art

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 ‘Guardian Angel’

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

Your guardian angel,
your true soul-mate,
the most beautiful,
the greatest of the great;
your loving, sharing,
caring, best friend,
your inspiration, your hero,
the path with whom that has no end;
the person for whom
your love you can’t ever not show.

You cannot always see them,
but they are always there;
you cannot always hear them,
but it is to your picture
that they always stare;
you cannot always be with them,
but they are always thinking about you;
you cannot always put into words
how much they mean to you –
however, you can always guarantee
that the feeling is beautifully mutual.

The poetry that they write
is the life and soul of their heart;
wherever they are, whatever they are doing,
a part of them and you
are creating invisible
timeless masterpieces of art;
the hopes and dreams that you share
make each of you who you are;
the light that shines
when you both combine
is brighter than any star.

Sometimes the less you say
the more you say;
sometimes the most beautiful flower in the world
grows in the wildest of gardens;
the most priceless jewel in the world
can only be found
and it cannot so easily be given away;
those who save us every day
are the angels that walk the Earth
and are a part of our lives,
and they are our eternal and loving guardians.

20150711_140600

My Poem ‘Art & Soul’

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

Art is personal;
art is an expression of heart;
art is life’s missing parts;
art is the signature,
the fingerprint,
the indelible footprint,
of our soul.


To me, an artist is a magician of colour
who understands the deep emotional connections
that are ever-present throughout life;
to me, a piece of art is like a timeless child;
to me, an artist is a wizard of light;
to me, art should be seen, embraced, felt,
and it should call to you –
like the roar of a lion in the wild.


The epic mountains, the vast valleys,
the beautiful shores and seafloors of Earth,
are like a piece of one of a kind
natural sculpture –
and the time that was taken
to create and sculpt such masterpieces
was worth every second of every century;
the art painted on every cave
that still remains, and will always remain,
on the cave walls on which they were painted
are landmarks of human evolution
and creativity that are more extraordinary
than words could ever describe –
because, to me, they are proof
that not only were our ancestors
masters of hunting, gathering, and surviving,
but that they were also communicators,
dreamers and thinkers,
and curators of compelling
and powerfully evocative artistry.


Art has been a love of mine since I was a child;
even at a young age, expressing myself
with pencils, pens, colour, and paint,
was my way of letting my imagination go wild;
artists, to me, as a child, were like lords of time
who could capture a moment at its most inspiring
on a canvas that was always deeper
than it appears when seen from the side;
the moment that I first saw
Leonardo da Vinci’s ‘Mona Lisa’,
I looked into her eyes
and I instantly started to smile.

Whenever I go to an art gallery, or art exhibition;
whenever I look to the landscape of the horizon,
at any time of the day, no matter where I am,
I see art that is beautiful;
whenever I see something artistic
that somebody has made and created,
everything about me vigorously vibrates
with voracious energy and inspiration;
whenever I see art –
be it a Michelangelo, an Andy Warhol,
a vace of Sunflowers or a Starry Night
by Vincent can Gogh –
I want to make my own art
and express the emotions that I feel
about what I see, in words of poetry
from my heart of art and soul.



					

		
		
	




			
				


	

		

					
My Poem ‘Neo’

								

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

					


				

			
A new day;

a bright blue new sky;

a new breath of fresh air;

a new moment to take in

the exquisiteness of a familiar place;

a bright light;

a time to let the world slow down,

as if you don’t have a care,

and be re-energized

and feel phenomenal

at all the emotions that you go through

when you feel a gust of wind

blow through your hair.


Life is constantly rejuvenating itself;

people are always looking to better themselves;

life is growing; people are becoming;

life is mystifying; people are fascinating.


New music, new art,

new motivations, new starts,

new meals, new deals,

new mirrors, new reflections;

new journeys, new travels,

new energy, new directions;

new expectations, new idols,

new ideas, new styles,

new happy tears.


New life is abundant on Earth every minute,

just as it is every second in the big wide universe;

there is more happening,

and more parts moving into place,

than anyone could ever comprehend;

the unspoken truth is that

for all the grains of sand on a beach,

and all the stars of the night sky,

we know nothing about how everything truly works –

even a theory that could combine

biology, physics, chemistry, and spirituality

could only ever scratch the surface

of the great meaning of the life, the death,

and the rebirth that is happening:

stars and life are being born,

dying, and coming back to life

in new, wonderful and spectacular forms –

some of which are beyond imagining.


New inspiration, new enthusiasm,

new sights, new vision;

the world made anew because of you,

because of life’s constant state

of reconfiguration, disposition,

and re-fusion.

Somethings will new change,

and some things always do;

some people age before their time,

and some people cannot believe

how fast the days and the years

of their life have flew.


