Imagination

My Poem ‘Zenith’

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

The time is now,
the place is right here;
life can be heard
clear and loud,
the conditions for new inspiration
and new poetry are so perfect
they could bring about
both laughter and tears.

I am focused,
I am listening,
I am being sprinkled
with the world’s magic dust;
I am watching,
I am experiencing,
I am participating,
I am observing everybody and everything;
there are no worries, there is just me,
my pen, my notebook, my muse;
there are thoughts running through my mind
every second that burn hot and bright
and as fast as a burning fuse.

Words are wonderful,
however words are also limiting;
words can say so much,
however words only have the power that they do
when they are used with each other –
and even then, without emotion
and intention behind them,
they can sound as if something important is missing;
music is a different language entirely from words –
words can have so many meanings and translations,
but music is what the stars sound like;
and like planets circling their parent star,
music- depending on your proximity
and your connection to it-
can be a whole new wonderful and different world.

Every artist has their opus;
every person has their perfect moment;
everyone has their own life;
every experience has its peak;
every eye has seen its own sights;
everybody has had a flood of emotion
and an indomitable power overcome them
and take over them
when they must stand up on their own two feet
and vow to never admit defeat.

Everyone is like an ocean,
and everybody has a force of gravity
and a source of change and waves in their life-
like the Moon is to the Earth;
everyone has times when they are an insomniac
and they cannot for the love of good ever switch off;
everyone emerges into a different life
from anyone else from birth;
everyone knows the allure of a flame,
and everyone has a moment
of being a human moth.

There is no true definitive end to anything;
believing that you have total control of chaos is a myth;
there is a reason for everything;
dreams are both conjugations and premonitions;
and there are things that start out so distant
and random that come together in the end
and eventually reach a mutual and lasting zenith.

My Poem ‘Seasoned’

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

Like the trees of an old forest,
like the face of an old man,
like the smell of an old leather jacket,
like an old song that always making
new fans of its artist or band,
I feel both young and full of life
and yet mindful and seasoned;
life has been inspiring me
since I was a child,
but now I understand
that for everything to be
there must be a reason.

When I was a child
my imagination was always my super-power;
making my dreams a reality
have gotten easier
as I have got older;
when I first began making art as a boy
my head and my heart
knew even then that
being an artist was going to be
my life-long forte:
I remember spending hours
drawing and painting
and loving every moment
that I spent making
and creating something new every day.

Art has always been a fascination
and a passion for me;
stories have always been to me
the greatest of escapes;
I have done so much,
I have thought so much,
I remember so much –
however, sometimes my memory does
on occasion compartmentalize;
I truly do not ever forget a thing,
but I admit that there are times
when I lack the gift of instant-recall –
you could say that I have a photographic memory,
but that it takes a certain stimuli
to bring back to mind
what I heard with my ears
and what I saw with my eyes.

My family has always held on to everything,
the thought of throwing anything useful
or something draped in memories away is alien to us;
I have learned over time
that everyone at times must refocus;
my family has had so much happen to it –
if most of what we had all been through
were written down one day
it would definitely be a best-seller;
like everyone, I am guilty of making mistakes
from time to time –
however, I try to not make the same mistake twice
and I endeavour always to be a fast-learner.

Everyone has a passion –
music, literature, movies,
games, traveling, dancing,
performing, chilling, cooking,
shopping, writing, photographing,
caring about the well-fair
of another living thing –
and for that passion they would do anything;
everybody has dreamed
that they could do something fantastic
and everybody is able and are capable
of performing a miracle for someone else
in their life more than once;
everyone should always be looking,
seeing, listening, hearing;
everybody should embrace time,
not fear its passing in the slightest –
because with time comes many amazing things
that can only be fully experienced
and appreciated by someone
who is seasoned.

My Poem ‘Inter-dimensional’

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

The fast moving clouds above my head
remind me yet again
that the world is constantly in motion;
the slowly decreasing volume of coffee
in my coffee cup reminds me perfectly
that everything has an end;
hearing and seeing people
conversing with others
reminds me every time
that language is like
an audibly addictive stimulus
for communicating stories,
memories, and emotions;
reading the last words of an author
is like celebrating and saying goodbye
to an old friend.

