My Poem “Outlaws”

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

When I was a kid
I was always fascinated by
legendary heroes and characters
such as Dick Turpin, Robin Hood,
Sinbad, Zorro, and many other
renowned outlaws of their
respected times and societies,
who rebelled against what
they saw as a dictatorial
state of being that people
were being forced to live in,
who decided to rob from the rich,
deliver to the poor, and fight
for the right of the innocent
to live free and happy
and content in the knowledge
that there was someone
looking out for their interests
and watching over them.

Heroes of conscience
who live every day of their life
fueled by the hope that they can
make a difference and right
the wrongs of tyranny
have been featured in so many
of the tales that humanity
has been telling itself for centuries,
and even in our modern age
those same characters still
embody and have associated with them
a symbolism and an enduring example
of just how powerful the human spirit
can be when it finds itself facing off against injustice.

There will always be injustice in this world
and there will always be a place
in the stories that we all tell ourselves
for extraordinary individuals
who have the courage of their convictions
to put the needs of the many
before the needs of the few
and commit to enacting
their own form of rebellion
by staying true to a code of behaviour that in their eyes of the oppressor
might be considered
the actions of an outlaw.

My Poem “Be Thrifty”

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

There are times of the year,
especially around Christmas time,
when you have got to think about
the likes, the needs, the wishes,
and the feelings of
more than one person simultaneously,
when you have to think about
what would be the perfect gift
to buy somebody in order to demonstrate
how much someone means to you,
when you have got to take advantage
of every given situation and offer
in order to be shrewd with what you
have to spend –
which is why so many people
flock out the door on days
like “Black Friday” and they go
from store to store in order
to find something that is being
advertised at being sold
at a fraction of the price
that they normally are.

The stores around Christmas time
are always full of people trying
to see, to pick up, and to purchase
what they have in mind,
what is on the list that they may have made,
or what they subliminally feel
compelled to buy in some way.

Christmas shopping is never easy –
in fact it gets harder to do every year;
however, I personally have always
enjoyed the process of putting
a great deal of thought
into who I am going to buy a gift for,
but sometimes I find new things
that I have not seen before
and when I do I have learned
the hard way that if you see something
that you have never seen before
which fits perfectly into
the mold in your mind
that pertains to someone that you know
you need to get it while you can
because their is always someone
right behind you who will
not hesitate to make the most
of the opportunity to walk away
with your original find and thought.

When Christmas shopping
you really do need to start early,
you need to take your time,
and you steadily need to
build up an instinct and a biography
about what a particular person
whom you know may have mentioned
in passing, subconsciously hoping
that someone would take note –
so my advice for anybody like me
who is currently in the process
of buying presents for family members,
less than a month before Christmas,
is to start now, to make a physical
or a mental lists before hand
that you can refer back to,
and of course to be quick,
to be thoughtful, to be calm,
and when possible to be thrifty.

My Poem “The Hero’s Journey”

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

It occurs to me that since I
first began writing poetry
that I have been on my own version
of “The Hero’s Journey”…
perhaps I have been on
my “Hero’s Journey” since I was a child –
or, more likely, like most people
who find themselves called
to seek out adventure,
my childhood was just the preparation
that I needed to learn and to grow
before I knew what I had to do,
why I had to do it,
and where I needed to go.

My call to adventure was one of love –
and when I discovered the book
that I would come to consider
as the poetic version of a “holy text”
that was when I felt like I crossed
a threshold into a new world
where I could see patterns
and poetry all around me
and I felt truly transformed
and able to walk through doors
that I was unable to do so before.

When I first started upon
the path of the poet,
and wearing the guise
of the Poet of the Sphere,
along the way I found myself
drawn to people and inspired
by mentors and muses
who opened my eyes to things
that challenged the way
that I perceived the world around me
and I was tempted down dead ends
that would ultimately lead me to a downfall.

