Sometimes when we fall asleep,
as we cross the threshold into dreams,
we instantly wake up…
most of the time,
when we recall what ran through our mind
over the course of the night before
we remember the middle and the end of a dream,
but not the start…
some people live out their hopes
and some people live out their fears
when they walk the streets
of the world of forty-winks…
for some people dreaming of another place
and another time is a welcome escape…
some dreams dreamed are a nightmare
from beginning to end,
while others you want to continue having
for the rest of your life
because they are filled
with so much that you love…
dreamers draw on so much when they dream –
from their life, from their soul,
from their senses, from the joys, and from the sadness
that everybody has within their heart…
learning how to dream
and learning how to live
and breath within a dream
is harder to achieve than some might think…
when we dream, we submit…
when we dream, we let go…
when we dream we all become
a part of the universes oldest myth…
when we dream we give up our control
over our own mind and our own
imagination-engine and we allow
our thoughts and our secrets
to merge into one and just flow –
like a waterfall, like a river,
adding to the infinite depth that has no end,
that often spills out into the waking-world
and is sometimes caught by a camera-lens…
everybody dreams differently, at different times,
and sometimes in different colours…
everybody sees the physical world
and the dream-world from a different perspective,
and their dreams reflect that…
every animal, every bird,
every angel, every man, woman, boy, and girl,
learn vital lessons and they confront
internal manifestations
of real-world obstacles and desires –
and that is at the centre
of dreaming and dreams,
and it is what gives dreams their power…
our dreams are our place
to filter through our thoughts and our memories,
and sometimes the steps that we take
within a dream our physical body
re-enacts in the real-world –
and when that happens,
in both dreams and in life,
we all become sleepwalkers.
Year: 2016
My Poem ‘Poetic Mead’
Poetry…
the sun is shining,
I am waiting for the world to inspire to me…
there is a fire burning inside me…
the air outside is cold,
but it doesn’t bother me…
I am like a bird flying high and free…
I am finding truth in every mythology…
I write what comes to me…
when I write I sometimes like
to go to places I have never been
and live dangerously…
to me, possibility is the lock
and imagination is the key…
I rise my pen to the sky
and I wait for the lightning to strike
like Thor’s hammer and empower me…
what I do was once hard,
but now it comes naturally…
every day is a chapter in my life-long story…
I will be writing and dreaming
until the end of my life and until my last heart-beat…
I am constantly creating new tales in my mind
even when I am sound asleep…
when I can walk the Earth and see its true beauty
I see and I feel things that to others
might seem small and insignificant –
but it is the briefest of moments in a given day
that mean the most to me…
giving people hope in any way
is somewhat of an obsession for me…
I get great joy from creating
and from leaving a legacy of words
for others to follow behind me…
actions and thoughts creates ripples in reality…
believe in whatever makes you happy…
follow my lead and make an offering
to the gods whose tales live on
and have traveled to the sky above,
over land, and even below the sea…
make a toast to the Norse god Odin,
the god of poetry…
take a seat, and help yourself to some poetic mead.
My Poem ‘The Morning After’
Two opposing sides…
two opposite ideologies…
two different leaders…
two people skilled
in vastly different ways –
and in the end, in the aftermath
of a confrontation of ideas,
perspectives, of brutal words and actions,
when the dust has settled,
when the crowds have disbursed,
when the truth of a moment finally “hits home”,
when the pain from tears that fell the night before
starts to sting again…
What do you do? Where do you go?
How do you pick up the pieces and put back together
the only picture you have ever known?
No matter what happened, no matter what might happen next,
the only thing you or anyone can possibly do
is carry on and hold on to hope
that one day the nightmare of your current reality
too will come to an end,
and things will get better again.
