inspiration

My Poem ‘Everything Flows’

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

You can’t ever repeat a moment,
we can’t ever step twice into the same stream;
you can’t ever expect the world to stay the same,
because nothing is truly permanent;
we are constantly changing,
and in time what is will become what was
and slowly flow past us, like a river of rain.

With a new day comes new memories;
with the changing of the tide,
new things come into our lives
and stay on the surface of our life’s sea;
with the changing of the seasons and the time,
the world looks slightly different –
just as when the leaves fall from the trees;
with the arrival of a new symphony
that is carried on the wind,
the world, even from space,
always looks like it has never been seen.

The universe is a continuum;
everything is in a constant cycle;
the very cells of our bodies are vibrating every second;
nothing and no one is immortal,
but everything and everyone
has their vital part to play
in the reshaping of the world, for a while.

Every form of life goes through stages;
everything has an inbuilt blue-print and memory;
every form of life throughout their lives changes faces;
everything can be inspiration for philosophy,
history, psychology, artistry,
beauty, stories, and poetry.

Everybody is constantly learning something new
that they didn’t know;
everything and everyone
all seem to be constantly on the go;
everybody is always changing their moods,
and adapting to new codes;
everything is a road,
and to get the most out of life,
and to live to the fullest,
you need to stop holding back,
and just let everything flow.

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My Poem ‘Writing the blues’

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

Writing the blues
is writing about what you feel
deep in your heart;
writing about your feelings
is sometimes like telling a story
that you don’t know how, or where, to start;
writing is one of the most important things
in the life of a poet;
writing poetry is sharing your soul beautifully,
and seeing your dreams travel to the stars.

Only a fellow poet can know what it takes
to put your emotions and memories into words;
only a fellow artist can understand
what it means to create something important,
as a gift to the entire world;
only a fellow dreamer
can possibly go on a journey with you,
and give you hope when you need it the most;
only a fellow friend
with the most amazing generosity of spirit
can pick you up and bring you back to life
when you feel lost.

Things in life happen for a reason;
even the most beautiful and gifted of humanity,
some of the most gorgeous people that we know,
have to go through pain and confusion –
however, those friends, those dreamers,
those artists, those poets, those kindred spirits,
I pray will always remember that,
no matter how near or far away we are,
we are all on this planet
and we all live in this world
to be there for each other.

To you, my fellow poet of the blues;
to you, my fellow poet of the universe;
to you, from me the poet of the sphere;
to you, for you, because of you –
in the form of this poem,
I just want you to know,
that I am here for you.
Let your tears flow,
collect them and let the wave of life take you –
but stand tall, stay strong, think of me,
and continue to dream beautiful poetry;
when you sleep, and when you wake every morning,
continue to write from the heart,
and, as if you were singing,
continue writing the blues.

Dedicated to the wonderful poet Zula Blues Poet

My Poem ‘Peach Perfect’

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

The wonderful thing about a person,
the thing that I find the most amazing, and inspiring,
is that, like a book,
you should never judge someone by their covers;
the greatest thing that I have learned about life
is that the people whom you meet,
who may have known for a while,
can surprise you at a moments notice
in ways that you can’t plan for,
and what someone is capable of,
and who they are on the inside,
you may not ever truly realize.

People are like fruit;
meeting and knowing lots of different people
is good for you;
everybody has something about them
that is beautiful;
everybody I have ever met
has been inspirational –
however some people will always
stand out from the crowd in my eyes,
because every time I think of them, or see them,
I willingly become blind,
as I bask in their light.

There are not that many people in this world
who can truly understand us –
the vast majority of people,
who look at us, and objectify us,
will never truly know us;
what we do to pay the bills
says nothing about our passions;
when we find something that we love doing,
we don’t ever want to see it rationed.

In life, we all walk a line;
inside, and to those closest to us,
our heart’s desires burn like a fire;
in life, we have to be a certain kind of someone,
most of the time;
in own space, in our own mind,
when it comes to expressing our true spectrum,
we can keep going without ever feeling tired.

I adore self-expression; I love art;
I look for individuality,
and seeing the depths of someone
is more incredible to me than I can mention;
everybody, no matter who they are,
has a heart – some may be scarred,
but it can still beat hard.

