colour

My Poem ‘The Crimson Cardinal’

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

The bold red Cardinal;
the striking male;
the vibrant and the wonderful;
the one who does not shy away
and who knows that they are something special
from their beak to their tail.

Naturally energetic;
a lover of life;
happy to help others
if and when they can…
someone capable of generating
great vibrancy, warmth,
fire and passion.

Colour in nature is deliberate;
why things are coloured the way that they are
has a deeper meaning than some may think;
some colours are subtle;
some colours are loud;
some colours are unmistakable;
some colours are meant to stand out from the crowd;
some colours are spiritual;
some colours are essential signs
for the lost and for the found.

No matter who you are,
no matter what you do,
no matter where you go,
no matter if and when
the world feels calm and still…
there is more to what you feel,
there is more to what you see,
there is more to life
than even the beautiful sunlight can show us,
and sometimes the only way to know something
for sure is to use your heart and call out…
and then, perhaps, the answer
may reveal itself to you,
just as I believe that my path, my faith,
and my destiny became clear to me once again
when I looked out into the world
and I was visited by the vision
and the living manifestation
of my internal passion…
that came one morning, in Tennessee,
in the unforgettable form
of the Crimson Cardinal.

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My Poem ‘The Man in Blue’

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

Where to start, how to begin;
the first time is always the most memorable,
like the first time that you see a shooting star;
the first time for everyone is always different
for everything – however, just as seas settle,
and nerves turn into waves of excitement,
after that first time of complete and utter
scarily real reality grasping you
by the heart and taking your breath away…
something amazing happens,
something exciting rises in you
like an internal sun,
something makes sense
beyond words could ever explain.

Anyone can begin anything;
some things have a time limit,
and some things don’t;
anyone can capture the essence of a feeling,
and if you truly do not want a feeling
or a time to fade there is always a way
to make sure that it won’t.

There are some people
who read the last page of a book
before they ever read the first;
there are some people
who come into something
at the end and work their way back;
there are some people
who believe they are cursed;
there are some people
whose first word in life
is also their last.

As I have lived,
as I have grown,
as I have breathed deep
and ventured far from home,
I have seen things beyond my wildest dreams,
I have met the most beautiful angel of Earth
that I have ever seen,
I have been inspired,
I have walked through fire,
I have found a reason to live,
I have discovered that in life
it doesn’t matter where you are –
what matters the most
is who you are with.

We are all people of colour;
we all wear the shades of ourselves proudly,
because we consciously or sub-consciously
want to tell people “this is me”;
we are all exhibitionists, in our own way –
even if we do not always choose
to be the first one to show
our dance-moves on a dance-floor;
we all have some idea
of who and what we would like to be.

There are some offers
that you simply cannot refuse;
there are some people
who you could never say no to;
there are some colours
that no matter what
will always look good on you;
there are some who focus
on the little things in life
and the continued happiness of the few;
there are some people who are just like me…
and just like everyone has their favourite colour,
and in every way embodies
the empathetic qualities of their favourite colour,
I am definitely quintessential
man in blue.

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My Poem ‘Fever’

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

There are places in space,
there are moments in time,
there are faces, there are rhymes,
there are things that happen,
there are people who are who they are,
there are things that draw your attention,
there are an infinite number of multi-coloured stars
that brighten, enliven, and make your life feel
as if it is complete,
there are links that form
that give strength to weak.

Some may look at the landscape of a war-zone
and see desolation and a reason to doubt
the longevity of life on our planet,
while another person looking at the same sight
may see it as an opportunity to rebuild
and to reinvigorate, and to heal old wounds
and to put long-lasting hope into the mortar
and the stone of the newly relaid foundations
and draw lines of inter-connectivity
into the very blueprints of what is being rebuilt.

Anything can happen at any moment;
anybody can imagine anything
when their senses are brought to life,
like a spark to a fire;
even a single word can have lasting importance;
even a single glance and a look
can quickly evolve into desire.

A flash of light and colour;
the touch on your skin of a gust of wind;
the sound of a voice that always pulls you into
a magical world of wonder;
the feeling of euphoria that true love brings;
the way that things are,
the way that the many faces of the universe inter-work,
the way that even the smallest of actions
can have the most life-changing of powers,
is what will always be as things are forever –
and that is why it is always important
to cherish, to take care, and to kindle an idea,
because it does not take much in the right hands
for a single thought and dream
to take over and spread like a fever.

My Poem ‘Many voices inside the one’

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

Daylight is a flash of many colours;
day life is a mass of many choices;
just as a skyscraper
is a single building of many floors,
the light and the dark of the world
can only stay in balance with one another
if there is always a way and a forum
to speak, to sing, and to shout
with the tongue of many voices.

