Year: 2015

My Poem ‘Never Rest’

Mark Hastings Poetry , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Everybody has their own outlet;
everybody has their own place of worship;
everybody has their own way of sharing;
everybody has their own way of caring;
everybody has their own time
when they feel their most alive;
everybody has their own favourite way
of passing the time:
if I could be anywhere at this very moment,
I would love to be in a Jeep Cherokee
traveling down I-75 with the one I love
all the way to Tennessee-
listening to music from the 1980s and the 1990s,
as we enjoy every second of our drive
and the perfection of our ride.

We can all feel young as long as we want to;
we can all do the seemingly impossible;
we can all marvel at the brand new;
we can all make that life-changing call;
we can all be seen, we can all be heard,
we can all be free, we can all be
all that we say so easily with words;
we all remember, we all forget;
we all have felt a rush,
like the feeling of uplifting air
underneath the wings of a bird’s feathers;
we all at one time or another
have had to pass a test.

Life is a series of borders to be crossed;
everybody everyday wants to be happy;
a life in which ever day there are things
that you can have any second at no cost
is the one that we would all always want;
everybody has expectations
of how they would like something to be,
and then when life surprises you
from time to time in ways
that completely eclipse anything that you thought
you realize why it is important
that some things only happen once.

A great journey is made up of small
but important steps;
a happy life should be measured on smiles
and memories, not by miles or kilometers per hour;
a beautiful vision is both soul- and solar-powered;
an imagination like no other
is one that can go all day and all night
while harnessing a single powerful idea –
and at no point, until that idea has evolved
to the next level of its existence,
does the powerful mind of a dreamer ever rest.

My Poem ‘Infinite Stories’

Mark Hastings Poetry , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

There is no greater story
than a true story;
there is no greater true story
than the story of someone’s life;
there is no greater way
for an individual story
to touch another person’s heart
than to tell it true
and to see it run free;
there is no greater epic
than a death-defying survival
to stay alive.

We all have stories;
we all love stories;
we have meet each other
because we need to;
we all know someone
who has a story from their life
that is so amazing and incredible
it is almost unbelievable to believe
that it is even true.

Passengers on a plane,
passengers on a train,
strangers on a journey,
strangers on a trip,
who can truly be honest
about who they are,
because the only thing that they share
is the shortest of connections and history –
brief encounters, stories that matter,
short exchanges, instances of new changes;
new chapters, fresh banter;
a rush of endorphin’s;
marks of beauty,
like freckles on person’s skin.

Because life is constantly asking
something new of us all,
new stories are being made all the time;
because people are constantly meeting new people
life stories are constantly inter-twinning;
because the rain will always fall,
and the sun will always shine,
somewhere, everywhere,
the pen, the keys, the fingers of a storyteller
will always be writing.

New stories begin every second;
old stories continue and are shared
time after time, day after day –
as if they are once again brand new;
legends are made for us to find
that allow us to see things
in ways that we can understand;
for every story to be
there must be a me and a you.

For better, or for worse,
all of our true stories
are ours and no one else’s;
fortunately, or not,
all of our memories are ours –
our losses, our tears,
our smiles, our glories;
for the best, all of our living days
will one day be like grains of sand on a beach,
and like the countless stars of the universe,
and that is what makes them truly ours
and truly special;
for all of our collective spoken and recorded time,
everything and everybody will always be the reason,
the source, the microphone and the speaker,
not to mention the writer and the reader,
consequential and important
in sharing the world’s inspiring
infinite stories.

My Poem ‘Zenith’

Mark Hastings Poetry , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

The time is now,
the place is right here;
life can be heard
clear and loud,
the conditions for new inspiration
and new poetry are so perfect
they could bring about
both laughter and tears.

I am focused,
I am listening,
I am being sprinkled
with the world’s magic dust;
I am watching,
I am experiencing,
I am participating,
I am observing everybody and everything;
there are no worries, there is just me,
my pen, my notebook, my muse;
there are thoughts running through my mind
every second that burn hot and bright
and as fast as a burning fuse.

Words are wonderful,
however words are also limiting;
words can say so much,
however words only have the power that they do
when they are used with each other –
and even then, without emotion
and intention behind them,
they can sound as if something important is missing;
music is a different language entirely from words –
words can have so many meanings and translations,
but music is what the stars sound like;
and like planets circling their parent star,
music- depending on your proximity
and your connection to it-
can be a whole new wonderful and different world.

