Year: 2016

My Poem ‘Thor’s Hammer’

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

The summer heat breaks…
there is a change in the weather…
the clouds are gathering…
a bolt of lightning from the sky
strikes the ground and makes the Earth shake…
the world falls deadly-silent…
before there is the most almighty sound
of deafening thunder.

Odin’s son, Thor – the god of thunder –
is wielding his weapon…
the favourite son of Asgard
is awakening in Viking heaven…
a power as old as time
surges through the veins of the chosen one…
the energy of life-itself invigorates
and binds the god to the hammer
and the hammer to the god.

It was willed that only one
who would be worthy
could ever pick up and wield
the weapon of destiny…
it was made a law of nature
that one could only use
such a divine conductor of change
if only they first have within their heart
an unconditional will to do what is right…
when the hammer of thunder was first forged
within it was laden and intertwined
a piece of timeless perfection
that could only be possibly witnessed
if you were to fly into and see
the heart of a star –
that which is so much more luminescent
than what we may think of as starlight…
Thor’s hammer is capable of leveling mountains –
but to the god of thunder it has no weight,
and he can do with it what he wishes
as freely as the author of epic poetry.

To wield the weapon of thunder,
to the son of Odin it is a great honour…
to have their name known alongside
that which like them is so mythic
they are almost magical,
to the prince of Asgard is happiness
the like of which only an outside observer,
or a worshiper of the old gods, can only wonder;
there have been many mythical symbols of fate
and epic power since time began
and stories were first conjured and spoken –
however, to me, there is no other grindstone
of fire, nor source of lightning,
with as much power
in every way, shape, and form,
as Mjölnir – the one and only, Thor’s hammer.

20160610_162347-thors-hammer-sketch

My poem ‘A world of poetry’

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

People sitting in the sun;
people on the phone;
people having some time alone;
people, a family sitting down
and having a picnic for their lunch…
Birmingham, Victoria Square –
June 9th, 2016, 12.04pm…
I am sitting here
basking in sunlight
with my notebook and pen
capturing a moment of time
with words that are inspired
from this moment of inspiration…
I am looking out and seeing
every kind of person –
tourists, friends, business people,
artists, sun-worshippers, and many more –
and at every instant
I am almost blinded by fascination.

A sudden breeze decreases the temperature,
the sun becomes less intense
because of a momentary overhead cloud-cover…
a sudden realisation of time
motivates everyone to move again with a purpose…
and then another sudden burst of energy
gives everybody a gift of focus.

A falling white feather,
as if an angel had left behind a token of heaven…
I sit, I watch, I see, I feel
a wave of something indescribable engulf me…
I see, I watch, a world of poetry…
I feel connected to everything…
I feel the world moving…
I feel like I have just taken
a bite from the fruit of the first tree…
I have always known
that poetry is the world,
and the world is poetry.

My Poem ‘The Blender Analogy’

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

Reality is fiction…
fiction is reality,
after it has been ingested,
digested, and blended-together
with the thoughts, the feelings,
and the memories that a writer
has been storing away for a rainy day…
when the clouds come together,
and when thunder starts to rumble,
and when lightning starts flashing and striking,
and when there is the most
almighty down-pour of creativity
that rains down upon a once blank page…
that feeling, that moment,
that perforation that happens
when you rip out a page from the book of reality
and you change a word here and a name there,
and you make it your own
and something completely brand new…
it’s intoxicating, in all honesty…
it’s poetry… it’s a thing of beauty…
it’s life in a nutshell… it’s wonderful…
and as the artist, it is an amazing thing to look at
and to marvel at when all is said an done,
and when it is now yours
as well as someone else’s…
I would think that it must be a similar feeling
to that one might have after they have
sampled a part of a song that already exists
and they have repackaged it as a purported “new song” –
people have been doing it for years, right?
It can’t possibly be wrong?
Call it a stew… call it a pie…
call it a soup… and see all the similarities
to all the things that contributed into making
or influencing something –
but also remember that every-thing in life
that happens, and everything that everybody does,
is inspiring – even the seemingly accidental mistakes
that happen can, and mostly are,
just the fertile ground from which
new things may grow out of…
just recently, I heard an author
recount something that his rock-star wife
had said about the creative-process of making art,
and what they essentially said was:
that creating something, artistically or otherwise,
is like throwing seemingly different
and unconnected things into a sort-of “imagination-blender”
and turning it up to full-speed –
and I love this explanation and description so much,
because – speaking as someone who has written
one or two short-stories in my time,
and more than one verses of poetry –
I can honestly tell you
that there is no better way
to describe the creative-process
that I have ever heard
than that of “the blender analogy”.