Every new day is a new page;

as the world turns,

life and people from any point of view

can see and be given insights of the universe

that will never be old –

because the universe is constantly

remaking itself every second…

just like new.

					

		
		
	




			
				


	

		

					
My Poem ‘Holographic’

								

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

					


				

			
Beyond what you see,

further than the horizon,

above the clouds,

above the trees,

in the art at the heart of the universe,

in the colours of the galaxy

that can only be seen from Earth with a telescope,

there is layer upon layer of light and colour –

particles of dust, laboratories of gas,

cocktails of elements,

when observed from a particular vantage-point

come together to make a picture

that is a piece of art

that has been millions of years in the making

that will slowly change over time

and evolve to be something else,

just as everything else must

that is connected to nature.


The things we see can sometimes be an illusion –

a hologram, a figment and a combination

of our vision and our imagination,

as well as our emotions,

and if you were to see the same thing

from a reversed-angle, looking back,

you would see a completely different picture

with radically different connotations.


Many things can be a trigger for great creativity;

many experiences can be spectacles

that can inspire great art;

many things must first happen in a poets life

for them to write epic poetry;

many life-changing infernos began burning

because of a well-time spark.


A face is always but a mask;

a book cover is but an entrance below

to a trove of treasure;

every planet with life

is a pearl of infinite complexity

in an ocean of dark;

a name is but a teaser

to something greater and deeper.


A library is a hive alive

with story-lovers, and story-tellers;

an art gallery is where those who

want to appreciate art and visual poetry

can go to be awestruck by a kindred spirit

that lived perhaps centuries before they were born;

everything has a story to it,

everyone has had to be a part of a journey

that may at times have been unpredictable and frenetic;

a market of any type is the best place

to see a snap-shot of an echo of something

that is primordially interstellar;

new artists rise with every new dawn;

everything that you catch with your eyes

is a layer of space and time

that exists in a universe

that when seen for all its components and projections

is fundamentally holographic.


IMG_20150421_141455

					

		
		
	




			
				


	

		

					
My Poem ‘The Art Complex’

								

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

					


				

			
There is nothing more inspiring than art;

there is no one more interesting than an artist;

discovering new art is the best part of any day

and when I do I am always touched deep in my heart;

to me art is magic –

and right this second there is so much art in the world

it is beyond the dreams of any dreamer,

and it has to be seen to be believed

and must not be missed.


Art is on every city street corner;

art can be seen in the sky;

art can be seen on doors;

art is being created spontaneously every minute,

and the true gift of art

is that it not only is an expression of spirit

but it is also being painted on a canvas

that is as deep as a black-hole

and also infinitely wide.


I believe that we are in an artistic renaissance

filled with music, portraits, paintings,

literature, poetry, creativity

on so many levels of complexity –

the rhythm is so encompassing and phenomenal,

art inspires more art,

and artists are like the choreographers

of a profoundly beautiful and moving dance.


I wake up every morning

and art is the first thing that I see;

I open my eyes every day

and I see new life in the new light;

I open my mind as I open the curtains

and I see the most awe-inspiring masterpiece

right in front of me;

I imagine something I have never thought of before

and my imagination and I are away

climbing higher and higher by the second

faster than a kite.


Watching an artist create art,

even for a fellow artist,

is powerful and inspiring;

watching a blank page or a white canvas

slowly transform into a piece of art

is incredibly amazing;

seeing inspiration come to life

by the hand of an artist

and watch their vision evolve

from being something ethereal

to something tangible is breath-taking;

witnessing the reveal of an artists poetic license

is truly fascinating, inspiring, and enlightening.


Art is words, colours, light, dark;

art is natural, meaningful,

life-changing, emotional;

art is epic, magnetic, and an artists body

and mind is never at rest;

art is never untouchable –

it always has a reason to be,

and it is always preceded by a spark;

art is reveling in the freedom of your birthright,

and focusing on attaining a never-ending goal;

artists of their time are avatars

of the world they live in which they are inspired by,

and every artist knows that no matter

how simple something appears

in actuality everything is a work of art

and is a story that is substantially

and markedly complex.


20150723_130020

					

		
		
	




			
				


	

		

					
My Poem ‘Artistscope’

								

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

					


				

			
When you have a gift

you need to show it;

when you have a natural talent

you need to share it;

when you have a personality

that is wonderful and magnetic

you need to let your light shine;

when you look at life

and you are instantly attracted

to its amazing wonders,

especially if you are an artist,

then you need to capture

those miracles of the world

and of your imagination

and give them everlasting life.