Every artist has their opus;
every person has their perfect moment;
everyone has their own life;
every experience has its peak;
every eye has seen its own sights;
everybody has had a flood of emotion
and an indomitable power overcome them
and take over them
when they must stand up on their own two feet
and vow to never admit defeat.

Everyone is like an ocean,
and everybody has a force of gravity
and a source of change and waves in their life-
like the Moon is to the Earth;
everyone has times when they are an insomniac
and they cannot for the love of good ever switch off;
everyone emerges into a different life
from anyone else from birth;
everyone knows the allure of a flame,
and everyone has a moment
of being a human moth.

There is no true definitive end to anything;
believing that you have total control of chaos is a myth;
there is a reason for everything;
dreams are both conjugations and premonitions;
and there are things that start out so distant
and random that come together in the end
and eventually reach a mutual and lasting zenith.

My Poem ‘This New Day’

Mark Hastings Poetry , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Each new day presents new challenges;
each new day we all leave new footprints;
each new day relies on its connection
to the day before
so as to rhyme with the day to come;
each new day is a choreography
and a mix of infusions
of many styles of dances;
each new day we see people pushing their limits;
each new day our closest star shines and burns
and keeps alive life on Earth,
and until we reach our dying day
that important star will always be our sun.

This new day, this new start,
this new time to play,
this new chain of moments
are ours to do with what we choose;
this new awakening, this new cycle,
this new rising, this new drum-roll,
is ours to make something vibrant and amazing with
just as glorious as the sky above is blue.

Every new day is a new poem;
every new poem is an entry in a diary;
every new page is written on
with the ink of inspiration and fascination;
every new thought is the first step
of a writer along the way
towards the penning of a brand new
creation of poetry.

One good morning;
one good afternoon;
one good evening;
one good night;
one new drawing;
one new moon;
one new inhale and exhale of breathing;
one new burst of beautiful sunlight
will lead and will be an important seed
that will grow like vines in a jungle
in many new directions,
and the more that we all follow
these extensions of our actions
the more new ground we too will lay –
and this process will continue
and it will go on and on forever,
and the future of tomorrow
will be made of what we all do
on this new day.

My Poem ‘Eudaemonic’

Mark Hastings Poetry , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

A simple act of kindness
can give you an upbeat feeling;
a new arrival can instantly make you smile;
a message in a bottle is always a thrill;
a new idea is like a newborn child.

Watching a child grow before your eyes
is like going back in time
and seeing your early life
acted out in front of you;
watching a plant grow and then wilt
does not have as much of an impact
on some people as it should;
watching an animal grow so quickly,
be so active, however only live a short life
in comparison to a human being
can be a joyous but sometimes
incredibly hard thing to do;
watching the world change around you
makes you wish frequently
that if it were possible
to live inside a single special moment forever,
if you could you would.

Some days go by fast,
some days go by slow;
the art of happiness
is to make something last;
the art of acceptance
is to not worry too much
about what you do not know;
some days are filled with fireworks;
some days are spent in reflection;
some days are so perfect
that you could swear
that there were some invisible inner-workings
making everything in life run like clockwork;
some days you are just waiting
for something to grab your attention;
the art of life is to live.

There are words in every language
that are rarely used,
but still exist;
there are faces hidden behind masks
that not everybody are able to see;
there are people who win;
there are people who lose,
but who never stop
and never give in;
there are unique pieces of art
created solely to be one of a kind
and temporary – like graffiti –
that in time will fade from view
and be covered over and forgotten –
but the fact that even one person
knew about them and remembers them
makes the artist that made them
more of a magician than anything else,
because they were able to make the once seen
the thing of a person’s dreams.

What keeps me upbeat is love;
what keeps me writing is hope;
what keeps me smiling only I could think of;
what keeps me from not retreating is never doubting;
what I have always known is that
if you try to silence your doubts,
if you try to see past the illusion of walls
that sometimes feel like they surround you
that can almost feel like a prison cell,
if you try to come to terms with the fact
that not everything that happens to you
is not always all your fault –
then one day you may wake up
with a smile on your face
and realize that all is good
and all will be well.

image

My Poem ‘Ruminant’

Mark Hastings Poetry , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

A deer walking through a green wood;
a horse galloping across
a beautiful open expanse;
an eagle soaring and gliding
through the air above a vast herd of buffalo;
an adventurer trekking through a jungle,
with a pack full of all that they need
to survive in the wild,
as the raindrops fall on them
and down the lip of their coat’s hood;
a small dog resting outside in the sun
in their favorite spot,
with a look about them
that says that they are feeling
inconceivable emotions of happiness;
a writer writing
while listening to their muse of music,
writing rhymes as if each word
had its own distinctive sound to them,
that sound like
that of the notes of a musical instrument.