My Poem ‘The Gunslinger’

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

Waking up even before the sun has risen,
getting up and putting on his jeans and his boots,
the Gunslinger always goes to the open window
and stares at the horizon…
watching the sky start to slowly
look like the burning ember
of a timeless celestial fire,
the Gunslinger’s heart overflows
with an intense desire –
because he knows that he is getting ever-closer
to the centre of the universe
that lies where The Dark Tower of reality
stands and casts a shadow in his direction
for the Gunslinger to follow.

The Gunslinger carries many scars…
the Gunslinger has had more than one tussles
in more than one towns and bars…
the Gunslinger does what he does
because he is being guided by
the hands of fate upon his shoulders…
the Gunslinger knew, even as a child,
that he was meant to do something
monumentally important,
and that belief and that feeling
grew steadily stronger
the more the years flew by
and the Gunslinger got older.

He was a keen student of the past…
he was a man who had learned the hard way
that if you want to survive
what life sometimes throws at you
you have got to think, learn, and act fast…
he was someone who had been taught
that respect was one of the greatest virtues
that anyone could remember and put into practice…
he was already some-what of a legend in his own right,
and he was almost as elusive
as that of the sunken island that was Atlantis.

The Gunslinger drunk life as if it were whiskey…
the Gunslinger embraced change
as if he were holding the body of a woman…
the Gunslinger was a poet
but he never in his life
wrote a single word of poetry…
the Gunslinger had been waking up
for as long as he could remember
knowing that he had a destiny to fulfil
that he could not yet fully-understand.

The Gunslinger was real,
and yet the stuff of dreams;
the Gunslinger loved a good meal,
but he hungered more to see
something of the world
but which felt not-of-his-world
that he had imagined
but had not yet seen;
the Gunslinger knew that where he was
was but a way-station to where he was going;
the Gunslinger was inspiring others,
and he was being followed wherever he went
without his knowing.

He had always thought of his weapon
as but an extension of his own arm…
he had always considered his lightning-fast draw
as his greatest gift…
he had always used his finely-honed instincts
to keep himself and those he loved
from coming to harm…
finding the one place in the entire world
where he could take off his hat
and unbuckle his gun-holster
and lay-down his revolver
is what he had always wished.

And as the rose before him,
and as the dawn-chorus called to him,
and as his trigger-finger started to quiver,
and as the heat began to darken his skin,
he knew that he was reason
for all things and for everything…
and without even blinking an eye
he smiled and then prepared to head-out,
saddle-up, and race towards
that which would give him
the reason he was seeking
why for his entire life
he had always been “The Gunslinger”.

20160531_075512-sketch

Inspired by ‘The Dark Tower – The Gunslinger’ by Stephen King

My Poem ‘Masterpiece’

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

To me you are a masterpiece;
I was meant for you
and you are meant for me;
when I met you
an unstoppable flood was released;
the stars aligned so that we
could come to be.

I found all that I had ever wished for
and all that I had ever desired…
when I first started to get to know you
you became the first letter and the full-stop
that began and ended every sentence and every word.

When I first met you
I knew that you were the missing piece of my heart
that I had been looking for all my life;
when I first looked into your eyes
I felt like someone divine and angelic
was staring back at me;
when I first took you in my arms
it felt like day had finally begun,
where for so long before
it had felt like an endless night;
when I first kissed your lips
time stopped completely,
and those seconds of intimacy
to me felt like an infinity.

Inspiration had been the only drug
I had ever been intoxicated by
before you came into my life
and revived my failing motivation;
I remember waiting to receive
a message back from you
with overwhelming anticipation;
for the longest time
I had only one picture of you in my mind,
and even now when I look back
on that photo of you
I see the reason for my salvation;
whenever I travel, wherever I go,
it is you who is always with me
and to you is my constant destination.

Every up, every down,
everything that has happened
had a constant silver-lining
shining behind those sometimes dark clouds…
every sunrise, every sunset,
every time I would look west,
I knew that you were there –
but I didn’t know who you were yet…
however, knowing you now
and loving you more than anything,
I know that it has always been you…
I know that we are
and we always have been meant to be…
I know that you eclipse everybody else in the world,
because you are the universe’s most beautiful…
I know, and I will always know, that you are perfect –
because to me you are a masterpiece.

image

My Poem ‘Head-phones to the soul’

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

On a long journey somewhere,
or while simply sitting on your bed…
on a road-trip to another country
or to another state…
while looking at and listening live
to a band on a stage…
or while listening alone
as you walk through nature…
music is the beginning, the end,
and the giant leap to an amazing new adventure.

