enlightening

My Poem “Substantial sustenance”

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

It’s always great to experience new things…
it’s always great to see things
you have never seen before…
it’s always refreshing to go somewhere
you have always wanted to go
but have never been before…
it’s always enlightening to be exposed
to the sights, the sounds, the people,
and the unique identity of a community
all living and breathing
every aspect of their particular
village, town, region, or city.

It has always been a passion of mine
to seek out, to explore, to experience,
and to learn more about the many
different and diverse voices, accents,
faces, beliefs, and opinions
that make humanity the distinct species
of dreamers, storytellers,
and builders that we are…
when people go somewhere that
is renowned for representing
and practicing certain customs
and for communicating
in certain ways of speech
that cannot be witnessed nor heard
anywhere else in the world,
you can find yourself initially
overwhelmed and uninformed –
however, like with most things,
the more that you are exposed to
certain things, and to certain practices,
the more likely it is that you will
naturally accept what you are surrounded by
and over time you will naturally
assimilate certain things into
your unconscious daily routines.

Being a wanderer can be exciting…
being someone who is constantly
looking for inspiration and stimulation
can be encompassing and thrilling…
being someone who wonders
why things are the way that they are
can be revealing…
being someone who ventures
beyond their understanding of what
life is all about is to be someone
who accepts the mission of exploration
and discovery that might take them
to places that are both illuminating
in terms of knowledge and fulfilling
in terms of inspiration
that cannot be underestimated
and are an essential and a substantial
source of sustenance
for the mind, for the body,
and for the soul of who you are.

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My Poem “Thirty Seven”

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

There are days when time goes fast,
there are days when time goes slow…
there are things that I see, hear, and taste
that instantly remind me of the past…
there are moments in every hour of every day
when I dream, when I hold on to hope,
and when I smile to myself
and I know beyond doubt why I am here,
why I do what I do, and what life is all about…
there are faces that I stare at every day
of people who define me and who make me feel
like the luckiest and the happiest
man in the entire world…
there is, and there always will be, within me
an infinite world of hopes and dreams
that will repeatedly coalesce and come together
in the form of a poem that must be written,
and for my part I always want to be a poet
with an open heart who understands
and loves the power and the magic of words…
as I write this I am on the cusp
of turning thirty seven years old,
and like every year around my birthday
I sit down and describe who I am
and what reflection I see when I look at myself
in the mirror of my mind –
and who I see is who I have always been
and who I will always be,
on Earth as well as who I will be
if and when I hopefully rise up to heaven…
there is a brand new summer enlightening
and reinvigorating me as I look down
at this page of my life
and as I look up to the bright blue sky –
and though I know that I could be
a better man than I sometimes am,
I remain eternally and constantly hopeful
and now at the ripe old age of thirty seven.

My Poem ‘The White Rabbit’

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

I sometimes feel like
I am akin to the white rabbit of Wonderland;
I almost always find myself late,
because even in my mind
I am always rushing off to somewhere;
I sometimes feel like I am in an hour-glass
being slowly rained on by a constant dusting
of falling grains of sand;
I sometimes struggle to know
when to go and when to stop and wait;
as I watch time tick by,
like the hands of a clock,
I am very rarely seen standing still –
when I am writing,
when I am talking,
when I am thinking,
are the most likely of times
that you will ever see me motionless,
and even then, my muscles are on the move –
in some way, shape, or form –
and, to be honest, for me to be in any way
like a statue I would have to be ill.

Some things do take time
to fully come to fruition;
some things can happen
and must only happen in the moment;
some things that are what they are
are driven by emotion;
some things are so important to us
their effect on us is incredibly potent.

I have learned over time
that you have to follow your heart;
I have always looked for the rabbit hole
to the unknown, and ran down it at full-speed
without any thought of stopping myself, or looking back;
I have always been enamored by every sentence
that I have read that has ever ended
with a question mark;
I have always considered every opportunity
as if it were a doorway to somewhere
that is so full of inspiration and wonder
it would and will always be impossible
to ever pin-point the location
of everything there on any kind of map.

I have always believed
that there is no such thing as coincidence;
I have proof that every thing
and every person comes into your life
and is a part of your life for a reason;
I have vowed to myself to never stop
doing what I do, and to will keep going –
to keep walking through every open door,
and to keep jumping over every fence;
I have watched people leave others behind
when they feel like they have to
if they want to have the thing that they most desire –
I, however, do not give up on people
or on anything that matters to me lightly,
and if I could I would be there
when and where I am wanted and needed
for those who need me
through all the colours and shades of every season.