The more introverted you are,
in my opinion, the more creative you are;
the more expressive you are,
the more you can bring your hopes and dreams to life –
and, to me, that makes you akin to a star;
the more of yourself that you show and share,
says that when it comes to people valuing you
for you means more, and goes farther
and deeper than anyone can reach;
life, and people, can sometimes be deceptive;
and if I had to pick a fruit
to describe life perfectly,
it would have to be the perfect peach.

My Poem ‘Our Earth Hour’

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

If all the lights were to go out
all over the world;
if electricity suddenly became
a thing of the past;
if we could no longer communicate
over vast distances so easy
as we can right now,
and instead we had to rely
to get our message across
the beauty of the written and the spoken word;
if we all had to travel to another place;
and the speed of life became so slow and easy –
as opposed to complex and fast;
if we could all stand in silence
and not hear another sound,
but the music inside us;
if we could no longer be drawn to distraction
by the life of other people who we don’t even know:
what would be the thing that fills our focus?
what would we do? where would we go?

If a far-away friend was literally a world away,
and you may only see them once, or twice, in your life –
would their friendship mean more to you,
because of the realization that most things that happen,
and most of the friends that we make,
are collages of moments that are so brief in duration
they are merely grains of sand
in the galactic hour-glass of time?

Our individual definitions of happiness
are influenced, and are reflections,
of what we value the most about life,
and about living on our planet;
our own inter-dependency on certain things
is something that is a part of our DNA –
where once we used to depend and be in awe of the sun
and used to base our choices on what we interpreted,
in this day and age, however,
we look to different sources of light to be our guide.

Earth will endure;
our home planet will turn and change,
and keep doing what it has been doing
for billions of years,
long after humanity comes to the perception,
the appreciation, and the conscious comprehension,
of what truly matters and what the true source is
of our collective power;
Earth is not only a paradise of wonder and beauty
where life of all kinds can live and thrive,
it is also the perfect home, answer,
antidote, inspiration and cure;
our home world is an amazing place
that we should and we must appreciate for what it is
and for what it means –
this hour, this day, every day,
every second of every Earth hour.

My Poem ‘Mark of a Masterpiece’

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

What makes something a masterpiece,
what makes something second to none,
and perfect, is not a science,
and cannot be predicted;
what makes something stand out,
and perhaps be considered an epic
and a profound work of art,
all comes down to feeling,
emotion, timing, and an electric shock
of energy like a bolt of lightning.

A masterpiece calls to your heart
and gives rise to an overwhelming sensation;
a masterpiece elates you and changes you;
a masterpiece sews the seed of inspiration;
a masterpiece is like the sun in the sky,
or an island on an ocean,
with an endless message from the artist and creator
for you, to perhaps keep its essence
replaying in your mind
like an unforgettable tune.

Everybody has their own idea of perfection –
to some, a place of silence is a paradise;
everybody can remember a day and a time
when they arrived somewhere,
and they knew in their heart
that they had reached their destination;
to some, a person of great beauty in all forms,
and in every side of themselves,
would be somebodies categorical definition
of breathtaking exquisiteness
that they have ever seen with their eyes,
or felt with their senses.

A musical phenomenon to your ears;
a visual extravaganza to your eyes;
a hallucinogenic overload of your thoughts;
an intense and extreme maximizing and amplifying
of touch, taste, smell, greater than the impact
they had on you when you were born;
anything and everything that impacts you,
and leaves an impression on you,
is a masterpiece that is a cure
for any and all of your fears.

I have seen masterpieces of nature;
I have been entranced by masterpieces of art;
I have tasted masterpieces of flavours;
I have felt masterpieces of a person’s heart;
to me, anything that brings about a change
in a person, a place, a feeling, an idea,
about the meaning of life,
is as important as understanding and peace,
and is the true mark of a masterpiece.

My Poem ‘Tableau’

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

The music stops.
Time stands still.
You could hear
the sound of a pin drop.
Everyone and everything
is motionless
and as statuesque
as anyone could ever hope to be.
I look around where I am,
and I see the many different faces of people
who are in the exact same place,
at the exact same time, with me;
I was searching for inspiration,
however it looks like it has found me.

People come to the same place –
but, more often than not,
for different reasons;
I come here to write, to observe,
to listen, to enjoy the atmosphere,
and also to drink some coffee –
however, I can see that even though
there are parallels in people’s lives,
everybody is here under a different guise.