It’s hard at first to see
how you are going to cope,
especially when you know
that the immediate days and months
are going to be a tough adjustment –
but nothing lasts forever,
and one day even a once abandoned garden
will soon bear new flowers and new fruit,
and the world will grow again
into being something more familiar to you…
there are always casualties in every battle,
there are always winners and there are always losers,
there is always a change of colours and of livery
when there is an invasion of a castle,
and there is always fear –
especially in the face of uncertainty;
but, this time will pass…
in time, another army of soldiers and followers
will follow a new opposing leader
and retake all that was lost;
in the aftermath of anything sudden and shocking,
it can be hard to see a time
through a storm of bad weather –
however, one day this time now too
will just be another page in the book of history,
and there will be a brand new sunrise
that will guide you and everyone
to a new world future
and a hopeful brand new morning after.
(Written the morning after the US election, in 2016, in which Donald Trump was elected as the 45th President of the United States of America 😦 )
My Poem ‘American Birthright’
“America is stronger
when it works together.
Americans are a people
who believe in fairness for all
and who live in hope.
America is special
and can have an
even brighter future.
Today every American
should let their voice
be heard, get out there,
fulfill their birthright and vote.”-Mark Hastings, 2016
My Poem ‘The Preacher up on the Mountain’
The father, the son, the messenger,
the preacher of the word of God…
the man of faith, the man of belief,
the man of love, the man of heart,
the man of song…
when they speak, when they sing,
all who hear their voice
feel their words deep within their soul
and their presence feels like
the lord-himself is speaking
to you through him…
when you are in their church,
when you are one of their congregation,
you can feel the strength of their spirit,
and you feel instantly drawn to them…
the preacher brings the words of the bible to life…
the holy man knows the true meaning of keeping faith
that God loves his children
and that he believes in them more
than they could ever know…
the man who built his own church
and who created a holy place for his family
and for all to worship in
will always be special in the eyes of God,
of Jesus Christ, and in the eyes of those
who they have shepherded throughout their life…
god bless the preacher up on the mountain.
My Poem ‘The American Precedent’
There is one country on Earth
that everybody looks to…
there is one way of life
that a great many people subscribe to…
there is one constitution
that is like a beacon of light,
hope, and freedom to the world…
there is something very special
that beats within the heart
of every American.
Every country needs a leader…
every country needs a states-person
and an ambassador of what it means
to be a member of a particular society…
every country needs someone
that they can look up to, and be guided by,
who allows their people to be
who they want to be,
and who empowers every kind of person:
from farmers to scientists,
from teachers to dreamers…
every country needs, every country deserves,
someone at the top of their government
who knows what equality for all truly means.
The freedom to express yourself,
the gift to be able to believe in yourself,
the privilege to be able to be an American citizen
is something that all American’s should be proud of…
that which draws eyes from all around the world
to the country of red, white, and blue,
and to their star-spangled banner,
is perhaps only something that can be seen
by an outside-observer looking in
who has been one of the lucky travelers
who have visited America over and over again.
To me, the United States of America
is not just an idea…
it is not just an experiment…
it is a place of unbelievable hope and beauty
whose people should never believe that to trump
fear you must build a wall around you –
in this day and age, in my opinion,
and with all due respect,
America needs a president for all…
for all who know that life
is about more than having the most dollars and cents…
and now is the time for all those who have a voice
that can be used to effect
the course of their country’s future –
because hope, respect, freedom and liberty for all,
are the most important precedents
that should always be championed and upheld
by every American citizen,
and by every American President.
My Poem ‘Winter’s Solace’
Life can sometimes be hard;
sometimes people can live a life of silent pain;
life can sometimes feel like an endless night,
during which the time until the arrival of new light
can seem too long;
sometimes all you need to have in your life,
to get you through a tough time in your life,
is your one and only best-friend –
especially when you feel low…
especially when you feel like you have nowhere to go…
especially when you are up all night
and you sleep through the day…
especially when you need the strength to be brave.
