Year: 2016

My Poem ‘Winging It’

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

Leaving home…
leaving your comfort-zone…
looking up to the sky…
extending your wings, preparing to fly…
only one place, only one destination in mind…
soon to pass in front of the moon
and rocket as fast as you can
to the land of the free,
and for a while leave your home behind.

You travel light, you travel alone…
you travel morning to night,
and night to morning…
you travel, because you have heard a calling…
you travel, and as you do
you live a dream.

Certain days in our life are like landmarks
that we anchor ourselves to…
certain days – like birthdays, Christmas,
New Years Day – keep us grounded and reminded
of the important things in life…
certain days in our life
remind us of days gone by –
even though they are completely brand new…
certain days continue to shine all our lives
with the beauty and the intensity of heaven’s light.

Like in Peter Pan, it is your happiest of thoughts
that elevates you and allows you to rise above…
like your soulmate’s smile,
it is their breathtaking beauty
and the feelings that they stimulate in you
that makes your heart glow like a star in your chest
which is the epitome of all that you love…
until you have felt the freedom
of being unbounded by gravity
only then can you know what it is like
to be an astronaut floating in space…
for some people, flying is something
that they get to do every-day –
and, personally, I can think of nothing more amazing
than being intertwined with the palpable energy
of the indescribable that never ceases
to put a smile on every face.

I think that there should be more
astronauts who are poets…
I think that there should be more
travelers who rely on their instincts…
I think that there should be more
gateways to new frontiers, rather than fences…
I think that there should be more
people who would do whatever it takes
to helps others to see and understand
what it means to be truly alive…
I think that making plans is a great thing to do –
however, in my opinion, in my experience,
sometimes you just have to let things happen
naturally and grow out of the moment –
in other words: sometimes in life
it is best to not worry about what you don’t know,
and take a leap into the unknown,
and until you know what you are doing
just do what I do regularly:
get busy at winging it!

My Poem ‘Christmases’

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

Christmas is about family…
Christmas is about sharing…
Christmas is about being happy…
Christmas is about giving.

It’s Christmas time,
it’s Christmas day…
it is now when we celebrate
with presents, prayers,
mistletoe and wine…
it is now when people
the world-over are the most thankful
for what and whom is in their life
every hour of every day.

Christmas is about love…
Christmas is about thinking about others…
Christmas is about spreading a message of hope…
Christmas is about bringing everybody together…
Christmas is my favourite time of the year…
Christmas is a season, and its meaning
all culminates on one day, the 25th of December.

Christmas is about sharing how beautiful
life could be for everybody
if we opened our hearts more…
Christmas is about peace,
and if there is one gift
that Christmas should give us all
it is the understanding
that we as a species, as a world, as a planet,
are meant to live and breath
all the world’s differences and celebrate them –
because we were not born
to fight one-another, or wage war.

Christmas is about traditions…
Christmas is about symbols…
Christmas is about wishes…
Christmas is about angels…
it is so important to always keep alive
the Christmas spirit –
from childhood to adulthood…
it is so important that children
make lists and send them to Santa Claus…
it is so important to show
how much someone means to you –
even the smallest of gestures
of kindness is always enough…
it is so important to let
the ice of hostility thaw –
because feeling blessed to be alive and well,
and being thankful for the precious time
that we have, and whom we spend our time with,
highlights beautifully what
the true meaning of Christmas is.

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My Poem ‘My Jam’

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

From All Hail The Silence, to BT…
from The 1975, to David Bowie…
from Savage Garden, to Johnny Cash…
from Ed Sheeran, to Set It Off…
from John Lennon, to Walk The Moon…
from Young Guns, to Muse…
from CHVRCHES, to Christian Burns…
from Bruce Springsteen, to Green Day…
from Lady Antebellum, to James Bay…
from Carrie Underwood, to a-ha…
from Armin van Buuren, to Bruno Mars…
from Bon Jovi, to Bryan Adams…
from Coldplay, to Michael Jackson…
from Tears For Fears, to Sixpence None the Richer…
from Daft Punk, to New Order…
from Prince, to Deadmau5…
from Tracy Chapman, to Crowded House…
and many many more –
that is but a selection of the artists
and the bands who make music
and who have created songs
that I adore and I listen to over and over.