Life goes on;
heaven exists;
everybody is someone;
sometimes life is like walking through a mist;
there are worlds beyond the horizon;
there are universes where everything
and anything is possible;
there are dimensions
that stretch to infinity beyond this one;
there is life elsewhere
that is as abundant and beautiful
and as magical to behold as sea-coral.

When you are staring at a painting
you can feel like you are being drawn into it;
when you are reading a story
you can imagine yourself
as the character that you are reading about;
when you are listening to your favourite songs
you can feel every note and every word
as if there a part of you,
and you understand all that they mean
and all that they meant;
when you are watching life unfold
and real-life events take place right in front of you,
sometimes reality can be more real
than any version of anything
that our minds would ever be capable of constructing.

Some people never leave the city, the country,
the mindset of the place where they are born –
while others take flight at the first opportunity
to follow their dreams;
some people miss their calling to great things –
while others are just great at everything
and in anything that they do in life,
however some people sometimes need
to be shown what a miracle they are
and what acts of magic
they are daily witnessed performing;
some people find peace and solace
when traveling inwards;
some people find release
the more that they explore outwards;
some people go far
without having to physically travel;
some people are capable of so much
and they are so gifted in so many ways
that when they do travel to when and to where
it is always inter-dimensional.

My Poem ‘The Outer Limits’

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

Ever since the first astronomers of Earth
looked up at the sky to the stars and the planets,
humanity has been asking questions of themselves
about their relevance and about just how rare
and important they are within the universe;
humanity has been searching the galaxy and beyond
for a signal from another galactic inhabitant,
and even to this day there are those
who openly proclaim that because we have not yet
made contact with another form of intelligent life
in the Milky Way that we are the superior species
to be found anywhere, and that Earth is and could only be
the only inhabited world.
When I look above, I can almost hear the call
of a fellow interstellar searcher
and the beating heart of a fellow poet of the stars
being inspired by their muse
and taken away in mind, spirit, and soul,
to their imagination outer-limit.

We here on Earth know only too well
that feeling of awe and intrigue
that we feel when we see photographs
being returned to Earth from man-made probes
of distant worlds – that we have all known about
and heard about, but which have never been seen before;
we all experience sheer breathtaking amazement
whenever something happens above us and around us
that may only happen once in a lifetime;
when we watch a rocket launch,
or when we witness the first footsteps
and impressions made by someone or something
on an unknown and undiscovered brand new land,
we all return to the memory of when we were a child
making an airplane out of folded paper
and watching it be carried on the wind, and sour;
we, I, always go ten steps beyond
when the thought of what and who could be out there,
in the dark, on their own planet, imagining us,
as we imagine them, and what just the knowledge
of each others’ existence would mean
and would do to the thoughts
and to the dreams of the others’ mind.

Every form of life is special and unique;
every planet orbiting around every star
is like the integral and unmissable
musical notes of a galactic symphony
that have their own vibration and sound to them,
that when heard playing with the rest
of the interstellar musical instruments and keys,
as well as on their own, sound nothing short of perfect;
everything that happens in space
is always a spectacle to us all here on Earth,
even if it is the sight of a fly-by by a passing comet.

Being a poet, I naturally look at life
and the universe slightly differently
to how someone else might see it –
however, I believe that everyone can see
inspiring wonders and they can be inspired
to take a trip of discovery
into an exciting new frontier,
and explore the amazing mysteries and questions
that drive us all when and if
we choose to step into the realm
of the outer limits.

My Poem ‘Venti’

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

My heart is big;
my imagination is vast;
my inner voice regularly
becomes audible when I write or sing;
my vision is a constant bridge
to the future and the past;
my cup is always full;
my love is for the most beautiful;
my reason for being
does not have one meaning;
my life has been blessed
by the truly amazing;
I feel deeper than the deepest well;
every poem that I write
I like to think of as both
a seed and a fully-fledged tree;
when I see things that inspire me
I just cannot wait to capture,
show, and share all through my poetry –
because every thought that I have
is always the same size
as my favourite cup of coffee…

My Poem ‘Dreamcatcher’

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

Have you ever awoken in a dream one night,
only later to discover that the dream
that you had awoken from
was really a dream that you were dreaming
in a dream that you were having?
And really you have been asleep the entire time?
And at the moment that you wake up,
the day has already begun,
and you have no idea of what happened,
nor where you have been –
but you feel like you have emerged
and taken a deep breath
after coming to the surface of a vast ocean?

