inspiration

My Poem ‘We are all one’

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

Joy may come in the morning for you
in more ways than you might expect –
someone with a passion
and a drive and a love for what they do
cannot wait to jump out of bed,
while someone who feels like
they do not have a purpose in life
might open their eyes
and then close them again quickly
and cover themselves up again
below the covers
like a bird putting their wing
over them as they rest
comfortably in their nest –
however, the truth is
that everybody has a role in life,
everybody is meant to be alive,
and everybody is born to be
just as they are –
everybody is a necessary source of experience,
knowledge, instinct, inspiration,
heat and light, like a candle burning in the dark.

We all go through a metamorphosis;
we all go through an identity-crisis;
we all go through doors to places
we do not always know where;
we all go through stages of re-evaluating
what our priorities in life are,
just as we all sometimes struggle
to pick-out what we want to wear;
we are all a creation
and made in the same guise as the divine;
we are all here to be something to someone;
we are all blessed from birth
with the gift of infinite possibilities,
even if we are not given an endless life of time;
we are all of our time
and no matter how you see yourself,
or how somebody else sees you,
never forget that we are all reflections,
we are all human, we are all
resonators of change and emotion;
life is a lesson in accepting the undeniable fact
that we are all one.

My Poem ‘Heart of a Mustang’

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

When my pen drops to the page
there are times when I have no idea
what I am going to write;
when we take the first steps of many
we often do not know
where the path we will walk will lead,
but we know that what we are doing feels right;
when a moment of spontaneous inspiration hits me
it is often by surprise;
when something is worth doing
it is always worth opening your eyes to do it,
even if the time is a long time before sunrise.

Some things come naturally;
some things come over time;
some things appear as if magically;
some things roll off the tongue
like a memorable riddle or rhyme.

Life is mostly organized these days –
however, there are times
when the world is as wild
as the wild-west of America ever was,
perhaps now even more so;
people are mostly civilized these days –
however, there are times
when there is an imbalance in a society
that shows itself in everything that you see
no matter where you go;
life on our planet
is for the first time in human history
in the hands of those who hold the keys
to the tumblers of wealth and power
that control our destiny;
everyone alive today is spoiled in so many ways –
some people look, but do not see;
some people in need
need only to put their hands together and believe.

Some people strive all their lives
to stand out from the crowd;
some people find it hard to be confined
because their heart was born to beat and stay wild;
some people have the greatest gift –
and that, to me, is their way of being heard by many
without having to be loud;
some people have the remarkable ability
to stay calm and make sense in a split-second
what even the most-learned of person
cannot at first understand;
some people have been hoping and praying
and have never given up on the reality
of having the same thing
that has filled their imagination
since they were a child;
some people who wear the expression
of the quiet and the innocent,
in my experience, are keeping hidden
and tamed deep-inside
the feral heart of a mustang.

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My Poem ‘Forensic’

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

Mystery, like love,
in my opinion,
is the most potent drug
known to man,
and also the only one
capable of delivering
someone to the deepest of states
of pure intoxication;
mystery haunts the mind
and walks the Earth silently
until the time is right
for its voice to be heard;
mystery makes detectives of us all –
however, the greatest of mysteries
have long-since remained unsolved
and their secrets live on
in the prism of history,
just as the intrigue of their story
will continue to inspire and enthrall
many for all eternity.

There seems to be a constant struggle
between order and disorder;
there are times in life
when something happens
and the only response you can give is: why?;
there are some people who are incapable
of staying on the right side of the law;
there must be something in the genes, I think,
that motivates and compels someone
to commit any crime.

Every whisper contains a seed of truth
that is only a minute part of a much larger story;
every detail of every-thing is evidence
of a structure of moments that goes deep,
as well as towers high;
everybody leaves a trace
that can be followed forward in time,
as well as back;
everywhere there are things
that some people can so easily miss and not see;
everyone is gravity-bound by something
that they live because of and are made whole by;
every instant and every moment
we leave something behind us
that we do not realize,
because time goes by so fast.

A state of being is psychological;
a state of reproducing is biological;
a state of acting without thinking is instinctual;
everybody trips, everyone falls;
everybody utters words of inspiration
from time to time over their lips;
everyone at one time or another
hears an empowering call;
every mystery has an answer;
every magician and illusionist
has their signature magic-trick;
every unknown gives someone a reason to wonder;
every puzzle can be solved
if you look for the coincidences
that are not just coincidences –
because in reality all things are clues
in the fascinating world of forensics.

My Poem ‘The Hummingbird House’

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

Standing in a room
surrounded in every direction
by flying hummingbirds;
the childhood dream
of a little girl walking
through a vast field of yellow daises
beneath a cloudless bright-blue sky;
standing on a green hilltop
looking down at your home below;
the adventure of a not-yet
grown up boy’s life-time,
and a return to a place
that he knows so well
it is almost as indelibly under his skin
it could almost be a tattoo;
on a cold winter’s day
the light shines differently
than it does at the same time of day
during the summer;
people change just as much as the seasons do;
a simple act of kindness can be something
that some people hold on to for luck
like a four-leafed clover;
when you become intoxicated by a moment
time goes wonderfully slow.