After my fall I found myself
within a dark and deep abyss
of my own making –
however, eventually, I was able
to pick myself up off the ground
and like the embodiment of
a mythological phoenix
rising from a fire
I felt as if I had been reborn,
and yet again I found myself
walking down a path of transformation
in order to find myself,
which was followed by
moments of revelation
that lead me to atone
for the actions that I had taken
that had lead me to emotional ruin.

Over time I was given the gift
of love from a goddess
and I was forgiven, and then I returned
from the underworld of the unknown
to the land of light where I would
rekindle the love that gives
meaning to everything that I do –
and so the cycle began again,
and again – however each time always
distinctly different in some way –
and after every new revolution
was completed I always found myself
sitting down, alone, writing,
contemplating and attempting
to interpret in verse the revelations
and the phases that combine
to make the tapestry of
my own version of
“The Hero’s Journey”.

My Poem “Giving Thanks”

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

Life is sometimes testing…
Life is sometimes depressing…
Life is sometimes a hard pill to swallow…
Life is precious, as is time –
and that is why we all need
to embrace every moment
with everybody we love,
because unfortunately
Life is not filled with
an ending number of tomorrows.

Life is never perfect –
no one ever always gets what they want…
Life is not meant to be anyone’s
personal version of perfection,
because if that were not the case
then we would be able to stop
people from leaving us
and we would always be able
to find what we have lost.

Life is a chain of changes…
Life is a series of streams…
Life is a wave of emotions
that rise high one day
and then crash down around you
when you least expect them.

Life is what it is…
Life is what it is designed to be…
Life is what it needs to be –
but that doesn’t mean that we
always have to like it;
however, sometimes it is the things
in this Life that we have absolutely
no control over –
which is most things, most of the time –
that are what make us who we are,
what we are, and why we are
the way that we are,
and it is the people who have seen us
at our worst but nevertheless still love us –
our loved ones who we share memories with –
who we should daily look at
and give thanks for
for simply being there when
we needed them the most
and sometimes people who we
only get to reconnect with
around Christmas time
or within the season of Thanksgiving.

My Poem “The Rings of Saturn”

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

While growing up,
when asked by someone:
what my favourite planet
of the solar system was?
I would always immediately respond
by saying the name
of the most renowned
and the most instantly identifiable
and recognisable ring-encircled
“Gas Giant” that almost everybody
on Earth is familiar with,
and that Giant of the night sky
is the one and only planet Saturn.

Why has Saturn been my favourite
planet since I was a child,
and not Mars? Jupiter?
Neptune? Or Mercury?
Well, I am not entirely sure;
however, for whatever reason,
there has literally always been
a gravity that has been
drawing my attention
to Saturn in particular –
perhaps it is because
every time that I have seen images
of its vast, iconic, beautiful,
and incredible ring system
that surrounds it,
that is all made up of tiny pieces
of rock and ice that all seem
to fit together perfectly
and combine harmoniously to create
an example of natural astrological art,
there always seems to be a synergy
that to me is symbolic
of some many fundamental things
that I believe life it’s true meaning.

To me, the rings of Saturn
symbolize how life and the universe
is in a constant state of revolution
and almost clock-work like precision,
and depending upon which
vantage point certain things
are being observed from
that can have a fundamental effect
on how they are perceived;
for example, when seen along their
peripheral edge the rings of Saturn
are almost imperceptible,
but when seen from above
or from below the majestic magnificence
of Saturn’s rings show just how
spectacular they are to behold.

From a singular human
perspective and interpretation,
the rings of Saturn resemble
a vinyl-record ingrained with
the music of an artist –
and, just like a record spinning
on a turntable, people here on Earth
have been able to find a way to listen,
to interpret, to record, and to share
the music being generated
by this impressive world,
that just like every spinning
sphere of the cosmos –
be it a star, a moon , or a planet –
is constantly resonating a signal,
a voice, a music, a song
that can only be heard by those
with the right ears to hear it.