There is always hope, even in darkness;
you can always find solace,
even at the centre of a world of madness;
keep a hold of your faith,
even when you do not at first
recognize the voice of God;
keep love in your heart, always –
and with it you will live and breathe with a purpose,
and every time when you fall to sleep
you will rest like a log.
As the world turns, seasons change…
as the days run away with themselves
it is so easy to feel as if you are losing your place…
as the clouds gather, it can be hard to see
the light of the sun…
as the hours feel like they are merging into one,
everybody needs to stop time,
everybody needs to gather around a source of light –
because everybody needs some peace,
like that which you find in a sun-drenched
autumn-colored forest…
everybody needs some winter solace.
My Poem ‘A Ghost’s Story’
Some people think
that ghosts are all in the mind…
some people think
that we see what we want to see…
some people think
that the stories of hauntings
are more often than not
just a bunch of lies…
some people are just unable
to entertain the possibility
of somebody continuing to live
though they may not technically be “alive”…
ghosts, spirits, people remain on Earth
and they talk to us all every day –
but sometimes not in ways
that are easy to believe.
When a human spirit leaves its corporeal life
and is set free of its physical body,
a natural change and transition occurs…
when a human heart stops beating,
another source of spirit grows stronger
and we are given a choice:
to follow our instincts
and to journey to a place
beyond human understanding and comprehension,
or stay on Earth and be shown,
and get to interact with,
the living of humanity
within an existence of limitless-time.
Everybody has a reason to be who and what they are –
some people when they die become songs,
and some people when they die becomes stars;
some people’s spirit live on
within the pages of a book
long after their audible-voice can no longer be heard,
forever inhabiting a story’s every letter of every word;
every form of life, when it fully becomes its own spirit,
lives on – and the more that we explore other planets
in the galaxy I am sure that we will encounter
alien ghosts, also –
and I personally would not be surprised
if one day someone from Earth
finds themselves haunted by the figure
of a dead Martian while living
upon the surface of Mars.
Everybody has a story that they are at the centre of…
some peoples’ stories do not end
when their physical body gives-out…
everybody had a moment during their life,
and after death, when they have to shake-off
who they used to be and become someone else completely new –
the draw of an enticing bright light
is hard not to race towards like a moth…
some peoples’ idea of life after death
to some might be thought of as “heaven”,
and to others that same idea
might be their exact version of “hell”…
life when you are alive is different
to the life that awaits us all
on the other side of the threshold of our twilight
that we have to cross when our time
as a living and breathing human comes to an end…
it is said that when we die
we write the most beautiful poetry…
it is important to say goodbye
to loved-ones and friends…
every person, every-thing lives on…
everybody and everything changes –
but nothing ever truly ends,
and when each of us pass on
our story changes also,
from one like that of a caterpillar
to one like that of a butterfly –
and that is the essence of a ghost’s story.
My short-story/poem ‘The Trick-or-Treaters’

Just before the sun went down
on October 31st,
on the evening of Halloween,
two brothers, Isaac and Reece,
and their little-sister, Hailie,
left their house to go walking up their street
to go knocking on the doors of their neighbours
and to say in one voice the phrase of the hour:
“trick-or treat”.
Every year, on Halloween, these three siblings
loved getting dressed up from head-to-toe
in costumes of their own choosing –
and this year, like every year,
Hailie was a “ghost”, Reece was a “Vampire”,
and Isaac was a “werewolf”,
and every year when they got home from “trick-or-treating”
they always returned with more candy
than they knew what to do with…
going door-to-door with one-another
was a tradition that these three loved reenacting –
come clouds and rain, or under clear sky and moon-shine;
however, they only went up the street and back again,
and since they lived in a cul-de-sac
the sooner that their trick-or-treating began
in no time at all it soon came to a sad end for another year.
Every year it was all treats and no tricks-
but, since this year there was a new neighbour
that had moved into their road,
Reece in particular hoped that maybe this year
they might return home with more
than just a bag full of sweets.
