feelings

My Poem “Masked”

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

Masks are everywhere these days
and they are being worn
by many people in many ways –
but some masks have been worn
for much longer and for more reasons
than for what and for why some people
now wear them for and for what
they now wear them
to protect themselves from.

The masks that people wear
every day, sometimes for years,
look like a face that you might
remember and recognize –
but beyond, behind, and below
that mask of skin and muscle
often lies the real person:
someone who may be crying out
from inside a deep and dark tunnel
where they are troubled by
thoughts, feelings, and emotions
that at times of intense trauma
make them feel like they are
a prisoner within the cell of a prison
the walls of which no one else
could ever possibly understand.

People often wear masks
which have smiles upon them –
however, in reality, the true face
that they are wearing on the inside
is one like that of a sad clown
with tears running down their face
and ruining the makeup that they wear
to continue to sell the facade
that helps them not break down
physically, mentally, and emotionally
whenever someone gets too close
for comfort and they start
to stop and stare.

Wearing masks is not a new thing,
however the wearing of material masks
has become more normalised
and is more prevalent than ever…
people often wear emotional masks
so that they can go through life
and are not constantly being asked
whether they are alright
or whether there is something the matter.

Things like the physical pain
and the psychological anguish
that people have to daily cope with
are easier to hide when seen
from far away but they are harder
to disguise when seen up close…
some people need to wear masks,
because who they reveal themselves to be –
perhaps when they are alone
in the shadows of their bedroom
and listening to the music
of their favourite artist,
when they can finally let
their inner-self be free –
is often not the same person
who they want to see,
or want to be seen,
in reflection, or by anyone,
because the face of who
they really are is that of someone
whom only they know
and whom only they know how to be.

My Poem “Nature’s Poetry”

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

Every day when I walk
I feel like I am genuinely
hearing the voice of nature
talk and converse with me…
every day when I walk
and I see trees with green,
gold, brown, and red leaves
I am always fascinated to know
the story of how they came to be
and what the landscape looked like
before there was this impressive
oasis of forestry and home to so many
types of animals and their families.

Every day when I walk
I feel a deep connection with nature,
and even though I am always by myself
I admit that I never feel alone…
every day when I walk
I stand upon hillsides
and I look all around at countryside
and I feel so much inspiration
and power beating from this place
that I call my home.

Every day when I walk
I leave my footsteps
in grassy embankments
alongside those of the impressions
left behind by animals like
rabbits, foxes, deer, birds –
and while I follow the trail
left by others before me
I always stop momentarily
to inhale all the aromas of nature
being carried on the wind
that swirl all around me.

Every day when I walk
something that cannot be described
releases within me and just like that
I feel like I am a child again
and running without a care
through a field as green as could be,
as if I have walked back through time
and returned to being an earlier
version of me, as I used to be,
and there is always this amazing
feeling of belonging that I feel
accompanying me whenever
I take a walk and I draw upon
the inspiration of nature’s poetry.

My Poem “The Spirit of Life”

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

Whatever is within
must undoubtedly come out…
whomever is on the inside
must reveal themselves…
whatever remains to be said
will one day be said out loud…
whomever is usually free-spirited,
outgoing and who seeks the most
potent moments of life
will do whatever they can to
rebel and break free from
confinement above all else.

Whatever someone thinks
they know about themselves
the person who knows them the most
is their own reflection,
their own thoughts,
their own dreams, their own shadow,
their own voice, their own ghost…
whomsoever comes into a person’s life
will have an impact that cannot be
estimated or fully understood
until long after that first contact
grows into something meaningful,
substantial and it evolves
beyond to become something
deeper that can be shown.

Whatever drives the reason
for why someone does something –
something that was the initial idea
that created a spark into action –
will always remain at the heart
and will never stop being the source
from which every action afterwards
is generated…
whomsoever responds to whatever
they see, hear, feel and experience
are voluntarily and involuntarily
participants and contributors
in the process of maintaining
the fundamental stream and flow
of the spirit of life
that so many people see in others
and consider to be something important
that needs to be revered, cherished,
and never maliciously sedated.

My Poem “Rain Brain”

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

I’m not sure what
this says about me,
but I have always enjoyed
walking in the rain…
ever since I was a child
I have always found it
thrilling and cathartic
to walk through puddles
and to watch streams
of rain water disappearing
down metals drains.