Artists are the most amazing,

phenomenal, sensitive, wonderful

and expressive people you will ever meet,

and every time I make a connection

with a fellow artist I become inspired

just by seeing, sensing,

and touching their spirit;

some people understand art,

and some people don’t –

but one of the most incredible gifts

of an artist is their exceptional power

to distinctively emote;

there are artists living

on every continent on Earth,

and every one has their own

unique style and way

of expressing themselves through their art,

and every artist’s art is always influenced

and infused by what surrounds them

and the studio that is also their home.


You can watch an artist

make art wherever you are;

you can see the passion, the love,

the heart of an artist who creates

masterpieces one after another,

like the awesome LA artist Amanda Oleander,

thousands of miles away

thanks to the instantaneous technology

of the 21st century;

you can be witness to an immersive,

profound and defining moment for you

and for an artist and give them a part of you

and be with them in spirit

every second of every day of the week –

from Monday to Sunday.


Art is not bound by time,

nor are it’s artists;

art is happening 24-hours a day,

7 days a week, 365 days a year,

and art in so many of its forms

can make you smile, inspire your dreams,

make you feel something you have never felt,

and it can bring you to tears.

I feel blessed to have known

and to have met artists from all walks of life,

from all around the world,

who truly inspire me every day

with the amazing things that they were born to do;

I look to my fellow artists

when I want to see and feel empowered with hope;

art can and will always change the world,

and if you are not an artist

and you want to bring the most spectacular

rainbow of colour into your life

seek out an artist and prepare to be amazed

and awestruck by what you see

when you look through their artistic periscope.

					

		
		
	




			
				


	

		

					
My Poem ‘The Fox’

								

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

					


				

			
In the early hours of the morning

when everybody, mostly,

was asleep in bed,

I used to walk the streets

while the sun was still rising,

and I would see and hear the world –

and there are things that I saw,

and things that I heard,

that I have never before confessed.


I used to listen to the silence,

and, as when I was a child,

I believed that I could hear

and feel the Earth turning;

I used to see the sun

and instantly feel the hairs

on the back of my neck stand on-end,

and I could feel the heat of the sun –

as if my skin was about to start burning.


With the moon still in the sky,

and the stars still shining bright,

the streets, the houses,

the trees, and the flowers,

looked in a stage of rest

as the people sleeping nearby –

and even though it was a new day,

it still had the look

and the feel of twilight.


I used to hear the first birds,

in the trees and on the rooftops,

begin the symphony of song

that is the dawn chorus;

I used to look up at the sky

and see the colours

and the canvas of the clouds

change and paint a unique picture,

with the sun acting as both

an inspiration of natural art,

as well as a back-light.

There were mornings

when I just used to stop and stare,

and feel a part of each

and every beautiful moment;

some mornings were absolutely

stunning, incredible,

phenomenal, and magnificent.


I was witness to true wonders of nature;

I lost time, because I used to forget

that it even existed;

I used to have this feeling

about what a day would consist of

right at the beginning –

like sampling an unfinished meal

and trying to get a sense of it’s flavours;

the times when I felt like

the only person left on Earth,

as if I were its eternal guardian

and destined to walk the miles

of this wonderful sphere forever,

were the best.


Many mornings, many hours,

the only other living thing

that I would see was wildlife –

and the amount of animals

that are already up

and doing what they know,

and what their instincts tell them to do,

without even thinking, is amazing;

and every animal that I used to see

was a moment, for me, that was truly magical:

from deer, to rabbits;

from hedgehogs, to badgers;

from frogs, to cats –

however, the species of wildlife

that I saw the most, and the animal

that I used to see

and would see looking back at me,

the beautiful creature of the night and the day,

which knows the true value of family,

which knows what they have to do to survive

and provide for their family,

that I used to read stories about as a child,

and the animal that I used to see daily

and be captivated by,

was the animal with the most warm and fiery fur on Earth,

which I used to see casually walking down the road,

which I was not for a second afraid by,

and which was and still is one of my favourite animals

of the night and early morning,

and that animal is the fantastic fox.

					

		
		
	




			
				


	

		

					
My Poem ‘Selfie’

								

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

					


				

			
Long before the ‘selfie’ was the “selfie”,

long before we used to take pictures of ourselves

with our cameras and share them with our friends,

the ‘selfie’ used to be known as the ‘self-portrait’ –

and, to this day, it is a way

for an artist to show people

what they look like so they can see

who they are, where, and when;

so, the so-called ‘selfie’

has been around for hundreds of years –

however, instead of using paint

to create our self-portraits,

we now use our reflections

as they appear in mirrors.


