epic

My Poem “In A Galaxy Far, Far Away” (A Star Wars Poem)

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

*POTENTIAL SPOILERS FOR STAR WARS: EPISODES I-IX*

A long time ago
in a galaxy far, far away…
a young farm boy looked to the horizon,
to Light of the twin sunsets of his home world
of humble beginnings,
with a dream of going on an adventure
throughout the stars,
however unaware that he was already
a vital part of an epic story
and a saga that would one day
impact upon the lives, the dreams,
and the hopes of an entire universe
of people all looking to find
a purpose that would help them
decide what side of the Force of life
that binds the fate of everything
and everyone to embrace.

A long time ago, and every day since,
a reverential group of followers
of a tale of good versus evil
have diligently paid close attention
to every episode that chronicled
every twist and turn of a saga
that revolved around a “Phantom Menace”:
a Dark Lord’s insidious corruption
of the democracy of a Republic
and their rise to power
by becoming a tyrannical Emperor
who instilled fear into their subjects
and their manipulation and temptation
to the “Dark Side” of a family
with a powerful connection
to the energy field that binds
and flows through all living things
by the name of “Skywalker”,
and the many battles that comprise
the epic “Star Wars” that has defined
an entire generation and will never
stop influencing and inspiring
everyone who has lived through them.

A long time ago, X-wing starfighters
piloted by an alliance of Rebels hoping
to overthrow a tyrannical Empire
destroyed a moon-sized super-weapon –
a “Death Star” of phenomenal power
that had the potential to change
the face and the fate of this
“Star Wars galaxy” forever,
had it not been stopped…
a long time ago, a vessel by the name
of the “Millennium Falcon”
traveled through hyper-space,
beyond the speed of light,
from one side of the galaxy to the other,
and was responsible for
delivering the return of a New Hope
to counter the revengeful resurgence
of the zealots of darkness and fear
and restore peace and balance
to a galaxy and to a universe
that established from it’s very beginning –
with compelling characters, places, vehicles,
laser battles, and Lightsaber duels –
that it would never be forgotten,
even though the events that transpired within it
as stated from the outset,
all happened a long time ago,
in a galaxy far, far away.

May The Force Be With You Always

Advertisement

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 fulfill
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 ‘Intro’

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

An entrance, an introduction,
an opening, a beginning…
where to begin is seldom an option,
what to do when you start something
is like being a knight
standing nose-to-nose
with a fire-breathing dragon…
most of the time
we enter something
in the middle of a story –
we mostly never come into something
at the very beginning,
nor at the absolute end –
however, we are always equipped
with all that we need
when we first enter into the world,
and it is only as time goes by
do we learn and pick up
the implements and the defenses
that we require to save us
from getting struck down
or devastatingly hurt.

Everybody’s life is an epic adventure.
In times gone by,
heroes heard the calling
that they had been waiting for all their lives
as if it were as distinctive and alluring
as that of the call of a song-bird.
Whether a cowboy or an outlaw
in the old-west of America,
or an astronaut on the cusp
of the final frontier,
the boundless unknown of a wild open space
holds the potential
of fulfilling a life and a dream come true
that constantly brings a smile to the face
of those who live for the spark
that dwells where the land leaves no trace.

Most people are first exposed
to other worlds through stories;
most people first feel
the touch of the divine
when the veil of heaven
falls right in front of them;
most people can only believe
what they can see;
most people are not truly
awake to the world
until they have been fully awoken.

The best of things
begin with an insatiable sound:
a beat, a melody, a voice, a keystroke –
the contact of two separate things
connecting and intertwining;
there is nothing as jaw-dropping
as seeing a lightning-storm happening
in the dark clouds above
that looks so beyond understanding
and like something that only God
could be the reason for,
because it is so breathtaking;
the first things of anything
are always the ingredients
and the building-blocks that will grow
like the snowflakes that settle
and cover a mountain-top with snow.
You may be young,
you may be old,
you may think that you know
all that there is to know –
but, believe me,
everything that has happened up to you
until now was nothing but the intro.

My Poem ‘Interview with an inspirer’

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

Across a table,
over a mug of tea
or a cup of coffee,
over the years I have sat down,
spoke and communed
with the truly inspirational –
and every ghost of everybody
who has chosen to come
and pass on their wisdom to me
lives on in the words of the verses
within the lines of my poetry.

A long time ago,
William Shakespeare himself,
with quill in hand,
taught me how to write
and how to tap into
the well of inspiration
of my own heart;
only a couple of years ago,
I was sitting in a coffee-shop,
when who do you think it was
who sat across from me?
Why it was the ghost of Vincent van Gogh –
who instilled in me
the importance of every brush-stroke
that we all make, in art and in life,
and to not be afraid to make our marks
that number as many as a sky full of stars;
the white-suited spirit of John Lennon
regularly sits down with his guitar next to me
and inspires me to imagine and to see the world
for how it should be.

Only a few days ago,
I was having a deep and meaningful conversation
with the legendary ‘Starman’ David Bowie;
Amelia Earhart wants me to remind
every man, woman, and child
to never stop overcoming the odds
and reaching for the stars;
Audrey Hepburn has stopped by
to share breakfast with me –
she teaches me every time I see her
that being happy in life is all that matters;
Agatha Christie likes to drink
a cup of hot black-coffee
when sitting down with me
and explaining the importance of a great mystery;
“don’t be afraid to let your mind run wild
when you are writing anything”
was an inspiring piece of advise given to me once
by the author of ‘Frankenstein’, Mary Shelley.

