inspiration
My Poem “Soak it up”
Moments of contentment - a time to breathe, a time to be... moments of reverence - a time to look, a time to listen, a time to think and not to speak... moments of openess, moments of exposure - a time to dream, a time to imagine... moments of both stillness and complexity - a time without a worry in the world, a time without four walls around you that can at times feel like those of a prison... moments of me, myself, and I - a time to close to my eyes, a time to find a treasure within my mind that I know will transform the more that I give it my time and my attention... moments of heart pounding exhilaration - a time that feels infinite, a time that feels enough to see all that I need to see, to hear all that I need to hear, to do all that I need to do to fulfill my heart and my soul before my last day on Earth is through - and it is because I feel such energy in every moment of time that I always choose, whenever I can, to take the time gifted to me to smile at the light of the shining sun, to open my arms high and wide, and soak it up.
The Mark Hastings Experience – Season 3, Episode #1: “For the love of it”
My Poem “For the love of it”
The best reason to do anything is always for the love of doing something: giving someone a smile, asking someone how they are, giving someone the gift of your time, showing your appreciation to someone for sharing a small insight into who and what makes them just as worthy of taking an interest in as the nearest or the furthest of stars. Not everybody is lucky to be able to have a career doing what enlivens their thoughts and makes their heart throng like the thunder of a lightning storm... not everybody can do what everybody else can do as perfectly, proficiently, nor perhaps as poetically - but I guarantee that when someone is home alone, without any eyes upon them, everybody who has ever been as spellbound by something as extraordinary as a magic trick has been able to do and to mimic another person's talent and as a result has found their own individual hidden gift or secret accent. Everybody has that song that they secretly do a little dance to when no one else is around... everybody has that characteristic about someone else that they secretly admire and wish they could embody and emulate simply by feeling the vibration of someone's quintessential sound... everybody has that person, or a small group of people, who they believe they can see through to the soul of and who can return the favour because a bond of experience that was once forged and was destined to always be eternally rich... everybody has an indefinable electric eccentricity of wonder about them that they harbour within that occasionally sees the light of day when and where they have the opportunity to be and to do whatever they want, for no reason other than simply for the love of it.
My Poem “Life”
Life is full of many surprises... life is full of many sunsets and sunrises... life is full of many contests and prizes... life is full of many stories of those whom have never stopped wanting to reach for something farther and climbing beyond the highest of the heights... life is full of people looking up to somewhere where the lights of the heavens shine upon and guide those who have always known that they had a fate to fulfil unconstrained by any invisible lines... life is full of those who have always felt as if they had a goal before them to be achieved, to be found on the other side of a ride of ups and downs, of body and mind, of drive, of faith and belief of every kind, at the end of which lies a place and a time where and when a creation can finally meet their maker and bring home with them the dawn of a new world unlike the one that they may have known their entire life.
My Poem “Soapbox”
In any public area there exists an arena where those who have both the creative spark and also the drive to perform can show an audience what calls out to be heard within their core... the stage might be a grand bandstand, or perhaps just upturned used crate - but no matter who they are, or where they are, what every performer wants more than anything is to perform. Most performers who perform on street corners, or in the middle of a town square, do not do so simply for monetary gain - because the first love of most performers who stand with their instrument, a live microphone, and a speaker by their side, is that of sharing what they feel for the music within them and the magic of music that has the power to draw everyone. For most performers a stage of any kind feels like a second home - and every time every performer feels those pre-performance nerves sometimes they feel as if they have to put on some kind of metaphorical second skin, or step back into a psychological pair of comfortable shoes, with which they can use to help them soak up every ounce of attention upon them so that they can convert their audience's enthusiasm into a fuel to turbo-charge their art; however, for the more reticent of performers, a spotlight may be the last place that they want to be - but even the most introverted artist can, over time, find a way to create an alter ego with which, in a sense, they can become someone else, and make it possible for them to climb to heights from where they can make themselves, and others, believe that they have this extraordinary, electrifying, transcendental and other-worldly power. In this day and age a stage does not need to be a physical place at a particular time... in this day and age, because of the constant advances in technology that have been made in the way that we all communicate with one another, anyone, anywhere, can do what they love, and they can be whomever they want to be, and put on a live performance of their own - even from the sanctuary of their own bedroom... in this day and age someone who is categorized as "unknown artist" can quickly create something and go "viral", and for as long as the place where their performance was shared remains, archived forever for posterity, someone, anyone, could become a constant source of hope and joy for someone - especially for those people who, at times, feel lost... in this day and age you don't need to have a message written in the sky to get noticed, because anybody with the tenacity, the courage, the spark, and the love for performing - that every performer has within them - can find the perfect place, can find their perfect audience, where, and to whom, they never want to step off the stage of, or say goodbye to - because every performer has their soapbox.