As with everything that is made up of
and from the combination of many ingredients,
all things must ruminate and coalesce
and be infused naturally over time
by the mixture of nature and identity;
just as the present is an echo of the past,
as well as a prelude for the future,
some things must always stay the same,
and if necessary thrive on being different –
because in life strict conformity
can be the true enemy.

Inspirational people
have taken countless people
on journeys throughout history,
and the stories of their deeds
have long out-lived them
and are read and retold every day
to a whole new generation
of free-thinking and inquisitive people
looking for answers to life’s questions,
far and wide;
writers, artists, musicians,
have been struck by instant and deep inspiration
while staring at a flower swaying in the breeze;
children have been recognized for being special
because they chose to work hard
and dig deep and go that extra mile;
animals are sometimes revered for being exceptional
because they represent and they talk
to the needs that we all feel
for contentment and connection
with our surroundings
based on our ever-present instincts.

When I truly allow my thoughts
to flow and to float,
they are like a big fluffy cloud in a blue sky;
when I truly open up
and let my feelings bubble up,
they can sometimes spread
like the waters of a flood;
when I truly focus on the journey,
and not the end, I believe and I know
that life for us all goes on,
even after we die;
when I truly live and breathe
every second of the one that I love,
I feel things that almost defy description
and definition – as if I were
a part of an infinite, amazing,
cosmologically-vast and meaningful meditation.

My Poem ‘Found’

Mark Hastings Poetry , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

I am so lucky,
I am so fortunate,
I am so blessed,
I am so grateful
to be able to say
that I am happy,
that I am in the place
in my life that I am at,
that I am able to sit here
and feel like I am at my best.

We all need light,
we all need hope,
we all want life,
we all want to show,
we all want to share,
we all want to care,
we all have a love in our life
that we surround ourselves with
which we hold on to tight;
we all have that something
or that someone
that we dream about at night;
we all have the right
to fight like a knight;
we all have to sometimes
run through fire
to get to the place
and to the person
that we most desire.

The world is not a solid sphere;
the people of Earth are as in motion
as the tectonic plates below the ground;
hope for a peaceful future
is the glue that keeps humanity
from completely fracturing
into a state of fear;
the people who choose
to leave their birthplace
and search for a better place
to call their home
should be allowed to find
and somehow regain
what they thought for the longest time
was forever lost and gone.

I see people looking for something;
I see people everyday
doing the best that they can;
I see people everyday tethering;
I see people everyday trying
to formulate any kind of a plan;
I see people on the move;
I see people standing still;
I see people with the optimism of youth;
I see people in search of a thrill.

Our planet is a beautiful place to live;
our planet is a beautiful place
to enjoy for all its glorious beauty;
our finite existence is a beautiful opportunity
for all of us to find and share
the meaning of all life
with that very special someone;
our lives are as they are for a reason,
and even though there may have been times
when life has been indescribably rough –
the true strength that you can have in life
is to keep believing that one day
you will be given the gift of total clarity.

A tree must shed its leaves;
a parent must let their offspring fly free;
a prosperous life must have both rain
and sunshine to thrive;
a person should not have to hide;
a kite must be lighter than air
to fly high and true;
an astronaut who braves
the outer limits of space
must also have a desire
to return to the ground;
a contradiction of differing emotions
and feelings is everybody and you;
a thing must sometimes be lost forever
so that one day by someone else
it can be found.

My Poem ‘9/11’

Mark Hastings Poetry , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

The die was cast far and wide,
the pain was felt deeply and irrevocably
on that sunny Tuesday morning,
on the Eleventh of September, 2001;
terrorists to all mankind
came out of the shadows
from where they had been hiding
and made an attack
and left a lasting scar
on all of humanity,
that to this day still pains me
even now, 14 years on.

How could anyone do such a thing?
Why? Oh my god, why?
Who would think to do such a thing?
The innocent do not deserve to die!

I mourn the lost;
I am mindful of the loved ones
and the family members
who were left behind
and who still struggle
to live and to move on,
as if nothing happened;
I still believe that the entire world
is still understandably shell-shocked;
I have been to Ground Zero,
I have stood in the place
where the shadows of
the World Trade Center still remain,
and I can honestly say that being there
where so many people lost their lives
had a profound effect on me:
the new Freedom Tower
and the pools of remembrance
that are now in place of what was once there,
in memory of the indescribable tragedy
and the massacre that took place,
will always be to me
sacred and holy ground.