Anything can last forever,
if you don’t give up on it
and if you don’t forget it;
while you are looking around
and taking in life and your surroundings,
try to see the signs that you should follow,
if you want to experience
your eyes being opened wide
by a thought as amazing
and as dazzling as a bright light;
the things that may happen to you
if you choose to sometimes not worry
about all the things that could happen,
and if you learn to grasp the secret of everything:
that everything happens all at once,
and that the past, the present,
and the future are all one and the same –
and, if and when you do, that is when life
will feel even more beautiful and epic…
so, make sure you look around from time to time –
so that you may see, and perhaps choose to follow,
you own personal, life-defining and enlightening,
white rabbit.

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.

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My Poem ‘Heart of a Poet’

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

The heart of a poet
is one of the most beautiful, amazing,
wonderful, things in the universe;
the heart of a poet is one of the most pure,
enlightening, electrifying, and special,
miracles of life, that blesses whom it belongs
with a mastery of the most spectacular
and gorgeous of words;
the heart of a poet is always open,
and it feels things and experiences
exceedingly more deeply than usual;
the heart of a poet is like an open wound,
like an open book, and on each page
that the poetry of the poet is written on,
with every word of every verse,
the ink from the poet’s pen
flows like that of the poet’s own blood,
and every drop, or full-stop, is undeniably magical.

The heart of a poet was brought to life,
and beats every day of its life,
because of the the muse, the spark,
that inspired it right from the start;
the heart of a poet has its own distinctive
and individual rhythm, and a signature mark of the poet,
that anybody, no matter when or where,
can feel and see, even in the dark;
the heart of a poet aches to touch the heart of another,
and begs to be touched;
the heart of a poet always bounces back,
even if it has been hurt, or crushed;
the heart of a poet is bigger on the inside,
and even during an entire lifetime
it is impossible for it to completely be filled;
the heart of a poet is at home anywhere –
in space, in the air, under the sea,
breathing in the openness and beauty of a sunny afternoon
looking at the staggering scenery of nature
that surrounds a countryside field.

The heart of a poet is sensitive to sights, sounds,
smells, touch, and emotions;
the heart of a poet is one of life-long love and devotion;
the heart of a poet is better described of as a fire;
the heart of a poet is capable of unbelievable generosity,
and its greatest hope is to be inspired, and to inspire.
The heart of a poet is not given away easily,
and, like trust, you must earn the gift of the bond it forges,
and it should never be taken lightly, or for granted;
the heart of a poet is always scarred,
overactive, unique, and haunted;
the heart of a poet is able to transform
any full-grown adult into a big kid;
there is nothing in the entire world
you will ever encounter, see, read, hear, and touch,
more phenomenal and epic,
than the immortal heart of a poet.

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My Poem ‘Momentous Momentum’

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

The momentous momentum of life
means something different to everybody
who feels it and experiences it;
the breathtaking fast-paced world
can seem too intense sometimes,
especially when trying to adapt
to the constant changes that happen
that may seem impossible and as hard
as trying to dodge the oncoming flight
of a bullet from a gun;
it is only the very young who have the luxury
to not have to worry about
what is going to happen next,
and because they know no better
if they were asked by one of their friends
to jump off a cliff they would in a heartbeat;
it is only as we grow older,
and start looking back and reminiscing about the past,
do we start caring about the passage of time,
and how important all the days of your life were
when you were blessed by love, friends, family,
and the golden light of the sun.

Children have no perspective,
because most perspective is born
from the marrying together of experience and meaning;
adults have the gift of knowing right from wrong,
and yet they still make the same mistakes over and over again;
children have all the energy in the world,
they could outlast anyone in a marathon,
but because they have so much drive and passion
it is hard for them to focus on just one thing;
adults find it challenging most of the time
to simplify their thoughts and their lives,
because, more so than a child,
their thoughts are always at the mercy of their emotions.

Your life is not short,
unless you choose to shorten it;
your choices become complicated
the more that you think;
your life is supremely important,
and you are constantly making a difference
to your own life, and to other peoples lives,
even on the days when you do not think
that what you are doing
would be anyone’s definition of something exciting;
your choice to get out of bed,
to think about another person,
to do something for yourself, and for someone else,
is something that you learned at a very young age
when the thought of looking out the window,
running out the door, enjoying all the time
and moments that you didn’t even know you had,
was absolutely awe-inspiring;
and even when you think that life
could not possibly do anything anymore to surprise you,
something will happen that will be profoundly enlightening,
and it may be something akin to an eternal puzzle,
that you might spend the rest of your life deciphering.

Never be frightened of your feelings;
daily embark on a personal mission;
remember as much as you can of what you see
and the moments in which you are living;
embrace the rush of inspiration,
and take every opportunity to think outside the box,
and without even realizing it at first
you will be a part, and enjoying,
the wondrousness of life’s momentous momentum.

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