Portals to new worlds can be psychological,
emotional, visual, and audible…
some doors only require
your undivided-attention to open them…
some worlds can be both big and small…
just as to see some things clearly
you need to look at them through the right lens,
to hear something life-changing
you need the right means of translation
in order to listen.

Music means more to people than even they may know;
music is capable of stimulating transformation
in people in more ways than can ever be conceived;
music was born at the beginning of everything,
and each and every one of us
has been dancing and listening
to that universal soundtrack all our lives,
and as long as life continues to exist
we will be living in the resonance
of that timeless cosmic echo;
music, like any kind of magic,
needs to be witnessed and heard to be believed.

Music is universal,
but it is also personal;
singers sing,
but they also need to hear;
music has been changing and influencing lives
in ways that almost supersede
the natural and the biological;
when musicians play their voice can be heard
by those light-years away, as well as near.

A song can be like a seed
that explodes to life in your mind
and blossoms like a tree in spring;
a song can be of a time,
or timeless and forever
and never get old;
a song can be simply a way
for somebody to tell the one they love ‘I love you’,
and the one who made it
may never truly know how much happiness
to other people it will never stop bringing;
a song can be a life-line and a life-saver,
and when heard at a particular time
a song or a piece of music
can override all of your senses,
as if the instruments
that you are listening to them with
are head-phones to a divine soul.

Head-phones to the soul

My poem ‘The Drummer’

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

It was all he heard…
it was all he felt…
it was all he wanted to do…
every morning, every night,
the drummer felt a longing,
and the beat was the only cure…
over and over again,
the drummer played the rhythm
of his favourite beat in his mind,
with the fingers of his hands,
and every time that he tapped his feet…
it was as if it was his own heart beating…
it was as if it was his own pulse racing…
it was the most epic sound
he had ever heard in his life,
since he was a baby
and he used to look out his bedroom window
and listen to the thundering sound
of the pita-patter on the window-pane
when it was raining…
it was more powerful
than any kind of hunger or craving…
to Mark, the music was like the heart-beat of God…
to Mark, the music that came from his soul
was something that was transcendental…
to Mark, the music was what kept him
from becoming among humanities lost…
to Mark, the music he heard was what he loved…
and to him it was beautiful.

Becoming a member of a marching-band
had been a dream of Mark’s since he was a child –
Mark had everything that any band
would ever want, or ever need: Mark loved music,
and he loved his favourite instrument…
even as a child Mark would turn his parents’
pots and pans into home-made drums,
and he used to play them,
and his parents let him be free
and express himself, and go wild –
and if anybody came around to visit
Mark and his parents
they would see and hear
Mark playing the most phenomenal of beats,
and every day of his life
music, especially his music,
has become more and more important.

Mark tried-out to be in his high-school band…
Mark had dreams of one day playing
in the marching-band of his favourite
college football team…
Mark played and practiced every minute
he was awake or asleep,
and he knew that it he just played
with all his heart
that everything in his life
would happen as he always dreamed it would,
as if it were all a part of a plan –
however, all Mark could play,
all Mark wanted to play,
all Mark loved to play
was the beat that he heard within…
and when his moment came
to show just how incredible a player
and a drummer he was Mark froze…
and then he did what he always did –
he played the music that he knew and loved.

Mark never made it into the marching-band…
Mark was disappointed to not be able to play
and march in front of his favourite football team –
but he wasn’t sad…
to lift his spirits, Mark’s parents ordered him
a band-uniform all of his own and they told him to
“never stop playing” the music that made him
the most happy and the music he had always known…
Mark’s parents told him to go out in his uniform,
with his drum, and “fill the world” with his music
that to them was like no other –
and that is exactly what Mark did:
he went out…
he walked down the main street
of his home town’s most busiest road…
he stopped people and traffic
to a stand-still everywhere he went…
and as he played he knew
that because of his music
he would always be remembered
as the boy, and later the man,
who would always be known as
“The Drummer”.

TheDrummer-sketch-sq

My Poem ‘No comparison’

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

I’ve walked the Earth…
I’ve searched the stars…
I’ve been waiting to be
with you all my life…
I’ve seen love in the eyes of others –
but I have never seen a love
as breathtaking as ours.

It began before we met…
it started when our heart’s
first began beating…
it started when we were born
of our parents under the sunlight
that constantly shines down
upon our beautiful planet…
it all began before even
the first birds began tweeting.