Some of our memories
can be like sandcastles on a beach;
some of our defining thoughts
can be like landmarks;
some of our experiences
can be like mountains that we climb,
and return from, that cannot be attained
nor ever topped again,
and for the rest of our lives
they may feel out of reach;
some of our happiest and joyous moments
can be like a shield and a defense
than can silently protect us from harm.

Dreams can be shared;
dreams can be a legacy;
dreams can be lived in the real world,
as well as while lying in bed;
dreams have a meaning and a language to them
and within them that not that many people
through history have ever been able to interpret
and understand fully –
because no matter how much a dream
can seem to make sense
during and after you are dreaming,
and have dreamed it,
that same dream, and every dream,
continues to live, play out,
and inform your world subtly and incredibly.

When we dream we see with different eyes;
when we do something or go somewhere
in a dream it can be both an echo, and also a prelude;
when we feel something in a dream
we are trying to tell ourselves
that our heart and our feelings
are more sensitive than we may sometimes realize;
when the cover of slumber pulls us under
and we fall under the spell of our own imagination,
we have no control of where we will go,
or what, or whom, will come to us –
and that is why sometimes our dreams
can feel like we have been dreaming for days and nights,
and some dreams can feel like
they should have gone on longer
because they were over too soon.

Our dream-selves can sometimes seem
to be having all the fun that we wish
when we are awake we could have;
our dreams keep imagining every kind of possibility –
which is why they matter;
our dream identities can be triggered
at any time of the day,
even when we are taking a long hot bath;
our dreams can be so amazing
and so fantastic, sometimes,
that they simply need to endure
and never be forgotten –
and that is why, over the centuries,
people have sought to preserve
and keep alive the dreams
that are meant to create ripple-effects
in the underlying life-connecting
consciousness of the world:
by turning them into tales, legends, stories,
and retelling them over and over again –
and the best way of allowing a dream to never die
is to seek out a kindred spirit
and to harness the amazing power of a dreamcatcher.

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My Poem ‘The Open Window’

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

I have never been able to say “no”
to an open window;
like a little white bird on a ledge,
I have never been able to fight
the feeling, the draw,
nor have I ever been able
to not take an opportunity
to fly off on an adventure –
like a child dreaming so happily
and so soundly that they are
far far away in a Neverland
of infinite imagination,
while still tucked up
at night in bed.

An open window first thing in the morning
to me is always a calling;
the view of a beautiful scene
on a hot and sunny afternoon
is as rejuvenating as a kiss;
an insight into another life
in which the possibilities are infinite
is an adventure that I never want to miss;
the white clouds of the day,
and the stars of the night,
keep me dreaming and imagining
while I am still wide awake
of epic worlds that keep me going
and thinking all day, all night,
and straight on till morning.

Windows do not stay open
for as long as doors do;
windows sometimes have to be broken through,
or more ideally climbed through;
windows can show each of us things
before we actually see them in the flesh,
so to speak;
windows… every window
are living and constantly changing and evolving
pictures of life and time
that are momentary, brief, precious, and unique.

Mirrors are reflected images,
while windows on the other hand
can let things come in as well as let things
fly free into the open air;
mirrors can only show you backwards messages,
while windows allow you to leap and go anywhere;
mirrors show only a distorted world;
windows are how children
and those with a phenomenal imagination
are able to understand what is going on
around them without having to hear
or speak a single word.

The best dreams are born
when you let every thought grow and flow;
the most inspiring stories
are inspired by searching for answers
to questions you have not yet asked
about things you did not realize
you did not already know;
just by letting everything and everyone
be connected to each other
you can invite within the light of life
and magic, and perhaps even share
something of yourself with an eternal spirit
who can at times lose their own shadow.
My favourite character of literature
would have to be Peter Pan,
and even though I may have grown older in years
I still cannot, nor will I,
ever be able to resist the temptation,
the fascination, and the flight of imagination
that I always take when I see
and when I look through an open window.