Music is a great source of inspiration for a writer,
and the music and the songs that inspire me the most
are those with a message to them that touches my heart
and sets off a chain-reaction
and a rejuvenation of spirit within me like no other –
from Electronic Dance Music, to Rock…
from Classical, to Pop…
from fast, to slow…
from a ballad, to something wholly-instrumental –
I find great peace and beauty,
I find great love and serenity,
in hearing the voice and the music
of the heart of an artist, or artists,
that bridges the gap from my ears, to my mind…
from my imagination, to my soul.

My love for all types of music
stems from when I was a boy –
even as a child, I knew there was something special
to what I heard all-around me,
which others might just have
thought was background noise…
my heart has a rhythm to it
and it creates its own music with every beat –
and even now, when I hear a great song
that I haven’t heard before,
it doesn’t take me long
before my heart skips-a-beat
and I am tapping away with my fingers
and moving in-time, to the music I hear,
with every movement of my feet…
when I hear my favourite songs,
I secretly have this insatiable urge
to “bust-a-move” and dance –
there is a deep-seated reason
why music means so much to me,
there is a truth to why
I could never live without music
that stares right back at me every day
in the mirror of my mind…
whenever I listen to my playlist on my iPod,
I always get millions of sparks of inspiration,
and for a long-time after I finish listening
to my favourite songs I still hear
the echoes of the music
that make up “My Jam”.

My Poem ‘The Rogue One’

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

They walk alone…
they walk a line…
it has never interested them
to be one of a crowd…
it has never been a dream of theirs
to be like everybody else…
they don’t need much in their life,
except their family and their loves-ones…
they don’t think like everyone else
around them – they never have, they never will –
because they are not supposed to…
like most people, they are content
doing what they love to do
in the place where they always feel
the most comfortable and content…
they don’t need to be constantly moving on
to the thing that is the most new…
they learn from the events of the past…
they have hope for the future –
but, more than anything,
they try to live and breath,
to embrace and to be inspired
by everything and every moment
that is their present…
most of the time they swim alone
through the ocean of life,
like a Great White…
everyday they are like a ghost-writer
writing a silent story…
every time they see people
wearing clothes and walking around
to the same beat, and just swimming along
with other people who all look exactly alike,
they sometimes feel like they are surrounded
by an army of clones…
when they see people taking advantage
of other people, they feel like
they want to explode…
they, like many others, have never believed
in the idea of an undefeatable-enemy…
the force of life teaches us all
that sometimes things change –
and when they do, after which,
nothing will ever be the same…
life is like a song, a story, a play,
a movie, a poem – it has a beginning,
it has a middle, it has an end…
however, unlike a story
with a deliberate structure of acts,
life and plans can change
their form by the second…
life is a cycle –
and it begins and it ends at the same place,
and in that way we are all characters
and pieces on the board
of the most epic of all board-games…
they are a patient person…
they have seen what happens to those
who do not listen to their instincts
before they leap into something
without even a thought –
but, they know that
there are times when you have to
let your heart be your guide,
and you need to close your eyes,
and take a running-jump…
because life is about finding balance –
most of the time it is not about
being the best at something,
or being the one with the loudest voice,
or the biggest gun –
to them, we are all a part of this world
to be our parents’ daughter or son…
to be uniquely ourselves…
to be one of the “rogue ones”.

