freedom

My Poem “Outlaws”

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

When I was a kid
I was always fascinated by
legendary heroes and characters
such as Dick Turpin, Robin Hood,
Sinbad, Zorro, and many other
renowned outlaws of their
respected times and societies,
who rebelled against what
they saw as a dictatorial
state of being that people
were being forced to live in,
who decided to rob from the rich,
deliver to the poor, and fight
for the right of the innocent
to live free and happy
and content in the knowledge
that there was someone
looking out for their interests
and watching over them.

Heroes of conscience
who live every day of their life
fueled by the hope that they can
make a difference and right
the wrongs of tyranny
have been featured in so many
of the tales that humanity
has been telling itself for centuries,
and even in our modern age
those same characters still
embody and have associated with them
a symbolism and an enduring example
of just how powerful the human spirit
can be when it finds itself facing off against injustice.

There will always be injustice in this world
and there will always be a place
in the stories that we all tell ourselves
for extraordinary individuals
who have the courage of their convictions
to put the needs of the many
before the needs of the few
and commit to enacting
their own form of rebellion
by staying true to a code of behaviour that in their eyes of the oppressor
might be considered
the actions of an outlaw.

My Poem “Between Sunrise and Sunset’

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

On Tuesday, September 11th, 2001,
the eyes of almost everyone on Earth
became fixed upon their television screens
which were showing the shocking
and horrific scenes that were being
played out in the land of the free,
the home of the brave –
and the population of the world,
especially the people of the
United States of America,
have not forgotten, nor will ever forget,
where they were and what they were
doing on the day that the two towers
of the World Trade Center,
in New York City, were attacked from above
and tragically fell to the ground
taking the lives of everybody within them.

Tuesday, September 11th, 2001,
is a day, a month, a year,
seared into my memory
and I will never forget the tears
that fell from my eyes
when I watched the last
moments of life of people whose
only crime was to wake up that morning
and wish to better their lives
and the lives of other people –
and from that day on,
and forevermore, we – the world –
have not been the same,
and every day we mourn.

Whenever we witness something devastating –
like the terrorists attacks of
Tuesday, September 11th, 2001 –
everybody always wishes
that they could turn back the clock
and change history in some way
so that all the people who were lost
could be brought back to life –
but, unfortunately, the terrorist
attacks that happened on
the East Coast of the United States
of America, on September 11th, 2001,
will forever leave a scar
of memory on all of us
who are living witnesses
to a world at war with itself;
however, I still remain hopeful
that one day the entire world
will wake up to the fact
that the true meaning of life is to love
and everybody deserves the gift
to be able to live in a world without fear
in which everybody is able
to do the best that they can,
to live freely, to live happily,
and to make the most
every moment of every day
between the first light of sunrise
and the last light of sunset.

Never forget.

My Poem “360”

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

It is only when you step out
of your reality –
even if it is only for a short time –
that you discover what the other
sides of life really look like…
it is only when you step inside
the shoes, inside the world,
and inside the perspective
of somebody living in a place
and in a way that may be
far removed from the one
that you know so well
that you learn just how much
of life is not black and white –
because, in reality, life is
all colours and hues
from every extreme of the spectrum
all emanating and infusing
the universe with all its depth
all at once.

At different times of the day
life can feel like a dance…
sometimes life can feel
being at a rock concert…
sometimes life can be like
being at the theatre or at a cinema
watching a play or a movie…
life can sometimes be like
looking into a mirror…
life can sometimes feel like
you have been in a car-crash…
life can sometimes be like
being a passenger on a rocket-ship
bound for somewhere where
the gravity that you have
been used to all your life
no longer exists and you have
to learn to think, to move,
to propel, to motivate yourself,
to be someone and something else
beyond who and what you have always known.

The world turns fast,
but sometimes changes are slow to occur…
unfortunately far too few things
are meant to last,
but the precious gift of life
is to be able to explore
so many of the wonders of this world
that we call Earth.

Nature is always redefining itself…
nature is constantly being influenced
by humanity at the same time
that humanity is being influenced
and inspired by nature –
and every time someone goes somewhere
that they have never been before,
and they turn around to see
what is all around them in 360-degrees,
everybody has to take a pause
so that they can breathe in and breathe out
the dream come true of being free.

My Poem “Catharsis”

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

Whatever you internalize,
whatever you take in,
whatever you analyze,
whatever you hear,
whatever you taste,
whatever you touch,
whatever you see –
especially if it is something
that challenges you in some way –
at some point, ultimately,
has to be released and set free…
that is why art – poetry, painting,
drawing, movies, television, books,
theatre, carpentry, comedy, music –
is so important to society,
because it gives us an excuse
to externalize our inner thoughts and feelings.