I scan the space where I am in a flash,
and I make instant observations of the people
sitting at all the tables:
some people are talking,
some people are reading,
some people are drinking,
some people are in the middle
of a moment of laughter,
and some people look as if
they are on their way to leaving;
some people look happy;
some people look sad;
some people look over-joyed;
some people look like
they are students from university;
some people look at home where they are sat;
some people are looking in at us all
through the window that separates
the inside from the outside.
Some people look incredibly fashion-conscious;
some people look religious;
some people look like they are on their way to work;
some people look as if they are reading something
that they need to learn.

Most people are wearing the same colours –
black, blue, and grey,
appear to be the predominant palette of choice;
however, there are small touches
being worn by people that set them apart
and show their inner-personality and voice.

Reality snaps back.
Time starts moving forward again.
People continue with their lives.
That frozen moment moves
from being the present to the past;
words are spoken;
people continue their conversations;
and at that instant,
there is the most intense
and extreme explosion of light.

The world is a work of art;
the masterpiece that is life
is a canvas that changes in infinite ways –
by the moment, you can see, feel, and think,
so much within the time of the beat of a heart;
life moves so fast,
and sometimes the only way
that you can truly appreciate
the tapestry of existence
is to have a moment of true stillness –
when you can look at the world
and see it like a tableau.

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My Poem ‘The Thinker’

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

I am often observed
“lost in thought”,
and staring into space;
if you were to follow my eye-line
and believe that I were looking at nothing,
I am afraid that you would be wrong –
because, secretly, quietly, tantalizingly,
I am looking at the world,
and seeing everything:
the nature of life,
the order in the chaos;
and, as always,
what I see is constantly changing,
and the universe is always inspiring.

I sometimes forget where I am;
I sometimes lose all track of time;
I sometimes can be so enraptured
in the writing of a new poem,
that my heart-heat slows –
however I feel completely fine,
because I am in a maelstrom of fascination,
and I know that I could not stop writing
even if I wanted to,
because I am surfing like a pro
on a wave of inspiration.

Human consciousness, Human thought,
Human focus, Human art,
is our greatest gift
and our most wonderful achievement,
as a race and as a species:
we are thinkers, and believers of things;
in our own unique way, in my opinion,
no two people could ever think exactly the same –
even if they shared a link
that was telepathic, or empathic –
because we all live in different existences of degrees;
I do, however, believe that,
no matter how different we are from each other,
we are all bound together in infinite ways –
every action, every thought, every emotion,
creates it’s own interactive and universal tidal-wave.

Thinking as deeply and intensely as I do
is a wonderful gift to be able to unfurl
and wrap myself up in;
and, in turn, I do see some things
as questions that needs answers –
however, I would rather be who I am,
than someone who does not realize
the power that they have between their ears –
and that is why I am glad,
and that is why I am content,
to continue to be thought of as a writer,
and most importantly as a thinker.

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My Poem ‘The Rhyme of the Constant Writer’

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

There once was a writer called Mark,
who, more than anyone,
loved a walk through a beautiful park;
he wrote all-day, everyday;
and when he wasn’t writing, he was thinking;
who could write an entire short story
about the memory of a beautiful Summer’s day,
or a sonnet with thirteen lines
that perfectly and succinctly
expresses exactly what he was feeling.
When he was not doing his job,
Mark would write poems –
even when, and especially when,
he was in a library,
or walking around a bookshop,
Mark would have so many thoughts
and ideas running through his mind,
he had to write them down anywhere he could,
as fast as he could,
before they left him again.
To this day, Mark still wonders and marvels
at how inspired he is,
almost every second of every day –
and where all the inspiration he uses comes from,
not even Mark truly knows.

Mark was a writer who had his favourite things
that sparked his creativity,
and like most writers, and like most people,
Mark had his own unique routines;
Mark just loved creating and writing
all kinds of stories, and even as a boy
Mark was imagining places
where he had not yet been.
It was a preoccupation for Mark
to look around and ask questions,
and to make connections;
being in his own world
was where Mark felt the most comfortable,
because he could make something amazing
and magical in his mind,
and be a true master of invention.