There is so much poetry to see
when you walk across
a wet pasture of grass
or when you walk through
a cathedral of tall green trees,
because you get to experience
and to immerse yourself in nature
at it’s most fertile
and at it’s most lush…
there is so much art to be found
when putting one foot in front of the other,
while making contact with the ground –
whether it is within the resplendent
colours of a flower dappled
with glistening rain droplets,
or accidentally when a droplet of oil
from a car engine falls onto the road
and explodes into a rainbow.

I know that getting wet
for seemingly no reason
isn’t for everybody –
but to me walking, seeing, listening,
and learning about the world
and the way that everybody
is connected to everything
and how everything is connected
to everybody is just as
essential as breathing;
and no matter where I am,
or whatever I am doing,
the poetic heart beating within me
will always see and feel
time after time how amazing
it is to welcome both
the shining rays of the sun
as well as the return of the rain –
as long as the price to be paid
from them does not result
in the rising of pools
of sadness and pain
from the deluge of thoughts
and emotions within our brain.

My Poem “The Wolf Moon”

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

As the Wolf Moon rose in the East
and immediately filled the dark night-sky –
just like a werewolf from a horror movie –
as soon as I looked up to the moonlight
I found myself unable to fight, nor deny,
that which I was feeling in that moment:
this instinctive urge
to howl like a wild animal
and let go of who I was, what I was,
where I was, and run off
into the woods and feel
the spirit that I knew was within me
drive me to a moment of transformation
from which there might be no coming back…
I could already perceive my senses
start to become more heightened,
and I swore that I could feel the sensation
of excess hair starting to grow upon my back;
however, then, in the same instant
that I was feeling almost overwhelmed
by my uncontrollable thoughts,
emotions, and racing heart,
as if planned from the start,
I heard in the distance the sound
of a Wolf’s howl and I knew immediately
that this cold January night was when
a fellow creature of the twilight
was calling out to anyone or anything
that had within them the heart,
the spirit, and the strength
that only a Wolf feels and knows
that they must express,
because of the explosion
of undeniable energy within them
that surges below their skin –
and that was what I felt
when the fuse inside me
was immediately ignited
by the sight of the glorious Wolf Moon.

My Poem “Beacons of the Season”

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

The season of Christmas
doesn’t truly begin for me
until I am decorating
and turning on the lights
of our family Christmas tree…
it has been a tradition
for as long as I can remember
for me to be the one
who retrieves the Christmas tree
from the attic and hangs
all the tinsel and the baubles
in an always unique and random fashion,
and I enjoy every moment
because I love the thought
of creating a brand new piece
of festive art that makes people smile
and draws the attention of everybody
and fills them with a sense of awe.

My family has had a couple
of Christmas trees throughout my life;
however, we never had a real pine tree –
so I have never had the experience
of having to periodically clean up
fallen pine needles from the floor,
but I have been fortunate
on many occasions
to have taken a walk through
a forest of still growing pine trees
so I am fully aware of the intoxicating
and calming fragrance of their aroma –
and every time I get to inhale
that distinctive smell of pine
I find that it always
opens a door within my mind
to tastes, to sounds, to feelings,
and to experiences that to me define
what is so special about
Christmas time.

I believe that there is nothing else
that symbolizes the hope
that everybody wishes to find
at this time of the year
than the multicolored lights
of a Christmas tree
shining in the darkness of twilight
and reminding everyone
who gaze upon them
that all is never lost –
because I believe that every source of light
is a beacon of optimism
that anyone can use
to find their way back to a place
that can call home at any hour
of the day or the night.

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 “This time of the year”

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

This time of the year
should be filled with peace,
love, joy, and festivities;
however, invariably,
this time of the year
also sees the rise of feelings
and emotions that instantly
bring some people to tears.

At this time of the year
people tend to reach out
and they want to show
the people that they love
and care about just how much
they mean to them;
however, unfortunately,
not everybody who loves someone
is fortunate enough to be able
to have who they love safe and near.

At this time of the year
there are always loved ones
who are separated by a seemingly
insurmountable distance
or by a barrier between them
that keeps them apart.

At this time of the year
it is always hard to find
the words to describe
that which by their nature
transcends language, distance,
memory, and time –
because so much of what
makes life so special
for those who are fully able
to enjoy it and to cherish it
is encapsulated at certain
times of the year,
and most notably at Christmas time.