I have been visited many times
by amazing people with epic stories
to tell from and of their lives –
Robin William, RIP, comes by often
to tell me a joke and to give me
the answer to a question
that I did not even know was on my mind;
everybody who sits across from me,
or beside me, talks to me, I believe,
because I listen and because I care deeply,
and perhaps because my imagination
and my heart burns like a fire;
special people never stop having
something to tell you and pass on –
even after death the light of a person’s spirit
lives on, and I am always ready and waiting
if somebody who used to walk the Earth,
but who is now in the after-life,
wants to return to life
through words and through memories
by allowing me to talk and interview
those who will always inspirational
and an eternal inspiring inspirer.

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 ‘Journey’s Friend’

								

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

					


				

			
Journeys are more memorable when shared;

journeys are more meaningful

when they are unexpected;

journeys are more special

when you care about every moment

that you are somewhere;

journeys are more fantastic

when you do something epic and amazing

with a friend.


A journey does not have to take place

in a fantasy world for it to be thought of

as magical;

a journey to somewhere,

a journey to something,

can take an hour, or even a lifetime,

and can be just as profound

as watching a new star being born,

which irrevocably changes

the features of the face

of the night-sky forever;

a journey that gives you a gift

every minute and every step along the way

is one that is truly inspirational;

a journey that takes you far and wide

but also close and deep in the same breath

is a miracle in every sense of the word

beyond measure.


A companion to lean on;

a mate to understand you

and pull you through the twilight nights;

a partner you can always count on;

a sidekick to have adventures with;

an ally and a buddy beyond any doubt;

a Butch to your Sundance

you would want by your side if, when, where

you had to make the decision

to jump off a cliff.


A reader of your stories;

someone who you would walk into a burning building for;

a comrade who is one of the best things in your life

who sees the world in the same way that you see it;

a familiar face, who you wish

was always standing at your front door;

someone who you have an unbreakable bond with

that will still be there and strong, even after death;

the best person you know

who is always there for you,

because they are, as you are,

your journey’s friend.

					

		
		
	




			
				


	

		

					
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 ‘Here be dragons’

								

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

					


				

			
Legends of dragons

populate and inflame

epics, stories, myths, and traditions,

throughout the world, and have done so for centuries;

dragons of every shape, size, and colour,

have took flight in tales,

and have been imagined in a myriad of ways

by some of Earth’s greatest storytellers of fantasy;

and the characteristic gift of the fire

that a dragon can produce

is something wonderful

that has always fascinated me.


Ever since I was a young boy,

I have known about dragons,

read books that had dragons, or a dragon,

as a character important to the plot of a story,

and I have watched dragons be brought to life,

and I have to say that not for a moment

have I ever felt any sort of fear

at the thought of such a fantastic creature

that perfectly symbolizes a world of magic,

mythology, sorcery, and other-worldly

wonderful creations, that burn in our imaginations,

and allow our ideas of the possible and the impossible

to be eclipsed by the veil

of something and somewhere extraordinary.


Dragons are characterized as spellbinding,

unstoppable, fierce, arrogant,

but also blessed with extreme intelligence,

in almost every story they have been featured in,

and their presence is not one

that should ever be underestimated.

There are many reasons as to why dragons

are still a very important symbol in many cultures,

and there are incredible works of art

that have been created depicting dragons

for thousands of years – and to this day,

the thought and the image of a dragon

is one that will forever resonate.


Every country has written its own literature of dragons,

and many heroes in such heroic and epic tales

of phenomenal bravery have seen the defeat

and the slaying of a dragon as the intended end-result

and the defining act of a quest;

some stories paint dragons as a sign of luck, wealth,

strength, the universe, existence, importance,

pride, and magnificence;

many dragons have been given names,

and their identities are known to more people

than at first might be guessed;

even on maps that were drawn to show

the cartography of the world, as it was thought to appear,

in the places on those maps that were still unexplored,

and may potentially be dangerous,

they had written on them for all the world to read:

“here be dragons”.


image

					

		
		
	




			
				


	

		

					
My Poem ‘Beautiful Extremes’

								

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

					


				

			
There is more happening

every nanosecond in the universe

than we could ever conceive

in a lifetime of imagining:

there is life emerging, evolving,

taking their first steps,

communicating, aspiring,

inventing, and understanding,

brand new concepts,

leaving the atmosphere of their planet,

seeking, meeting, interacting,

inspiring, believing,

knowing that they are not

the only intelligent life in their galaxy,

on a planet orbiting around a star,

existing with a purpose,

dreaming about other beings of life and light,

who are as inconceivable to us,

because we are in the dark about them

and who they are, as they are about us –

however, no matter how different we are from each other,

and no matter how we choose to express ourselves

in our own individual ways,

one thing unites everyone and everything in the universe,

and to all but who will be there at the end of all things,

and who will see the last few seconds

before everything starts again,

the knowledge of what it is that binds us all

will for now, and most likely for a few eons to come,

remain a tantalizing, compelling, inspiring,

driving, enlightening, fascinating, exciting, mystery.


The nature of planet Earth teaches us

that life will find a way to exist and thrive

in great extremes of environment,

even in a vacuum, even in a toxic soup,

even somewhere where the temperature is so low

and so past absolute zero that most things would die,

and even somewhere where a living thing

would spontaneously-combust

because the temperature is beyond

that of the hottest fire;

why things work out for some, but not for others,

is a constant cosmic question

that does not have a simple definitive answer,

because everything revolves around circumstance

and timing, and everything finding its match –

however, the meaning of life can be found

when you find the balance between what you have

and what you desire.


Believing in what we cannot see,

imagining what is impossible to imagine,

witnessing and remembering the light of what has been,

reading and interpreting the world and it’s moments

and years, like epic words and verses of poetry,

finding infinite connection, experiencing perfection,

holding in your hands, imagining in your mind,

feeling in your soul and in your heart,

that which is made in a place, and at a time,

is a miracle of beautiful extremes.


IMG_20150120_123709