Expression can be powerful…
creation can be trans-formative…
exposure to things can be inspirational…
discovering who you are and who you want to be
can define how, where, when,
and with whom you want live…
sometimes you only have an inkling
about what is bubbling away inside of you,
below the surface of your day to day thoughts –
and it is only at moments when your internal
defenses and barriers have been lowered enough
when what is within you is allowed to come out…
there is something evocative about
watching something being performed live –
like watching an artist or a band
let their art and their distinctive
sound and voice speak for itself –
that just overtakes you, consumes you,
and makes you do things and say things
that you would not ordinarily do.

The only way to find the answer
to a question is to ask it…
the only way to discover the truth
of something is to explore it…
the only way to get through life
is to live it, to fight for it,
to embrace it, to worship it,
to take chances, to take risks…
the only way to be is to be a poet –
because a poet lives every day
a life of reflection, of contemplation,
of inflection, of internalization,
of externalization, of expression,
of liberation and catharsis.

My Poem “The Shining Light”

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

Seventeen years ago,
when the whole world looked at the images
being shown on television,
it felt like we were all witnessing
the world coming to an end
as we watched twinned towers fall to the ground…
nobody knew what they were seeing,
nobody knew what was going to happen next…
I can still see in my mind’s eye
the scenes of devastation,
I can still hear the sounds of fear
that echoed from one of our planet’s
greatest and most courageous nations…
tears were shed, and they continue to be shed to this day…
lives were lost on an unimaginable scale,
and to this day people all around the world
still have nightmares about the tragic events
of September 11, 2001, and they always will.

Five years ago, I stood where the shadows
of the two towers of the World Trade Center
once fell, in New York City,
where two giant pools of water now ripple
in their footprints and are refilled continuously –
and though surrounded all around by people
who had also come to pay their respects,
remember, and read the memorialized names
of all the people who lost their lives
on that day of days that could never be forgotten,
it was as I stood there looking down at the pools,
it was as I stood there looking around at everyone,
and it was as I stood there looking up
to the Freedom Tower that now stands
like a beacon of hope for all the world to be guided by
that I found myself overwhelmed by remorse, by sadness,
and also by a powerful spirit that spoke
directly to my heart and soul.

The power of hope, the gift of freedom,
the opportunity of optimism,
the wonderland of dreams that is the United States of America
will never be brought to their knees –
no matter what their enemies try to do to them…
the people of the United States of America will continue
to live, to endure, and to fight for what they believe in,
and they will continue to stay standing true, strong,
defiant, hopeful, and confident that they are
and they always will be a shining light
of aspiration and inspiration for the entire world.

My Poem “Working”

Mark Hastings Poetry , , , , , , , ,

Working all the time is not good for your mind…
Working all the time can sometimes bring out your bad side…
Working all the time is not good for your health…
Working all the time may earn you money –
but everybody knows that there is more to life than a person’s wealth…
Working all the time can be stressful…
Working all the time can be emotional…
Working all the time can sometimes make it hard to breathe…
Working all the time can sometimes make you feel like
you are chained to your workstation and unable to leave…
Working all the time can sometimes mean sacrificing
a part of your life that means more to you than words can say…
Working all the time can feel like you are
stuck in a cycle of obsession that you repeat day after day…
Working all the time is what we all need to stop doing…
Working all the time without a break and without recognition
for all your hard work is like being a member
of a team that is constantly losing…
Working all the time will do you no good…
Working on something that makes you happy,
in between the hours that you have to give over
to that which pays the bills,
is the thing that at the end of every day
will always fill you with the most joy:
that which you put all of yourself into,
but at no point while you are doing it
does it ever feel like you are working.

My Poem “Worth it”

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

Hopes and dreams are wonderful things…
going on an emotional journey
is always worthwhile and fulfilling…
having trust and confidence in something
or someone is necessary if you value
the power and the meaning of believing…
worrying about something too much
can sometimes be harmful –
which is why, if you want to feel free
of any internal turmoil,
you have to take a page out of a book of faith
and forgive something or someone,
especially if you yourself are the one
in the most need of being forgiven…
some people find it hard to believe in themselves
and to recognize that they are phenomenal…
some words, no matter how positive and powerful they are,
fall on deaf ears because those who hear them
find it hard to believe in them…
sometimes music is the only way
to break through long standing barriers
and the only way to get through to another person’s
heart and soul to allow them to understand
and feel the sometimes unfathomable…
sometimes in life patience is the greatest
of all virtues that you can possess…
waiting for something or someone
can sometimes be the hardest thing in the world –
but if something or someone is truly
who and what you think they are
then one day you will realize that
all the time that you spent waiting for them
was unquestionably worth it.