The universe, the galaxy,
the solar system of planets
that Earth is a part of
has always been a source
of exploration and discovery,
of intrigue and inspiration,
and thanks to the inventions
of some of our most inspired
and innovative creators and inventors
we have all been able to have
the privilege to see, to hear,
and to feel the pull of
some of the cosmos’ most
awe-inspiring and incredible phenomena;
however, to me, no matter what else
is discovered and uncovered
behind the dark veil of space,
I will always look to and consider
the impressive ringed world
of Saturn to be among the most exceptional
and evocative wonders of the universe.

My Poem “Working Day”

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

Ice scraping… wheels spinning…
wind blowing… people shivering…
the air of the morning is freezing…
the winter weather of
this new morning is unforgiving.

Turn the heat up to the max…
watch your footing upon those slippery paths…
keep those windows closed
or you will feel the snap
of that deadly draft.

Blue sky… birds chirping as they fly…
Looks like the traffic is light?
But now red lights? Why?
I think some people need
to relearn how to drive?

Busy bees of the city –
people with somewhere to be…
On the radio I hear
that some trains have been cancelled,
that some cars have
broken down on some highways –
and I bet that there more than
a few people asking themselves right now
the question: why me?

Bikers weaving lane to lane –
those riders have got to be on their game…
A near-miss? Wow! That was close!
If that rider had been any slower then
right now they’d be toast.

Get to work with time to spare –
not the best feeling to be there…
hot coffee, calls to make,
not long until the next break…
hopefully the time today flies by –
hopefully 9 will soon turn into 5.

Driving home…
my bed is calling…
my phone is dying…
my stomach is rumbling…
might need to get
some take-out on my way –
because if I don’t
it’ll soon be too late.

Home safe… legs ache…
take-out meal still warm? Great!
Time to watch some TV? Ok!
Eyelids soon get heavy…
Hard to concentrate…
Need to sleep…
These days it is not as easy
as it used to be to stay up late.

Seems like the instant
that my head hits the pillow
my alarm clock is already waking me up –
and whether it want to or not
now I need to roll out of bed
and get up.

Another day, another dollar…
once again I am getting dressed,
and flattening down my collar –
and soon enough I am heading
out of the house
to restart the cycle,
and as always I hope and I pray
that I can once again make it through
the “rat race” of all that
life throws at the average person
on a typical, busy, often exhausting,
modern day, wild west of a working day.

My Poem “Personal Collective”

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

There is nothing like
being around like-minded
people who all share
the same appreciation
and the same optimistic
outlook about something,
about someone, about life,
about the future,
about the importance of humanity
working together and respecting
one another for a common purpose
to maintain the ever growing,
changing, and evolving experiment
that is the human race
that will only truly begin to
show its potential when
the collective members
of our species ventures away
from Earth, seeks out,
and sees with their own eyes
all the wonders of
the rest of the universe.

It is so great being around people
who feel free and able to express
themselves in any and every way
that they can imagine…
it is so great to be around people
who do not require any kind of
explanation as to who you are,
what you are, and why you choose
to look then way that you do,
because you are instantly
and automatically accepted
as being a member of their collective.

When you are around people
who immediately understand you –
a fellow convention attendee,
a fellow concert-goer,
a fellow fan and enthusiast
of the same TV show, film, music,
group, artist, author –
then there is always a silent connection,
a mutual wave of empathy, an excitement,
and when the shared feeling
of a group of people culminates
into a rush of adrenaline
when they get to live out
a dream and meet a star
who symbolizes and embodies
that which they have invested
countless hours and energy into –
like meeting an actor who you admire,
or a rock star whose music always
makes your heart beat fast,
or an author whose words
have touched your heart –
then follows a perhaps
once in a life-time moment
that becomes a seed of joy
that grows, blooms,
and flourishes within you
so much so that it seeps out
and spreads to other people,
and sometimes to people
who you may slowly but surely
convert and assimilate
into your very own
personal collective.