Dreams are our life’s internal movie-theatre;
our dreams are like the software
that runs the most powerful super-computer;
emotions are our way of interpreting
the meaning of what we see,
what we hear, what we feel,
and what we think;
all of our memories share and are
connected to an infinite number of mutual links.

Two different people
can look up at the same cloudy sky
and see two radically different formations;
a hundred people can be in the same place
at the same time for many different reasons;
a thousand people could each give you
a thousand and one different answers
to the same question;
all of human-kind begins anew
a different cycle every time
there is the rise of a new generation.

A house made of glass tells no lies,
but at the same time is precious to the touch
because of what it is;
a rose is one of the most beautiful gifts of nature,
but it also has the means to protect itself;
to me, someone with a thousand books to read
is richer than someone with a thousand dollars to spend;
a dream that has come true for you
is also known by another name: happiness;
heaven is a story that has no end;
everybody and anybody who has ever stopped
and stood, and who has ever looked
at a beautiful sight with an open mouth,
knows intimately what it is like
to have been inside a hummingbird house.

My Poem ‘V’

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

Our lives are stories
within an epic and ever-evolving,
ever-changing, ever-continuing poem
that started at the moment
that the universe began;
my own life has changed over time –
as I have grown, experienced,
thought, and felt, the world
and everybody whom I have met
has contributed into making me
who I am now at every turn;
we are more free to be who we want to be
when we are young and when we know nothing
about the need of adults to make plans;
I always knew that I had an energy
and a passion within myself –
however, it is only since I began
writing poetry and stories
that I have felt as if I were able
to allow the inspired fire
within my heart to burn.

I can still remember
the first poem I ever wrote;
I can still recall
where I was when I started
to put together the poems
and the pages and the images
of my first book;
I can still feel what it was like
when I knew that I had a gift
and that I could use words
to express my feelings
like a musician makes music
by playing notes;
I can still sit, stare,
and hold my pen and my notebook
in my hand and relive
the experience of inspirations magic touch.

Every time that I unveil
a new poetic-offspring of mine,
to me it is like seeing
the face of your own child smile
for the first time;
every time I start writing
and the words flow
and come fast like the water
of a raging-river,
the light and the energy
that binds everything together
starts to shimmer;
every time I am inspired
I can feel something inside of me
fighting to break free of me
and explode like a cannon;
every time of every writing
of a new poem is like witnessing
the golden light of an unending dawn.

I still have to pinch myself
to believe how lucky I am;
I still have to look in the mirror
and marvel at all that I have seen,
all that I have experienced,
and all that I remember from my life;
I still have to find a way every day
to use the power of what I know,
but that which other people
might not at first understand;
I still have to daily accept
the awesome feeling of pride that I feel
in myself at all that I have personally achieved
and done – especially when I flick through
and I re-read and remember
all the poems that I have written
that have been published in my books…
I still find it incredible to believe
that not only do I have one book
of my poetry and stories published –
but, in fact, instead of one,
as I write this, I am looking at the cover
of book number five.

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My Poem ‘Special Education’

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

A student is only as good
as the teacher who teaches them;
a teacher’s true gift
is giving their student a reason to listen;
everyone is a student all their life;
every parent is the greatest teacher,
idol, role-model, and inspiration
of their child.

Teaching can be easy for the knowledgeable;
learning can be hard for the slow;
inspiring someone can be incredible;
understanding is like hearing a song
that you can’t stop listening to
after you hear it playing on the radio.

The best lessons are based on first-hand experience;
the greatest thing that you can give someone
is encouragement and confidence;
the best story-teller is an artist;
the greatest person you could ever know
is the one whom you both love and trust.

Learning can be addictive;
watching can be hypnotizing;
listening can be relative;
a perfect ending is that much more amazing
because it is the sum
of all the experiences
that were essential
in building that which grew
over time to mean everything.

We all need a reason to reach;
we all need a push when we all know
we need to make a jump;
we all need a strong foundation in the beginning,
and to preserve our own living identity
the up-and-coming next generation
need to know that it is not a crime
to let your imagination run free;
no matter what anyone tells you,
you know more and you can do more
than you realize,
and there has never been a question
that has ever been asked that was ever dumb.

What next? for a student is the best question;
Where now? for a teacher is like igniting
the fuel within the engine of a vessel of exploration;
Why? is capable of grabbing anyone’s attention;
With whom? can be all the difference,
and paying attention to the right person
at the right time can be the first lesson
to learn from in anyone’s version
of “special education”.