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My Poem ‘The Beach’

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

It has been a beautiful day;
it has been a day to remember
in so many ways;
the sparkling and the warm sand
beneath my feet that I am sitting on
feels amazing;
the glistening golden sea
that looks as if it could be
the surface of the sun –
because it looks in every way
like an ocean of pure energy –
is breathtaking;
as I look out and I see
the most beautiful and unbroken blue sky,
my heart skips a beat;
as I close my eyes,
I am transported in my mind
to a deserted island,
surrounded by palm trees –
in my imagination, I am a castaway
living a life free to be
whomever I want to be –
I have no worries,
I have no distractions,
I am self-sustaining
and I live off and alongside nature
and every day I walk my island paradise
and I swim in the beautiful blue sea;
I read the books that I brought with me,
and I daily write down what I see –
what I think about and what I feel
about life in my journal and diary;
I listen to the sound of the waves
and each one is like the voice of an old friend
stopping by to say ‘hello’;
I hear the music of my youth
playing from out of nowhere;
and when I think about the outside world,
and about my friends and family living their lives
far away, their faces appear
as if sculpted by the billion of grains
of sand that I see below me.

My hair is long;
my beard is substantial;
my skin is brown;
my home is a hand-built house
of cut down trees that has a roof of green
and hard-wearing leaves;
from my favourite spot,
looking out at my favourite view,
I have seen unimaginable sights:
dolphins, turtles, whales;
just off the coast, below the waves,
there is the most stunning
and beautiful coral reef.

To me, this place is heaven;
to me, this life could not be anymore perfect;
to me there is nowhere else in the entire world
where you could see the sun rise and the sun set,
and lay down on your back and see
a 360-degree view of the Milky-way galaxy’s
infinite and magnificent stars
shining their incredible and magical light,
in a place that is in every way
the definition of idyllic.

In my daydream, I look to the oncoming waves
and I see something bobbing up and down
before being washed up on the beach in front of me
and within touching distance of the toes of my feet;
I am not phased by the sight of the plastic bottle
and the evident message on a piece of paper
that is contained within –
however, when I reach down for the bottle
and I unscrew the lid and I reach in
and pull out the piece of paper,
it takes me awhile to realize
the messages’ meaning
because of how profound
the four-words of it are,
it takes a while to sink in.

I am brought back to reality in a flash!
As I look at the world, and to the sea,
everything looks even more stunning
and beautiful than it had appeared before.
Still with the message from my daydream
echoing in my mind like a bell,
I decide to write the same message
in pen on a torn-out page
from my nearby journal…
I write the same message
in the same way as it had appeared to me
only seconds before in my imagination,
and then I put the message
in an empty bottle of water
that I had brought with me earlier,
I stand up,
I run towards the ocean
and I throw my message in a bottle out
as far as I can
for someone to find in the future,
for someone to discover and read;
and then I sit back down
and I watch the sea again,
and I am again taken away
to a far-away place –
all the while, I am sitting in the sun
on the sand of this gorgeous beach.

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 ‘Energy’

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

The life-giving light
and heat of the sun
that fills us all with energy,
zest, and drive –
like a solar-powered battery;
the rush of adrenaline
that courses through our veins
and gives us the stamina
and the vigor to keep going;
the inspiration that writes itself
in verses of poetry;
the motivation that keeps
the constant creation of new ideas flowing.

Energy can be felt;
energy can be sensed;
energy can be our richest source of wealth;
energy cannot be fenced;
energy has a spirit;
energy never dies;
energy has no true limit;
energy is everywhere –
it is abundant first thing in the morning at sunrise,
it can be seen when snow is falling silently at night;
energy can turn into tears
and can be tasted when someone cries.

Love is the energy of the gods and the heavens;
light is the energy of the stars;
memory and magic is the energy that enchants
an entire life and gives nature
and the universe its essence;
imagination is the energy that allows us
to travel to different worlds
and imagine the human race one day
living on another planet,
perhaps even Mars.

Our thoughts create waves
in the ocean of energy
that connects every shore on Earth;
our emotions can change
our entire perspective of life;
our relationships with people and things
are constantly changing, evolving,
and are in different stages of rebirth –
even when the sun is in the sky,
it can sometimes be hard to realize
if it is in fact day or whether it is night.

Energy comes in many forms;
hope is the energy
that is always ringing my doorbell,
and knocking at my front-door;
the energy of purpose,
the feeling of belonging,
the source and the muse of the artist,
can grow to become as important
as the blood being pumped
by your heart around your body;
wherever you go, wherever you look,
whatever you instantly ‘just know’,
whatever you touch,
is a fountain, a volcano,
and is like a magnet
that is constantly drawing people and life to it,
that is like a lightning-rod
and a furnace of unbelievable
and incredible energy.