My Poem “The Illuminations”

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

For as long as most people can remember,
it has been a vital and necessary
rite of passage for so many
children and families
here in the United Kingdom
to travel to a place “by the seaside” –
a place that so many people have dreamt about,
a place that so many people have sung about,
and a place that so many people
think affectionately about
even after they have first visited –
and a place that has so much
history to it, as well as so many
good and positive memories
and experiences associated with it:
a place, a town called Blackpool
that is located on the West Coast
of England, on the Irish Sea,
that is renowned for so many
wonderful things,
and among all the things
that it is synonymous with –
alongside the iconic
“Blackpool Tower” –
has to be its stunning display
of spectacular illuminations
that can annually be found lining
the Promenade, near
the Blackpool Pleasure Beach,
that the people of Blackpool
always put a great deal of effort into
because they have been among
some of the most important attractions
that has kept attracting visitors
and tourists to this place for generations –
and even as people grow older,
and as new families are formed,
there isn’t a year that goes by
when people in their droves
do not look forward to visiting,
to revisiting, to enjoying,
to remembering, and being awe-inspired
by the sight of the flashing
and vibrant colours and lights
of the “Vegas of the North”, Blackpool,
and it’s stunning illuminations.

My Poem “The Forbidden”

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

The draw of the forbidden…
the urge to explore
the places where very few
people have been before…
the instinct to reveal the truth
of that which is hidden,
the call of the wild
that has compelled many people
to seek out, to feel,
and to capture the energy
and the spirit that some things
naturally emanate –
symbolized in many stories
as being an apple, a chalice, a ring,
a fountain, a plant, a monolith,
a message left for others to find
so that they may experience
profound revelations that will
fundamentally change the way
that they see the world,
as well as change how they see themselves,
are as prevalent in the tales
that humanity has been telling itself
since the beginning of language
and the start of our path of discovering
who we are and what we are
in the grand scheme of universal understanding.

It is the quest of the forbidden that gives
a journey into the unknown its potency…
it is the question of what lies beyond
all the maps that have been drawn
that has attracted all the explorers
that have ever been born…
it is the danger of a forbidden vortex
that storm-chasers lust to race towards
that awakens within them
the same deep longing to push the envelope
of what is possible that precludes
so many people from being able
to silence the voice inside them
that tells them loud and clear
to never decline an opportunity
to take a bite out of
the fruit of the forbidden,
to experience what it takes like,
and to see where it takes you.

My Poem “Verbatim”

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

There is a story behind everything…
there is a reason for everything…
there is a story to be told about everybody…
there is truth to be found
about the human condition
by listening to everybody.

Everybody is capable of being
a storyteller with a varied
and a different perspective
on everything, because
everybody experiences the world uniquely –
which is why no voice
should be ever silenced or muted
because their opinions
do not run in parallel
with that of the status quo…
everybody is capable
of expressing themselves somehow –
even if it is with the power of a stare
or a passive but noticeable gesture
that is a part of the universal
art of getting your point across
and making your intentions known.

Stories are wonderful things –
however, stories have a way
of taking on a life of their own…
some stories can start out
being about something
small and insignificant –
however, when stories are internalized
and personalized then can be reshaped
and retold in many different ways…
stories can be given names –
especially those that were inspired
by real life events and circumstances…
stories always have characters in them –
and on occasion storytellers
often exaggerate the qualities
and the attributes of a particular
character in order to make the story
that they are telling more dramatic…
some stories are referred to as
“Chinese whispers”, because they grow,
because they change, because depending
on how many times they have been told,
heard, retold, and shared –
though the seed at the centre
of the same story remains the same –
little by little, with every passing
iteration and narration,
a story can lose some of it’s most
fundamental facts,
and the devil that is in the details
of a story can become a shadow
of what was initially intended
to be a story told word for word.