I have flashed back to that day
every year since 2001;
I have imagined myself where I was,
sitting in front of my TV,
watching the news reports
of the true American horror story unfold;
I have wished many times
that what happened on that day
could somehow have been prevented
by some miracle of heaven;
I have watched the echoes
and the repercussions of what happened
on that day spread and effect
everyone and every country around the world.

I am a man of many words,
but even I struggle to put into words
the sadness that I still feel
about all the people who died
in New York City,
at the Pentagon in Washington, D.C.,
in Virginia, in Pennsylvania,
and everybody who has lost their life since;
I am a man who believes
that things happen for a reason,
but I cannot, nor could I ever,
nor could anyone for that matter,
give me an acceptable justification
that would make my confusion
about the murders that were carried out
on that day in any way lessen;
no deplorable and horrific act of terrorism
like that which played out
in front of everybody
on the 11th of September, 2001,
to me could ever make sense;
I will never forget;
I will never allow the fallen to be forgotten;
I will always hold on to the memory
of my unforgettable brothers and sisters,
as I hold up my hand
and feel my heart beating in my chest;
I will always remember
the day that will always be known as 9/11.

9-11-poem

My Poem ‘Seasoned’

Mark Hastings Poetry , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Like the trees of an old forest,
like the face of an old man,
like the smell of an old leather jacket,
like an old song that always making
new fans of its artist or band,
I feel both young and full of life
and yet mindful and seasoned;
life has been inspiring me
since I was a child,
but now I understand
that for everything to be
there must be a reason.

When I was a child
my imagination was always my super-power;
making my dreams a reality
have gotten easier
as I have got older;
when I first began making art as a boy
my head and my heart
knew even then that
being an artist was going to be
my life-long forte:
I remember spending hours
drawing and painting
and loving every moment
that I spent making
and creating something new every day.

Art has always been a fascination
and a passion for me;
stories have always been to me
the greatest of escapes;
I have done so much,
I have thought so much,
I remember so much –
however, sometimes my memory does
on occasion compartmentalize;
I truly do not ever forget a thing,
but I admit that there are times
when I lack the gift of instant-recall –
you could say that I have a photographic memory,
but that it takes a certain stimuli
to bring back to mind
what I heard with my ears
and what I saw with my eyes.

My family has always held on to everything,
the thought of throwing anything useful
or something draped in memories away is alien to us;
I have learned over time
that everyone at times must refocus;
my family has had so much happen to it –
if most of what we had all been through
were written down one day
it would definitely be a best-seller;
like everyone, I am guilty of making mistakes
from time to time –
however, I try to not make the same mistake twice
and I endeavour always to be a fast-learner.

Everyone has a passion –
music, literature, movies,
games, traveling, dancing,
performing, chilling, cooking,
shopping, writing, photographing,
caring about the well-fair
of another living thing –
and for that passion they would do anything;
everybody has dreamed
that they could do something fantastic
and everybody is able and are capable
of performing a miracle for someone else
in their life more than once;
everyone should always be looking,
seeing, listening, hearing;
everybody should embrace time,
not fear its passing in the slightest –
because with time comes many amazing things
that can only be fully experienced
and appreciated by someone
who is seasoned.

My Poem ‘The Air I Breathe’

Mark Hastings Poetry , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Please believe
that you are the air that I breathe;
don’t forget
what you mean to me;
being with you
is a dream come true;
your love is the best thing ever,
I want us to always be together;
you are more beautiful
than all the angels of heaven;
you will always have my heart,
you are my life-long passion;
I will always be the voice
singing you off to sleep,
what I have isn’t much
but what I have is your to keep;
seeing your smile
makes me happy beyond words –
you are the sky, the light,
the heart of my world.

The moment that I saw you
I could not believe
who I was seeing with my own eyes,
it was like my life had been reborn
with a flash of gold
like a new morning’s sunrise.

Exchanging words at first
was like talking to a celebrity,
now I cannot wait to tell you
and the entire world
how much I love you
and what you mean to me.

The words that I write,
the dreams that I dream –
without you in my life
just wouldn’t sound right,
and without you to complete me as you do
my world would turn into a whirlpool
like the winds of a stormy sea.

You fill my lungs with oxygen;
you are my soul-mate,
you are my best friend;
you are the love of my life,
and being with you is the life that I love;
no matter what I say
my words will never, nor could ever,
be enough to describe the one who I love:
you, my gorgeous angel;
you, the most beautiful;
you, the greatest miracle in the world
that I have ever seen;
you… the air that I breathe.