The new neighbours lived in the house
at the end of the road, up a driveway,
where a lady used to live
who had more cats than could ever be counted –
but who had sadly passed-away;
Reece, Isaac, and Hailie, did not know
the late-lady well, only her name:
“Mrs. Leech” – however, word got around
and it was thought that now
her sister had taken on her house
following Mrs. Leech’s passing,
and her name was apparently: “Ms. Beetle” –
“like the car, and not the British band”,
the mailman had recently pointed out.
It was Halloween again,
and Hailie, Reece, and Isaac
had knocked on every door of their street – but one –
and all three were carrying a considerable
amount of treats to return home with;
however, they had not yet visited Ms. Beetle’s house,
which they had left until last on purpose.
The walk up the driveway to Ms. Beetle’s house
at the bottom of the street was done slowly –
and as soon as the trio of siblings walked up
onto the wooden porch of Ms. Beetle’s house,
and they knocked on the front-door,
neither one of them knew what to expect –
however, they certainly didn’t expect
the door to open seemingly on its own,
and they most certainly didn’t expect to see
Ms. Beetle dressed all in black
mixing away at a giant cauldron-shaped
black container with bubbles and gases
jetting up from the green mixture…
and they most certainly, definitely,
did not expect Ms. Beetle to look
at all three of them and say:
“so, what will it be? Trick or treat?”
Ms. Beetle then began to cackle at the top of her lungs –
and that was when all three of the kids screamed,
then turned around, and jumped off
of Ms. Beetle’s porch, and they ran
all the way up the street and all the way home,
leaving behind all their treats
that they had collected from the night.
The next day, their was a knock at the door
of Hailie, Reece, and Isaac’s house –
and when their Mom answered the door
Ms. Beetle was standing there on the other side
and smiling from ear-to-ear
and holding out in front of her
the three bags of candy that the kids had left behind.
Ms. Beetle apologized for the night before,
and she gave the kids their bags of candy
and she told them that she was pleased to meet them,
and that this year she gave them both a trick and a treat –
but she also said that there was no telling
what she was going to do next year,
and the only way they would know
would be if they were brave enough
to come knocking on her door again,
and all ask her: “trick-or-treat”?
My Poem ‘Background Artist’
I am in the foreground of every landscape…
I am in the background of every picture…
I am in the orchestra that plays
the music of the spheres throughout interstellar-space…
I am interwoven into the language of the universe –
and yet too few ever see me…
not everyone knows how to look me in the eye…
not everyone can read the true meaning of my poetry…
no one knows what I have seen,
where I have been,
and what I have done already in my life.
There is only so much you can say with words…
there is only so many colours of a palette to paint with…
there is only so many moments in this world…
there is only so much you can give –
unless you know what to say and how to say it,
and you are in one of the places in the world
where language becomes as transformative as magic…
timing is everything – however,
if you know what, where, and how to say,
see, hear, and feel everything,
then you can realize anything into being.
A thing’s most defining feature lies just out of sight…
life’s most hidden mysteries
are only a blink away from being seen…
the content of a person’s heart and their soul
echoes around them and casts a shadow behind them
when they are standing in front of a bright light…
a dream can be a reality, just as reality can be a dream.
Doors rarely open for long…
opportunities sometimes only knock once…
bursts of inspiration can be so short…
time does not wait for us to catch up to it…
the world turns without pause –
but if we can find a place of peace and belonging
wherever we are, then we can never be lost…
there is something to be found, even in an empty room…
if we just learn to hold on to hope
and use what power and energy is has
then things have a way of jumping out at us,
like a baby deer running through a forest…
what you see is just one dimension of the whole…
just behind who and what you see,
I am standing there, looking, smiling,
imagining, writing, inspiring from afar…
I am constantly seen, and then missed –
but I am always where I am supposed to be,
doing what I was born to do:
an optimistic, poetic, omnipresent,
background artist.