My Poem ‘Infinitely Mine’

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

Hello, sunshine;
hello, muse;
hello, best friend;
hello, love of my life;
hello, you;
hello, my inspiration,
hello, my partner in crime,
hello, the other half of my soul
who keeps me standing –
as if our connected lives
were books and you and I
were each other’s bookends.

Even on a rainy day
you keep my fire burning;
even when the clouds cover the sky
you light up my life;
even as the world keeps turning
every time I see you
all reality stands still
and apart from your beautiful face
nothing else is as mesmerizing;
even from far away
I am always there when you need me
and I am always right by your side.

When I open my eyes you are there;
when I dive deep within my mind
you are my life-line;
when I gasp to stay alive
you are my air;
when I look at old photographs of us
I can see, just as anyone can,
that you and I are two of a kind.

We constantly wonder
what each of us are thinking;
I can look into your gorgeous eyes
and know instantly what you are feeling;
we are always sharing the same dreams
and reading the same signs;
I often picture where you are
and what you are doing,
even when we are on the phone
and simply talking –
and every day no matter the time
I am always telling you
that I am eternally yours,
and I hear and I feel you telling me
that you are infinitely mine.

Infinitely Mine-sq

My Poem ‘Always the Starman’

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

Now it is you
who is the Starman in the sky;
now you know the answer
to the question “is there life of Mars?”;
now you can see just how much
you made us all smile
and how much you made us all dance;
now it will be the stardust of you
that will fall to Earth
and makes our minds sparkle
like the stars at night;
now and forever you will be a hero
for many and not just for one day;
now you can embark
on your own space-oddity;
now and forever through sound and vision
you will speak to us
and you will sing to us all from afar;
now that you have reached
the centre of life’s labyrinth,
and as you now look back
and touch Earth from heaven
with an outstretched hand –
from one poet to another,
this is my tribute to you,
the Starman of Magic in the sky,
who will always be the eternal
and the immortal artist of life David Bowie.

My Poem ‘Perfect Beauty’

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

There is nothing in my life
that means more to me than you;
every day of my life
will always be beautiful
because I will always have you;
there is no one in my life
who has seen me for who I am
as much as you;
every day for the rest of my life
I will truly madly and deeply
always love you.

I wish I could hold you;
I wish I could kiss you;
I wish there were never a second
when I wasn’t with you;
I wish there was a way
I could touch your beautiful face
with my fingertips
and never have to leave your side,
because there isn’t a moment
when I do not miss you.

All that we’ve been through,
all the poetry and the inspiration
that brought me to you,
all those afternoons that I spent
dreaming at the base of a tree,
all that you had to go through
to finally find me.

I lose my breath,
my eyes burn blue,
my heart beats
as if it is moments from death,
I fall more and more in love with you
every second I look at you;
I see your face,
I daydream that I am with you,
I can still remember running my fingers
through your beautiful hair
that to me feels as soft
and as light as lace;
in my mind I travel the universe,
but when I come home from the stars
I always see the most beautiful miracle
that I have ever seen
every time I look at you.

When the last word is spoken from my lips…
when the last poem is written by my own hand…
when the moon finally covers the sun’s light
for the last time and I fall
below the dark veil of an eternal eclipse…
when my spirit prepares to leave my body
and the light of heaven elevates me
to something more than a man…
when my time of life ticks beyond the clock
of my last Earth-bound hour…
when I am lying in your arms,
and when you are lying next to me…
when in my mind I climb the steps
to the top of my own Dark Tower…
when all that I see, hear, feel,
and all I could ever want
and all who I have ever wanted is with me…
that is when my life and your life
will come together as-one
and everyone alive will see
the light of us both shine,
and I will be eternally complete –
because I will be with you,
my perfect beauty.

Perfect Beauty poem-sq

My Poem ‘The Wolverine’

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

They call me ‘The Wolverine’;
as wild on the inside
as I am on the outside;
I am both the dreamer
and the dream;
as strong in body
as I am in mind,
and just like an animal
who lives by their instincts
I live a life pushed to its limits.

I may heal fast, but I never forget;
I may remember the past,
but I am not bound by it;
the world may get dark,
but I can always see a light;
I may not be like a dog with a bark,
but I do have a bite.

I can be both the leader and the follower;
I can be both alone and in a crowd;
I can be both a wanderer and a watcher;
I can be both at home surrounded by nature,
or in the sky far above the clouds.

All wild things have claws;
all fighters sometimes are called to war;
all survivors sometimes have to dig deep;
all who eventually learn how to swim
sometimes have to sink beneath.

Confidence without arrogance;
wise, but still able to listen;
strength without losing breath;
having vision,
but still able to adapt and act
after being struck by inspiration.

The wild one can also be the quiet one;
the person can sometimes be
more dangerous than the weapon;
the vivid can also be the invisible;
the real can sometimes be the most impossible;
the protected can also be the free;
the most extraordinary can accomplish
all that they can imagine,
and there is no one who will ever stop
being who they were meant to be
more so than The Wolverine.