My Poem “Driftwood”

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

So much of life is beautiful…
so much is beautiful about life…
so much of life is expressed through colour…
so much of life is expressed through music…
so much of the world speaks
with a silent tongue in moments of stillness…
a brown leaf falling
from the branch of a tree to the ground…
the silhouettes of things
both exposed and obscured
because of the early morning
light of the sun…
a green field with yellow flowers
swaying in the breeze…
the slowly flowing water of a river…
nature certainly puts on a show for the senses
when you stop and take it all in…
it is with the golden light
that shines from above
that you can see the world’s gifts…
it is when we are free and unconfined
that we can truly breath in and breath out
the essence of meaning of nature,
life, belonging, and light…
it is with the gentle breeze that you feel
that your thoughts and your dreams
may dance the waves of life like driftwood.

My Poem ‘The American Precedent’

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

There is one country on Earth
that everybody looks to…
there is one way of life
that a great many people subscribe to…
there is one constitution
that is like a beacon of light,
hope, and freedom to the world…
there is something very special
that beats within the heart
of every American.

Every country needs a leader…
every country needs a states-person
and an ambassador of what it means
to be a member of a particular society…
every country needs someone
that they can look up to, and be guided by,
who allows their people to be
who they want to be,
and who empowers every kind of person:
from farmers to scientists,
from teachers to dreamers…
every country needs, every country deserves,
someone at the top of their government
who knows what equality for all truly means.

The freedom to express yourself,
the gift to be able to believe in yourself,
the privilege to be able to be an American citizen
is something that all American’s should be proud of…
that which draws eyes from all around the world
to the country of red, white, and blue,
and to their star-spangled banner,
is perhaps only something that can be seen
by an outside-observer looking in
who has been one of the lucky travelers
who have visited America over and over again.

To me, the United States of America
is not just an idea…
it is not just an experiment…
it is a place of unbelievable hope and beauty
whose people should never believe that to trump
fear you must build a wall around you –
in this day and age, in my opinion,
and with all due respect,
America needs a president for all…
for all who know that life
is about more than having the most dollars and cents…
and now is the time for all those who have a voice
that can be used to effect
the course of their country’s future –
because hope, respect, freedom and liberty for all,
are the most important precedents
that should always be championed and upheld
by every American citizen,
and by every American President.

20150928_074552

My poem ‘The Drummer’

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

It was all he heard…
it was all he felt…
it was all he wanted to do…
every morning, every night,
the drummer felt a longing,
and the beat was the only cure…
over and over again,
the drummer played the rhythm
of his favourite beat in his mind,
with the fingers of his hands,
and every time that he tapped his feet…
it was as if it was his own heart beating…
it was as if it was his own pulse racing…
it was the most epic sound
he had ever heard in his life,
since he was a baby
and he used to look out his bedroom window
and listen to the thundering sound
of the pita-patter on the window-pane
when it was raining…
it was more powerful
than any kind of hunger or craving…
to Mark, the music was like the heart-beat of God…
to Mark, the music that came from his soul
was something that was transcendental…
to Mark, the music was what kept him
from becoming among humanities lost…
to Mark, the music he heard was what he loved…
and to him it was beautiful.

Becoming a member of a marching-band
had been a dream of Mark’s since he was a child –
Mark had everything that any band
would ever want, or ever need: Mark loved music,
and he loved his favourite instrument…
even as a child Mark would turn his parents’
pots and pans into home-made drums,
and he used to play them,
and his parents let him be free
and express himself, and go wild –
and if anybody came around to visit
Mark and his parents
they would see and hear
Mark playing the most phenomenal of beats,
and every day of his life
music, especially his music,
has become more and more important.

Mark tried-out to be in his high-school band…
Mark had dreams of one day playing
in the marching-band of his favourite
college football team…
Mark played and practiced every minute
he was awake or asleep,
and he knew that it he just played
with all his heart
that everything in his life
would happen as he always dreamed it would,
as if it were all a part of a plan –
however, all Mark could play,
all Mark wanted to play,
all Mark loved to play
was the beat that he heard within…
and when his moment came
to show just how incredible a player
and a drummer he was Mark froze…
and then he did what he always did –
he played the music that he knew and loved.

Mark never made it into the marching-band…
Mark was disappointed to not be able to play
and march in front of his favourite football team –
but he wasn’t sad…
to lift his spirits, Mark’s parents ordered him
a band-uniform all of his own and they told him to
“never stop playing” the music that made him
the most happy and the music he had always known…
Mark’s parents told him to go out in his uniform,
with his drum, and “fill the world” with his music
that to them was like no other –
and that is exactly what Mark did:
he went out…
he walked down the main street
of his home town’s most busiest road…
he stopped people and traffic
to a stand-still everywhere he went…
and as he played he knew
that because of his music
he would always be remembered
as the boy, and later the man,
who would always be known as
“The Drummer”.

TheDrummer-sketch-sq