People learn more in the years
that they are a child
than they will ever learn
in the subsequent decades
that they are alive;
a child could literally grow up
to be anybody that they want;
someone who feels inspiration,
as well as sees inspiration,
in themselves and of themselves,
will be an inspiring bright light;
do not ever believe anyone
who tells you that lightning
cannot strike twice;
the people who truly lead the dance of life
do not always do so front the front.

A building must be built;
a person must grow;
every sword must have a hilt;
there must always be something
that you do not know;
a painting must be painted;
a movie must be written, acted,
filmed, edited, orchestrated, and directed;
music must be a conduit of many hearts;
to be funny, a joke –
no matter how many times it is told –
must always be one that makes everybody laugh.

Nobody can ever choose where,
nor to whom, they are born to –
however, if the history of humanity
can teach is anything
it is that birthplace and parentage
are the place, and they are the people,
from where our lives begin,
but they will never be,
nor should they ever be,
where or why our lives come to an end;
throughout our lives,
the voice that we talk and communicate with
changes depending on our ever-changing environment –
like the skin of a chameleon;
we are all somebody of many voices,
not just the one.

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 ‘Complexion’

								

								 Mark Hastings
															Poetry					
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With every step you take through nature,

with every minute in the sun,

with your eyes you can see

phenomenal, beautiful, fantastic,

incredible features,

with your ears you can hear

the rhythm and the natural music of life,

of which you could only previously recall but a fraction,

and your memory can only be a reflection.


The feeling of the sun on your skin;

the shape and the colour of every flower;

the aroma that is a mixture

between that of cut grass

and the most intoxicating perfume;

the time that can seem like a blissful eternity

that in reality is like a magical glass globe

of a world in which the blossom from the trees

floats and is carried by the wind

within a matter of hours –

on a sunny spring day

there is only one song and one sensation

you want to replay and replay.


The world would not be the same without us,

and we would not be the same without the world;

just as the molecules of our bodies

are bound tightly together to make us in a certain way,

just as our genetic traits slowly become noticeable

throughout our lives and will always be present in our DNA,

humanity is like a mixture of chemicals in a test-tube

and Earth is where the reaction happens

and can be observed in the galactic laboratory

that is always making and remaking

the definition of life’s mould.


There are skies of red;

there are seas of white;

there are stories never to be known or read;

there are birds that will never take flight;

life is no accident,

but it is an ongoing experiment;

things that were thought lost forever can return;

beauty can be different from person to person,

and can have different meanings

in different places on the same planet;

ice is cold, but it can also burn;

eternity can be an unimaginably cruel gift to some,

to live forever would be the most unnatural thing

to have to endure –

because every living thing lives and dies

so that all life can carry on;

change is fundamental in welcoming

the arrival of the future;

everyone must be both a balance

of different and the same;

to see the universal differences

there must be a spectrum;

everybody has an instinct about things

that can’t be easily explained;

biological life has its own natural colour

that is truly a miracle to behold

and to watch it as it defies explanation

every time while showing the simplicity

and in the same instant the complexity

of the infinite and the multi-dimensional

complexion of the universe.


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My Poem ‘Holographic’

								

								 Mark Hastings
															Poetry					
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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.


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My Poem ‘Tableau’

								

								 Mark Hastings
															Poetry					
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The music stops.

Time stands still.

You could hear

the sound of a pin drop.

Everyone and everything

is motionless

and as statuesque

as anyone could ever hope to be.

I look around where I am,

and I see the many different faces of people

who are in the exact same place,

at the exact same time, with me;

I was searching for inspiration,

however it looks like it has found me.


People come to the same place –

but, more often than not,

for different reasons;

I come here to write, to observe,

to listen, to enjoy the atmosphere,

and also to drink some coffee –

however, I can see that even though

there are parallels in people’s lives,

everybody is here under a different guise.


I scan the space where I am in a flash,

and I make instant observations of the people

sitting at all the tables:

some people are talking,

some people are reading,

some people are drinking,

some people are in the middle

of a moment of laughter,

and some people look as if

they are on their way to leaving;

some people look happy;

some people look sad;

some people look over-joyed;

some people look like

they are students from university;

some people look at home where they are sat;

some people are looking in at us all

through the window that separates

the inside from the outside.

Some people look incredibly fashion-conscious;

some people look religious;

some people look like they are on their way to work;

some people look as if they are reading something

that they need to learn.


Most people are wearing the same colours –

black, blue, and grey,

appear to be the predominant palette of choice;

however, there are small touches

being worn by people that set them apart

and show their inner-personality and voice.


Reality snaps back.

Time starts moving forward again.