Mark was someone who went somewhere everyday
to chase the light and answer the call of inspiration;
every morning when he woke up,
Mark would look out of his bedroom window
and be so enthralled by what he saw –
everyday it was like waking up in another dimension.
Mark regularly sat down with his favourite
caramel-coated coffee,
and a slice of lemon cake,
and would spend hours writing poetry,
and feel like he was still dreaming
even when he was still wide awake.

Mark was a writer who loved being a writer,
but Mark was also someone who loved
watching films at the cinema;
Mark loved books, and must have read over a hundred;
Mark was someone who never had a moment
when his mind was not, in some form or another, in over-drive –
even as he was drifting off to sleep
in the dark in bed at night.

Mark listened, Mark heard;
Mark observed, Mark learned;
Mark was a peace-maker,
but Mark was also a fighter;
Mark was at his happiest,
and at his most inspired,
when he had a pen in his hand
hovering over his notebook,
and writing the rhyme of the constant writer.

My Poem ‘The Green Lantern’

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

I don’t know what it is about Irish music,
but whenever and wherever I hear it
it makes my heart beat
with the rhythm of an Irish drum;
I don’t know what it is about the thought of Ireland,
but whenever I think of it
it shines for me – like an emerald city just over the water –
and lots of magical and wonderful things
spring up, like a vast green field filled with Shamrocks;
I don’t know what it is about the look
and the taste of Irish Guinness
that makes me think of something deep, dark –
like a treat to the senses
as the thought of outer-space,
and the kingdom of the universe’s infinite stars.

From space, the Earth shines like a blue marble –
however, when you actually stand on Earth and look around you,
the most predominant and the most resonating colour
that you see, is the colour that always makes me think
of the island of Ireland, and the “luck of the Irish”,
and that is the beautiful colour of green;
life is filled with music and colour,
and at all times of the day
the natural wonders of Earth
can be a phenomenal marvel;
every day, especially on St. Patrick’s Day,
there is just something in the air, sometimes –
when you can look around you,
and you actually see and feel the world entrance you
with its abundance of spectacle –
and, like a shining-green hummingbird,
gleam like you have never seen.

I don’t know what it is about the Irish accent,
but to my ears it sings and has a melody
like that of an Irish flute;
I don’t know why,
but every time I watch an Irish dance being performed –
like Riverdance, for example –
I feel compelled to get up on my feet,
and move like I have never moved;
I don’t know what it is about the sayings,
and the stories that have their roots
set firmly into the land that tells tales
of Giants, mythical beings,
and the power to make real anything
that you could possibly believe;
I don’t know what it is,
but if I lived in Ireland,
and if I were an Irishman,
I would never want to leave.

Today is a day when anything and everything Irish
is being celebrated everywhere that I look;
today is the day when all the lights that I see
are green, and everyone can feel Irish –
no matter where they were born,
or where they come from;
today is the day when everybody can indulge,
and feel a wave of merriment
with the smallest sip of the taste
of inspiration intoxication;
today is the day to let yourself feel free
in lots of ways, and dance and sing
to the beat that you hear;
today, among other wonderful
and magical things associated with today,
everything about today
always makes my heart beat fast –
because, to me, today is the day of the drum,
and the day of the light of the green lantern.

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My Poem ‘Sweetness & Light’

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

As the sweet taste of maple syrup
touches my lips,
as the sunlight streams in
through the window,
as the first shot of caffeine of my day
starts to hit,
as my mind races faster
than you could know,
as the world that I see gets started,
as the inspiration unfurls,
as life dances to the rhythm of a brand new party,
as the spiral of clouds begin to swirl;
I do my thing, I write my words;
I listen to my music and I want to sing;
I go into my zone, and I imagine a hopeful world;
I look, I see, I remember, I think,
I strut, I write poetry,
I feel like I am being carried on the wind like a feather;
I close my eyes; I fantasize;
I take another electric and stimulating sip of my drink;
I feel comfortable, I feel at ease,
I feel in control, I feel like the world
is racing towards me at full-speed;
as long as I am on the open road I cannot ever stop;
as long as I continue to believe,
I know anything can happen;
as long as I hope for happiness,
I will taste sweetness;
as long as I have the future in front of me,
I will continue to breath;
as long as I know what to do,
I will continue to follow the pattern;
as long as the world is bright,
I will continue to race towards the light.