My Poem “Nice”
It's nice when the sun is shining... it's nice when people are able to be free, instead of hiding... it's nice when nature calls and people answer... it's nice when the air is filled with golden light, when children can be seen and heard enjoying the gift of their innocence and you can feel the palpable joy in every wave of every echo of laughter. It's nice to be able to just sit and listen... it's nice to be able to just close your eyes and experience your thoughts drift away like a gentle breeze... it's nice to be able to just do "nothing" while at the same time doing something profoundly rejuvenating... it's nice to be able to have no expectations upon you so that you can focus on the constant stream of energy from your soul within that so often we feel as if we have to filter the flow of, because sometimes dreams feel like memories - however, dreams are even more powerful and integral than we might think, because even though we often do not always remember what we experience while we are sleeping, the amount of processing of our daily thoughts that we do and the importance that that process not be disrupted in any way cannot be estimated. It's nice, sometimes, to not know the conclusion of something... it's nice, sometimes, to invest your time in something that is only temporary and fleeting... it's nice, sometimes, to be a rebel and to follow your instincts - and sometimes it is nice to be cautious and to listen to the valuable wisdom of somebody's advice... sometimes it is good to free yourself of any preconceptions, any pessimism, any pressure that you may have been putting on yourself - and sometimes the simplest act of making a connection by not even trying to do so is the best and the most nice.
My Poem “Park People”
Parks are wonderful places... Parks are beautiful oases... Parks are where people run and walk through... Parks are can be islands of every size where people sit, exercise, get a sun tan, have a party, or have a picnic, and where people who know each can all gather together to enjoy their own company as well as consume thirst quenching beverages and some of their favourite food. Parks are also the places where those who are homeless go to every night to lay down upon the grass and sleep... Parks are where people young and old can rejuvenate themselves and be reminded of memories and experiences that they will always want to keep... Parks can have amusements, rides, sights and sounds that cannot be found anywhere else on Earth... Parks can be where things are lost as well as where things can be found - and Parks can also be at both the beginning as well as at the end of a particular search. Parks often have benches... Parks often have plants and animals that people can make a connection with with all five of their senses... Parks are where some people want to be laid to rest after they die... Parks all have paths that allow the people who visit them to navigate through to them from every side... Parks are for everything and for everybody and the importance of their preservation to all life on Earth is unestimable - but there are those who may not be able to enjoy nature as much as they would hope, and then their are those who take every opportunity, whenever they can, to embrace every moment that they get to embody what it means and to be someone who might affectionately describe themselves, or might perhaps be described as being, one of the many "Park People".
My Poem “The Way of the Artist”
Everything changes... everything evolves... everybody doing every thing has their own process... new things have naturally arisen over time to replace other things and other ways of doing things; however, some things never change - and one of the things that will never change is the way that artists are inspired, the way that artists seek out new sources of stimulation, the way that artists wake up every morning and want to create art, the way that artists cannot settle down to sleep without first either thinking about or doing something about the nugget of an idea within them. There is something inherently human about art and about attempting to capture the sometimes incomparable, about the need to express our inner most thoughts, feelings, emotions, dreams, hopes, fears, and our natural insecurities... there is something primal about the experience of having this overriding instinct that we feel compelled to act upon... there is something almost genetic about how people young and old seem to have the same unconscious ability to be able to go to the same places that other people are unable to, because there exists this continuity of connection that crosses generations like some kind of universal melody. All my life I have created art, I have witnessed art being created, and I have come to recognize the look in a fellow artist's eyes when they are deep within that moment when the inspiration and the art within them are in full-flow, as if it were a sixth sense of mine that I have slowly but surely developed over time... all my life I have looked at the natural beauty of the world rise like waves upon an ocean and literally change the geography of a well known place or monument... all my life I have witnessed something come from something - and I have come to believe that "nothing" is in fact a type of "something" that we have not yet given a name to, because certain things are like energy and no matter what they will always exist. Looking for an answer to a question that may have been asked for centuries and expecting to find what has not occurred to anyone else before, at least to me, is not in any way a sign of madness - in fact, I believe the art of being inquisitive and never asking the question "why create art in the first place?" and just feeling this need to create some kind of art is the most powerful gift and the most fulfilling way of every artist.
My Poem “Over too soon”
One of the most beautiful and truly breathtaking sights that we mere mortals get to see is the last glimpse of daylight when the sun slowly disappears below the horizon at sunset, when day becomes night; and to me, for some reason, a sunset sometimes has even more of an impact upon me than witnessing a sunrise - because, for so many reasons, seeing the sun set reminds us all of how precious time is, how short life is, and how one day we will all see a last day when we will all close our eyes for the last time and day will forever become an eternal night. Sunsets happen too early for some people - however, everybody has at least once in their life enjoyed the experience of sitting, or standing, like a statue or a monument, as the last rays of the sole star at the centre of our solar system touches us and allows our shadow self to be caste upon the ground behind us... there is no more astounding moment like sitting upon the infinite grains of sand of a beach as the bright sunlight retreats to its source, as the temperature drops, as the air grows cold, and as the song of the sun is replaced by the crashing chorus of the waves of the sea, as the ocean tide recreates the shoreline, as above the clouds the stars of the cosmos sprinkle down a healthy dose of stardust to inspire the dreams of countless. Sunrises remind us all of new life... sunsets remind us all of how far we have all come and what we have done - and, in my experience, there is no more perfect time to sit and reflect upon life and our place in nature than on a summer's evening in June... sunrises remind us all of how amazing it is to be alive... sunsets remind us all that sometimes when something is over it is over though an echo of what was might in some form remain - however, I am sure that we can all agree that the journey of some things and the journey of some people are sometimes over way too soon.
markthepoet.me 