This time of the year
should be celebratory…
this time of the year
should be wonderful…
this time of the year
should be gift worthy;
however, the truth is
that this time of the year
is not everybody’s favourite
time of the year
because they may be
missing someone in particular,
because they may be
missing something that they have lost,
because they may be missing
the irreplaceable,
because they may be missing
the times when things
appeared to be easy, simple, and clear –
and that is why it is more important
than ever to be extra sensitive
to everybody you meet
at this time of the year,
because everybody is going through
uniquely personal things in their life,
and especially during the “holiday season”
that is this time of the year.

My Poem “It Takes One to Know One”

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

From my experience,
over the course of a life
of being around music lovers,
movie lovers, storytellers,
and those who have had to live
through many things during their life,
I have slowly felt the awakening of a gift –
a gift that I believe became apparent
when I began exploring, experimenting,
and expressing my thoughts, feelings,
hopes, fears, and desires:
the ability to see and to recognise
a particular gift within somebody
who life has steered towards me
so that I may interact with them –
and because I am a poet,
and because I am naturally
a very emotional person
who is regularly emotive about
what is on his mind,
what he believes to be true,
as I quietly but openly question
what something means and whether
there is more to explore
about something, at the same time
that I am dreaming about
what is in store in the future,
and every day I believe that I see
things in people, in places,
and in ways that other people perhaps
may be temporarily incapable
of seeing and believing –
especially within themselves:
natural gifts, skills, talents, voices,
hidden and perhaps undiscovered
powers of persuasion to be able
to make people feel something
and to bring out something
from deep within them,
and in turn continue the miracle
of life that was begun when light
first shined upon the deep darkness
of space and gave rise to the first stars,
planets, and all the other multicolored
phenomena of the universe
that have been inspiring life
and which was inspired into being
once upon a time by an explosion
of creativity that continues
to bloom over and over
again within the soul of every living thing.

One of the greatest gifts someone
can give someone else
is to recognize and to inform them
that they have within them
something that needs to be shared far and wide
and with as many people as possible –
and I believe that it is the duty
of the creatively inclined
to stoke the fire of fellow artists
and to tell them to do the same
whenever they find someone
with hidden talents,
because sometimes the only person
who can recognise someone
as being gifted and special
is someone with a similar love
that beats within them
night and day like a perpetual drum –
and also because, as the old saying goes,
sometimes: “it takes one to know one.”

My Poem “Kids These Days’

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

Kids these days have never had it so good…
kids these days spend a lot of their time,
apparently, Tik-Toking along to their favourite songs,
Instagraming their favourite selfies,
streaming their favourite music videos
and commenting on the social media content
of so-called “influencers” who
have opinions that some young people
take noticed of and listen to
more so than even their parents,
and the majority of the interactions
that take place mostly happen
when sharing some Face Time
by using an app on their mobile-phones
that connects them over the internet
to their close-by and far away friends.

Kids these days are spoilt for choice
when it comes to choosing
what to watch, what to read,
and what they can do –
however, no matter the riches
at their fingertips, kids today
still never fail to arrive at moments
when they express that they feel bored
and that “there is nothing to do”.

Kids these days have got so much more
than what a kid growing up
in the 1980s or the 1990s
could ever have dreamed of –
however, as with every kind
of overabundance,
there is a danger that hides in plain
sight that kids these days
do not see until it is too late:
the false perspective that
appearances are what matter the most
and that you must occasionally
wear a mask to hide
the fear of nonconformity
that some kids and some adults
these days suffer through on
a regular basis.

It is sometimes hard to live
a happy life and to be accepting
of who you are in this modern
world of instant communication
and sharing of self-expression,
and it is easier now than ever
for people to attack others
and leave indelible scars
upon the psyche of innocent people
who just want to use their right
to express their feelings about something –
and unfortunately it is also easier than ever
to be made to feel isolated and alone
without anywhere to go
or anybody to turn to:
which is the dark side
of this constantly online world
that we live in.

I just hope that one day
we as a society will find a way
to demonstrate to the up-and-coming
generation that true happiness
lies in discovering how
individually special a person is
and that everybody can be
a truly valued member of the human race
by just being themselves
and by making the most of what they are born with
without judgment or alienation
because of how different they may be.

I just hope that the next generation of children
will learn to magnify and show
the best of what lies within them
and not dwell too longingly upon
what they have no control over –
especially sensitive adults and children
who live with insecurities
and things that they don’t like
about themselves,
and what they think about
morning, noon, and night –
and I just hope and pray
that one day the kids of tomorrow
will know a life free of
what some kids and some adults today
worry about and obsess over
every single day.