People continue with their lives.

That frozen moment moves

from being the present to the past;

words are spoken;

people continue their conversations;

and at that instant,

there is the most intense

and extreme explosion of light.


The world is a work of art;

the masterpiece that is life

is a canvas that changes in infinite ways –

by the moment, you can see, feel, and think,

so much within the time of the beat of a heart;

life moves so fast,

and sometimes the only way

that you can truly appreciate

the tapestry of existence

is to have a moment of true stillness –

when you can look at the world

and see it like a tableau.


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My Poem ‘Turned Around’

								

								 Mark Hastings
															Poetry					
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While in the woods,

I got lost, I got turned around, and I lost my way;

while in the woods,

my path disappeared like pavement drawings

after a shower of rain;

while in the woods,

the wind blew through the trees;

while in the woods, time froze;

while in the woods,

there wasn’t a definitive direction for me to see;

while in the woods,

I found myself somewhere I did not know.


While in the woods, I heard distant noises;

while in the woods, my own potent survival instincts

focused every and all of my choices;

while in the woods, I walked past a tree

that looked as if it had been burned from the inside out,

as if it has been struck by lightning;

while in the woods, as I walked further,

I knew that the day was getting later,

because of the darkening of the day-lighting.


While in the woods, with every step that I took,

the colour of the leaves on the ground got darker and darker,

and after a time it looked as if I were walking on, and in, space,

because everything was black;

while in the woods, there were no signposts,

or anything that I or anyone could use as a marker,

and as my perception of time disappeared,

it did cross my mind for an instant

that I may never make it back.


While in the woods, the moon was the only source of illumination,

and even though it was an aid to me,

it still could not tell me where I should go;

while in the woods, you hear things rustling all around you,

but because there is hardly any light to see by,

knowing what might only be inches away from you

is something that you turn over in your imagination;

while in the woods, you feel the hairs on the back of your neck

stand on-end, and you wonder if, at some point,

you may not notice an obstacle right in front of you,

that might trip you up and send you head over toe;

while in the woods, you feel like you could walk for hours,

because your body and your mind

know that they should not be here after dark,

and all feelings of hunger or exhaustion

become distant memories and do not cross your mind for a second,

and as soon as you lose any semblance of sight,

all of your other senses unbelievably and radically become heightened.


While in the woods, you feel more deeply,

and your thoughts become louder;

while in the woods, and alone, your inner-voice becomes audible,

as you start talking to yourself,

and even the breaking of the tinniest of twigs

sounds like the roar of a crashing boulder.

While in the woods, you forget why you are in the woods,

and you ask yourself questions

that you might never have thought to ask at any other time before,

and may never ask those same questions again afterwards in the future,

but at the time you are asking them they are incredibly profound.

While in the woods,

you eventually find yourself in the very spot where you entered,

which may seem like a life-time ago,

however in reality you may discover that the time

is not what you think it is,

and the person that is you is not the one of the same mind,

and no longer focused on the same things,

as the you who walked into the woods,

and who somehow got turned around.

					

		
		
	




			
				


	

		

					
My Poem ‘Eye-Catching’

								

								 Mark Hastings
															Poetry					
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City lights at night;

shining multi-coloured baubles on a Christmas tree;

the sparkle in someone’s look that catches your eye;

flashing billboards and illuminated signs

that are like special-effect explosions from a movie.


Things designed to stand-out;

colours that always elicit an effect;

emotions that flood all your senses

from the instant that they are first felt;

beautiful creations that are perfect.


Birds, animals, insects, fish,

dolphins, mammals, humans,

all have a sense of beauty and attraction

and that can be explicitly seen

when they are attempting to attract the attention of a mate;

everyone and every thing uses a combination of many things –

sound, colour, movement, interest, smell, intuition –

to drive the sense of their opposite sex wild,

like opening up an overwhelming emotional floodgate.


Nature teaches us that nothing happens by accident;

instinct shows us that no matter how strong we are,

or how much we resist,

we can be captured and compelled to do things out of the ordinary;

the shining white moon above teaches us

that depending on the time of the month

even the way we think can be altered,

and in turn certain things can even affect the way we act;

love teaches us that there is nothing else like it

in the entire universe, and its intensity,

depth, feeling, and complexity,

is beyond any psychology or scientific theory.


Emotional attachment is a great and wonderful thing;

a persons reaction to even the sound of music playing

can tell you so many things;

our visual perception reaches into our soul sometimes

and creates a reaction deep within us

that can explode out of us like lava from a volcano,

and it can feel truly amazing.

The way are brains are wired, and what we think,

and what we do with what we see,

all depends on what we find fascinating,

exciting, mesmerizing, and eye-catching.