My Poem ‘Star Power’

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

A star in the sky…
a light to guide you…
a religion to live by…
a god and a role-model to look up to…
when you need an answer,
when you need inspiration,
when you need a flare of hope
to wipe away your fears,
when you need a destination…
distant lights…
far-away, heavenly…
people and places who call on others
to come to them and follow in their footsteps…
someone, something,
that you can’t find anywhere else on Earth…
someone, somewhere,
with whom you might find your life’s purpose…
someone, something,
who transcends an idea
that you might have previously had of a hero…
someone, somewhere,
to whom you have always been meant to know…
some people know the following that they have
and the interest that there is in them…
some people who are influential
in another person’s life
carry on doing what they do
oblivious of who they are…
some people talk to millions of people
every time they tap at a keyboard key
or write a word with a pen…
some people have a muted-voice,
but what they have to say
can journey straight into a person’s heart…
some people who are well-known the world-over,
and have been doing and working away
at their craft for a while
have learned, sometimes the hard way,
both the pitfalls and the beautiful things
that can come with a measure of success…
some people who are famous for doing
the thing that they love
sometimes do not get to see
the true joy that their art flowers into
within the soul of others…
some people cannot handle the attention
that is sometimes focused on them,
and they live a life of excess –
and they sometimes feel a loneliness
that they cannot express…
some people, no matter how important
and successful they are,
sometimes have to pay a price
for being so noticeable –
but, for the vast-majority of people
with a voice that their fans listen to,
there are great things that come
from having a so-called “Star power”.

My Poem ‘The Passion of The Poet’

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

Love… blood… passion…
an explosion, an eruption…
an over-flow of emotion…
the feeling, the energy… the electricity…
the fast-breathing, the heart-beating…
the unstoppable flow of rejuvenation…
lovers tap into it… writers write with it…
musicians use it… artists create with it…
we were all made from birth in its image…
an excitement… an enlightenment…
a wish-fulfillment…
an enjoyment and a freeing of spirit…
a belief… a faith…
a way to feel as if you are both flying
at the same time that you are sinking
beneath an ocean of crashing waves –
a timeless moment… a connection beyond touch…
a vibration like the strings
of some kind of cosmic-instrument…
an addictive rush… an unquestionable
recognizable look in the eye…
the expression on the face…
the language of the body –
the unbounded physicality…
the spark… the fire…
the unquestionable desire…
when I am writing, when I am composing a new poem –
I know it straight away,
and I know where it comes from,
because I have seen its face so many times,
but some days it is like
the kiss of an angel on my cheek
and others it is like I have been hit
squarely between the eyes by a bull…
it’s like jumping into the sea off of a pier…
it feels magical, incredible –
and just trying to describe
what I am feeling in my heart
just makes me feel it more and more…
a true expression of your heart’s desire,
when done without hesitation,
can only lead you in one direction…
when you just stop,
and listen, and you hear
that voice of inspiration,
there is only one thing
that can possibly follow:
love… blood… passion.

My Poem ‘The Afternoon Moon’

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

The ghostly image of the moon
still hangs in the sky
when the clock strikes noon –
and even two hours later
the moon is still there
in a cloudless sky
as blue, as beautiful, and as clear
as the world as seen through a tear…
the moon is on my left,
the sun is on my right…
the country air smells fresh…
the green fields below me
glow so bright under the sunlight,
and just being where I am
and seeing what I do feels so nice…
for the next three days,
at the same time of the day,
the moon lingered in the daylight sky –
one side covered in shadow,
and the other side a misty-white –
and every time I see it
I smile and I wonder
why I could see it so clearly,
even though it wasn’t night…
being an eternal-optimist
and a hopeful-romantic,
I saw the appearance of the moon
in the afternoon
as a sign of dreams coming true
and of good things on the horizon…
only time will tell what the moon
being out so early, or so late, means –
perhaps it does not mean
anything of importance at all…
however, I believe that things happen for a reason…
I believe that the universe gives us what we ask for…
I do not need to see the Earth spinning in space
to know that the world is always on the move…
I believe new things reveal themselves
during the changing of the seasons…
I believe every new day is a new door…
I believe there is a purpose
for every-thing and every-one…
just as I believe that I have been seeing
a sign of something every day
that I have looked up at the sky
in the afternoon and I have seen the moon.