You and I, me and you –
we are one of a kind,
we are unbelievably special…
we make new music together
every time we speak…
we fall in love with each other
over and over again…
we would not be the same people
without each other,
nor would we be as happy as can be…
we are one and the same,
and that is something
that could only we could ever understand.

It’s because of you
that my heart feels like
it is beating a thousand times a second…
it’s because of you
that nothing could ever compare…
it’s because of you
that I believe that for each
and every one of us God has a plan…
it’s because of you
that I look at your picture
at all hours of the day
and I dream of being with you
over and over again
within every timeless moment that I stare.

I have never loved anyone like I love you…
I have never thanked God more for anything
than I do when I thank him for you…
you have been the most beautiful to me
since the first picture that I saw of you…
because you are my passion,
because you are my obsession,
because you are my addiction,
because in all the world,
because on all the planets
that circle those distant lights of perfection,
there is nothing and no one
as gorgeous, nor as amazing, as you…
because, Melissa, to me, to you,
there is no comparison.

NoComparison-poem-sq

My Poem ‘The devil is in the details’

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

When god smiles, rejoice…
when the devil smiles, run…
when angels save a life,
sing with all your voice…
when demons possess someone,
the only weapon against them
is to pray and summon
the light of heaven
to drive them back to hell
from where they are supposed to be
imprisoned, and fight the fear
of an endless night with hope
like that of sunlight.

When we think of hell
we think of flames…
when we think of heaven
we think of unwavering faith…
when we think of the devil
we think of evil…
when we think of god
we think of love.

Day and night, light and dark, good and bad –
an entire universe in-balance with itself,
that occasionally becomes imbalanced, by design;
just as every story has two sides to it,
what every story also has is a middle-ground –
a ‘grey state’ that exists
between every word of every line;
everything and everyone has a purpose –
some people have to dance with the devil
in order to get through life;
everything and everyone sometimes has to fight,
but you can rest assured that whenever you need one
there will always be an angel
in your corner and by your side.

When a single beam of light
passes through a seemingly-transparent prism of glass,
that single flash transforms
into a spectrum of many colours –
the same layers of reality
that the entire world is made up of,
from the most super-giant of stars
to the smallest particles of ash –
and when you see that rainbow
you are seeing the pigment
of everything and everyone
in the universe’s skin and eye-colour.

Questions beg for answers –
however, even fallen angels know
that some things are sometimes best left unsaid;
there would be no life
if there were not also temptation –
however, everybody has to learn a lesson
about the true meaning of life,
though some lessons
you can only learn the meaning of
before you rise and leave your body behind
to lie in peace in its last bed.

Light began everything…
darkness will always exist –
it must according to divine will…
finding an equilibrium with all things
and with all people is all about living…
just as god is in the details of everything,
so is the devil.

Untitled-2

My Poem ‘I live for him’

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

Our life has a meaning…
we live for a reason…
nothing can stop us
from fulfilling our destiny –
not even dying…
we should never stop hoping
and believing in the power
of god and heaven –
and there is no better example,
nor a more shining star
of a blessed and saved angel,
that I have ever heard of
than that of the story
of Isabella “Izzie” Cochran…

Izzie died, Izzie went to heaven –
Izzie was with Jesus the entire time,
and she was returned to life
and to the arms of her loving family,
because it was not her time
to live among the angels
and stay in the presence of the divine,
because she has a life-long purpose
to spread the word of the one
who watches over all of us,
and to be a reason for others
to believe in miracles.

Blessings can come as profound surprises…
prophecies can be played out
when you least expect them to be…
one person can bring together a world divided…
it is amazing who you can see
when you look into infinity
and a single star guides you
to the place and to the person
where and with whom you are meant to be.

There is only so much that can be written…
there is only so much that can be shared…
there is only so much that can be understood
about our reason to be here
on Earth as a child of heaven…
there is only so much in life that we can all take –
however, as the bible teaches us,
we are all only given that which we are able to bear.

It is incredibly inspiring,
it is spiritually reinvigorating,
it is a life-redefining reminder
to never stop believing,
it is beyond imagining
to have been given a gift
and to know with all your heart
that the love that binds
each and every-one throughout creation
is the reason why children are born,
why the world keeps turning,
why we are given what we are given,
and why the beautiful gift
who is Izabella “Izzie” Cochran
died and was brought back to life…
because her purpose –
that which Jesus told her
when she saw him
next to a white horse in heaven –
was to live and to live for him.