It is a time-honored tradition

to take pictures of ourselves,

and to me it is in no way egotistical

or self-indulgent;

it is the most important thing

to capture memories and to show how

someone appeared when they had moments to remember,

and when they were happy and in full-health –

and that is why I believe

the self-portraits that we capture and take daily

are brilliant.


If you are comfortable to take a photo of yourself,

it just shows that you are happy in yourself

and how you look;

those who don’t have the same level of self-acceptance

in their appearance would seldom choose

to take a picture of themselves,

because there is something about them

that they would change if they could.


There is nothing wrong with taking a photo of yourself,

especially if the reason that you are taking the picture

is because their is no one else around

to take a photo of you;

people have been posing for pictures

since cavemen were captured on cave-walls

in paintings of hunters hunting gazelles;

if you have a camera in-hand

and you want to show someone what you look like

in a second, why wouldn’t you?


Self-portraits are art;

in this day and age,

you can create a self-portrait instantly;

self-portraits are our signature

and our unique mark;

self-portraits may no longer be called ‘self-portraits’

today in the digital age –

however, they are still what they were,

even if they now have a new same:

the “selfie”.


image

					

		
		
	




			
				


	

		

					
My Poem ‘Where art endows’

								

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

					


				

			
As soon as I boarded the train to London;

as soon as I set foot on the bustling platform

at Euston Station;

as soon as I rode the tube to Bakers Street;

as soon as I looked down at the wet pavement

shining under the shadow of a statue

dedicated to ‘The Great Detective’,

I saw art in everything above me,

everything around me,

and everything underneath my feet,

and the art that I saw left me breathless

because it was so epic.


When I was a child,

I used to look at the cover of The Beatles’ album

‘Abbey Road’ and imagine that I was John Lennon –

dressed all in white, and the one to lead

Ringo, Paul, and George over the crossing

to the other side of the road;

and, while in London, I decided

to follow in the footsteps

of the greatest band that ever was

and go to ‘Abbey Road’,

walk over the famous zebra-crossing –

and I swear that while I was there

I felt incredibly emotional

and so privileged to be there,

and I absolutely felt an abundance of love:

because even though I was walking across by myself,

I didn’t for a second feel alone.


The London Underground is like a warren of rabbits,

a hill of ants, or a hive of bees –

there is so much activity,

and there are so many people

traveling from place to place all over the city,

and everybody is in such a rush;

if you are a daily commuter,

keeping calm and knowing where you are going is a must.

Traveling on the tube is exciting –

everything and everybody I saw

were different from each other,

and to me wonderfully inspiring:

my fellow commuters fascinated me –

all the conversations that I heard,

and all the faces that I saw looking back at me,

were like feeling the pulse of the city,

and it was like the people were the blood

and the plasma of London

traveling down tube tunnels

that made me think of a human bodies

blood-vessels and arteries.


When I first arrived at Trafalgar Square,

and I looked up at Nelson’s Column

towering above two giant statues of Lions

that were the size of two large cars,

as soon as I saw the sight

of the beautiful National Portrait Gallery,

I could literally see hundreds of people outside –

and each person looked to me

like the peaks and waves of a multicolored sea.


While in the National Portrait Gallery,

I found myself completely in-awe

at the beautiful artwork within

which can be found through every open door,

and when I stood in front of Vincent Van Gogh’s

“Sunflowers” painting I was completely entranced

by its magnificence – and every second that I spent

gazing at Van Gogh’s masterpiece of art,

I felt connected to it, and to Vincent Van Gogh

so deeply and profoundly, that I am still engulfed

in the power and the feeling that comes

when you touch something that is

the source of so much inspiration and energy.


From the gallery, I then searched,

and caught a train to Soho,

and eventually came across a wall

that had a piece of art painted on it

by the graffiti artist “Banksy” –

and as soon as I looked at the amazing

piece of modern, incredible,

thought-provoking art that symbolized,

at least to me, the creation of beauty

through self-expression,

in the form of the painted outline of a yellow flower,

I was reminded of another incredible artist

that I had seen earlier,

and the day at that moment came full-circle,

and I knew that everything was connected,

and the world was, and is, a gallery of artistic destiny.


On my way home from London,

I mused and I could not stop thinking

about what I had seen and what I had heard,

and what I had felt during the time

that I had been drawn

from one side of the city to the other,

and I wondered what it all meant.

As I sit here now,

I know, as I have always known and believed,

that things in life do not happen by accident:

I know that the world and I

are connected in ways

that no one else but me will ever know.

In this world there are places with many people

living and working in them

that are fountains of inspiration on so many levels,

and every day I see sources of energy that inspire me –

and that is why I return to certain places time after time,

because these sources and places are exquisite art

that will forever continue to endow me and everybody.


London-collage2015-1