remains an enigma once held to a passing thought,
When lines of an ancient mariner are lost forever more;
Structured words are what our mind recalled, and are played to the rhythm of 
life
And intent we are to things unseen when sunrise turns to day…
Yet when I die just dig a hole and throw in my mangy bones

Details | Mark Norton Poem

Make Aim To the Star

The motion of the tides and movement therein beckons on to me, 
Silent as it moves over the oceans width, gentle as a wind from the sea;
A mystery is the future of our passing lives, only a semblance of what’s to come, 
Through the miracle of our own emotion, or the brilliance of the setting sun,
For in the time it takes to aim at a star, we may only get to the moon
  
The passions of hope to a child is measured in an instant of time,
A sound so soft is the prodigy of ones time, making faith in our own religion…
Captured is the sight of a comets storm, or the twinkle from centuries past,
Yet the wisdom we gain from our dark privations is held in the semblance of space,
But we reach in thought to a billion years like the measure of a second past by 

Look to the wisdom in the extent of our lives, and relinquish all that’s gone before,
Our strongest belief is held deep in the heart, like that which shone from a star;
So bright the light that beams through darkness, over oceans deep and wide
But held secure waits the aspect of a man, and the realm of his wants and desires;
For in the time it takes to aim at a star, we may only get to the moon

Details | Mark Norton Poem

Seasons Past

Gone are thoughts of autumn 
In December, cold and gray;
For this arctic air was not foretold
When that quiet fall was here;
Still I lay on a bed, cracked and stained      
Staring out at an evening star 
And waiting for winter’s passage 

Derelict remains the mysterious light 
While stars still flicker so,
And moonbeams shine to divide the night       
From the early signs of dawn, 
Feel the warmth in a grain of sand
That lay with winter snow 
Under the coming rains of spring

Slowly grows the trees new branch
Around the sap beneath the bow,
To embrace its mystic symmetry   
As the willows age;
Mankind is true for the sake of itself
Waiting the return of god
As summer slips away 

Silent bore the fallen leaves
In a brilliant color gold, 
And the sky did lose its mystery       
As the seasons ever change;
For what we hold of our life’s design 
Did part and now is gone 
From the autumn of our lives

Details | Mark Norton Poem

A Gamblers Lament

A Gambler’s Lament

Lead me out from the madness there in my mind
Into the wind of a coming November,
Come light now shine your brightest glow
And tempt my aging bones;
When such a thing as the noise of night
Beckons in silence to me
I listen to each imagined word

For dread I alone to feel no more
The muscles that toil beneath my skin,
But I long to touch those rolling dice
And to hear the slot machines chime;
Though bleak in chill this dark possess me
The warmth inside the door
Lets me feel no gambler’s lament

I know not where a morning light shines
Far beyond this entrance hung,
Yet inside here the smoke filled air
Is as sweet as the distant sun;
And now I listen to far off sounds
Playing forever in my mind
That shields me from a gambler’s lament


                                  For Sid  

  By M.Norton
marklnorton@shaw.ca

Details | Mark Norton Poem

Blow On, Oh Wind

Blow on the winds of sympathy,
Blow on the winds of purity,
Blows on the wind of years gone by
That we could not equate

 Blow on the dreams our wisdom holds,
Blow on our hearts emotions,
Blows to us a feeling of the waning hour
That we could not imagine

Blow through the turn to a morning fair,
Blow by the memory of loves departure,
Blows on the worth of simple words
That our thoughts could not imagine

                            By m.norton

Details | Mark Norton Poem

Insomnia

Blessed is the calmness of our impassioned night,
Forever bound to the passionate starlight,      
Unblessed is the sound from an old, rusting clock
 Inside this windows encasement; 
Oh but we lay here instilled with insomnia

Give me the nature, your intent and desire 
When in thought remains the product of your urges,  
The will relates to the capacity of our mind 
Implanted in the hunger for sleep;
But we lay here long with insomnia 

 Come listen, too silent the sound as we lay,
And hear the wind as it rattles the glass;
While blessed is a soul who lays until morrow
Staring at the windows encasement;
Hungering an end to insomnia 
 
                                 By m.norton

Details | Mark Norton Poem

The Last Good-Bye

Disregard September’s lasting day, its simplicity long foretold, 
As the sound of summer has past us by, into the crisp and radiant fall;
Come hold this mirror to a ray of light, and pass the moment on,     
When in the hint of a calming breeze, is held the lost good-bye

Forever leaves of a brighter shade have fallen from there boughs,
While overhead October waits to softly steal by; 
For opportunities are gone to soon, and change as mornings past 
Like the worth of days, trapped in that sweet good-bye 

Man senses November and its desolate hours in a fog of its own regret,
When the sun could not cool the night, nor the moon give warmth to day;
We are caught in the measure of simple words, tied to hope and wonder
That speaks of a last good-bye

Wrapped tight in the cold of December, bound to the rhythm of life,
Gone to solitudes isolation and the sadness of that forgotten farewell,
Sacrificed to the wind that winter holds, bound to a memory past
Intent to hear of our last good-bye