My Poem ‘Radio’

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

Sometimes, some days,
I feel like a radio…
sometimes, some days,
inspiration is ready and waiting
for me to wake up –
even first thing in the morning
when I look out my bedroom window
and I see the light of the sun…
sometimes, some days, it takes me a minute
to receive and to re-tune to the right frequency –
to the universal station of inspiration
that I always listen to…
sometimes, some days, I need to download
an update to my internal, poetic,
biological operating-system,
and think in a way that I have never thought before,
and seek-out a higher-power with a question
of something that I do not yet know.

Sometimes I need to be in the right place…
sometimes I need to be in the right mood…
sometimes I need to be thinking the right thoughts,
or seeing the right face…
sometimes, to get the best and the strongest
inspiration-signal, I need to focus…
I need to close my eyes…
I need to go within myself
and touch the source of my soul…
I need to let my daydreams free
and use my gifts to turn them into words…
sometimes, when I am writing,
it is like I am solving a mystery
by following and piecing-together
a string of clues.

I write, and I express myself, noticeably differently
depending on the time of the year, the time of the day,
and the time that I spend somewhere…
sometimes what I write, and where it comes from,
is just as much of a surprise to me
as it is to those who read what I write –
sometimes I can honestly say
where a piece of inspiration comes from,
and sometimes I just don’t know…
the art of writing is first learning how to listen –
and, to me, music is a vital source of inspiration
that is beyond-compare…
sometimes, before you can give,
you first need to receive –
and sometimes the best way to do that
is to do what I do,
and to think like a radio.

My Poem ‘Standing Rock’

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

All ground is sacred ground…
the Earth beneath our feet
has its own identity…
the world that moves silently through space,
and its spirit, is so powerful and nurturing
that it creates its own gravity
and a near-perfect environment
for all life to thrive and live…
all that breath in the air of the planet
to which we are all bound and indebted
are expected to not only take away,
but to give back in return…
our home, this world, is the home
of countless species and forms of life –
each and every-one given from birth
the rite to exist and fulfill their destiny…
some people have learned to understand
and interpret the timeless language of nature,
and they also understand that not only
does the Earth have a spirit –
so too do the trees, the plants,
the animals, the mountains, the rivers,
the seas, the fish, the microscopic organisms
smaller than the human eye can see…
every thing with a consciousness,
with thoughts, with feelings, with emotions,
with instincts, with a reason to be,
has a reason to be alive…
even a single drop of rain adds to our planets worth…
we are all luckier than we know
to live on the planet that do…
long after all the stories of our lives
have faded to dust, the Earth will still have
a billion and more mornings and nights,
Winters and Summers, frosts and thaws,
and the world will live on –
and though humanity will have gone,
we will still be ingrained in the DNA
of our home-world, and our monuments will remain,
just as the beautiful natural-monuments of Earth
will continue to boggle the mind
of everyone who is lucky enough to see
our planet’s deepest reaches
and its breath-taking, towering,
and still-standing mountains,
and epic formations –
our most special and sacred
wonders of Earth and rock.

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My Poem ‘Early’

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

First thing in the morning,
with the dawn of the first light of the sun,
and the sound of the first birds singing –
even when the air outdoors is cold to the touch –
for some people, at the moment that they wake up,
that first realization that they are no longer
asleep and dreaming is enough of a spark
to relight the fire of their heart,
like the flame of love…
for some, when the time and the day is early,
that is when they begin their daily story.

In the Summer-time the days feel endless…
when it is Winter and it is colder
you have to keep on the move more,
and so the days feel shorter…
in the Summer-time you feel like
you have got all the time in the world
to close your eyes, relax, and rest…
but when it is Winter you feel like
you can’t catch-up with the time
that feels like it is running away from you
like a stream of rushing water.

I am naturally an early-riser,
so waking up while it is still dark outside
is an every-day thing…
I would not be me if I did not greet
that new day with open eyes
and a wide-smile, and with hope in my heart
at what it may bring…
I have been waking up
before everybody else in my family
since I was young and my hair was blond and curly…
I have a feeling that my natural instinct
to stay awake, and to not fall straight back to sleep
after I first wake up,
is ever going to change anytime soon –
just like I am never going to stop writing poetry,
I do not think I am ever going to stop
waking up early.