inspiration

My Poem ‘Soleil’

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

The sun is inspiration;
outside in the sunlight
is where everybody wants to be;
whether you live in Canada,
Great Britain, Australia, or Peru,
being touched by the sun
is a feeling that brings out
something good and happy in you –
at least it always does with me.

A sunny day always reminds me of my childhood;
a bright and beautiful morning always reminds me
and makes me think of family holidays;
watching the world and seeing it clear and golden
is how I wish it would look every minute of every day.

There is an energy that you can feel and see;
there are colours that just pop
with greater intensity and vibrancy;
there is a rhythm in the air,
like a unique music composed solely by nature,
that vibrates from every direction –
as if every atom of the world
were its own individual speaker;
there is a connection that binds us all to our maker.

Windows become mirrors;
the leaves of the trees
look as if they themselves are emanating light;
the meaning of life, and the perfection of our world,
can be perceived while swimming in an ocean of water,
or while on a boat making your way down a river;
there are worlds within worlds happening all at once,
and almost everything there is to be found
is occurring beyond our sight.

Hummingbirds, butterflies, birds, dolphins, whales,
men, women, children, animals, flowers, plants, insects –
every form of life has its own relationship
to the star of Earth’s blue sky;
to me, there are some things
that just perfectly represent and symbolize
intense and eternal love;
just like a person,
to a star there is always more than meets the eye;
to me, there will always be
something phenomenal about being
in the light of the sun.

My Poem ‘Cogito ergo sum’

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

When I wake up every morning,
I know that I am poet,
and I want to be a writer;
when I see something,
I am inspired by an idea,
I become, I feel, and I connect,
with what fills and stimulates
my mind and my consciousness;
I take what has been inspired into being
and I run with it all the way
to the end of my imagination;
I find a way to connect the dots
in an imaginative way,
and express what I see
with undivided focus.

I can look at the world
and see any reality that I can imagine;
I can hear a song
and dream of a place, while still awake;
I can see something,
and then get this rush of excitement
deep inside me, that overflows from me,
that feels like I am
about to take a leap from a mountain;
I can feel things
that no one in the world,
no matter how good an actor they were,
could ever fake.

If I were not a writer,
I do not know who I would be;
if I did not write poetry,
I would not be me;
if I were not inspired
and excited about the world
as much as I am,
I think I would be missing a piece of my soul;
if I did not give myself fully
and wholeheartedly to what was right in front of me,
and what made me feel free,
then I would never know or remember
the feeling of the sun on my skin,
and every rainy day
would always be one that was cold.

The first place to start from,
and the first person to know,
is always the place,
and is always the person,
that you know better than anywhere, or anyone,
and you can always rely on the first instinct
and the first thought that comes to your mind;
there is no place you can go
and not see the person in the mirror,
from whom you can never hide;
if you want to know who to be,
if you want to know what to do,
if you want to have faith in something, or someone,
but you just can’t decide what to believe, or who –
close your eyes, know yourself,
and recite to yourself
one of my favourite, and one of the most profound,
latin phrases you could ever know the meaning of:
cogito ergo sum.

My Poem ‘Garden of Inspiration’

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

As everyone gets older life gets harder;
as we watch the changing of the seasons,
we are all reminded how short and precious life is,
for so many reasons;
if you can find happiness and contentment in your life
then you have found the treasure
that has always been meant for you,
and as long as you don’t take what you have for granted
your perfect composure will last forever.

When you have a moment to take in where you are,
and embrace what you are doing,
and why you are where you are,
when you feel like you have
all you could ever think of as amazing;
live in that moment for as long as you can –
because it will be gone before you know it;
keep every detail close to your heart,
like an old faded photo;
wear it like a charm around your neck,
on your wrist, on your finger, or in your pocket;
make every step one that is always worth retracing;
don’t ever let anything go.

The youth of today are used to seeing something,
saying something, experiencing something,
and then forgetting about it;
young people live in the moment,
but they mostly do not give what they are doing
any long-term thinking,
and the effect of their actions can sometimes be a curse –
but they can also and mostly are a blessing;
the days fly away faster when you are younger,
because you are always doing something.
I would encourage everybody, young and old,
to keep a diary, a journal, an album,
that they can hold and add to over time,
because the moments of our lives happen in a flash,
and remembering them in some way
is a way of never taking them for granted.

Everyone has their own escapes;
everyone does something everyday
that deserves to be recognized and talked about;
everyone, no matter how old they are,
should envy anybody who can still see the world
and be captivated by fascination;
everyone can find their idea of perfection
before it is too late;
everyone does not have to settle
for the cards in life they have been dealt;
everyone can plant and watch something
they helped bring to life
grow and become something beyond imagining,
while in the world and within
the garden of inspiration.

My Poem ‘The Wonder City’

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

I don’t know if anyone
could ever say enough or all
about New York City,
“The Wonder City”,
in every respect –
to me, it is a perfect place:
a place of inspiration,
beauty, and infinite opportunity;
a place for anybody and everybody;
a place that I have not seen for a long time,
but a place I still dream about and think about,
which is constantly calling to me.

I knew New York City was important to me
the moment that I saw it,
I knew I loved New York City
from the moment I saw the skyscrapers of its skyline
through the window of the taxi;
I knew I would not be the same person
after having lived, breathed,
and become a part of New York City;
I knew I did not want to leave,
and I wanted to return as possible,
when a tear fell down my cheeks
at the thought of all the incredible memories I made
in the place that no matter what time of the day it was
was always brightly lit.

The Statue of Liberty, the Empire State Building,
the Rockefeller Center, Central Park,
the New York Subway, Fifth Avenue, Sixth Avenue –
everything I saw, everybody I met,
was beyond my imagining, and instantly I knew
that New York City was the one place on Earth
where I would feel at home living;
it is hard to describe and explain
why New York City means so much to me –
every second I was there I never took for granted,
every step I walked had deep and intense meaning,
every time I felt my heart beat hard at what I saw
made me feel so happy,
every day felt like a year;
and after walking up, I loved doing my ritual of
getting a take out coffee from Starbucks,
taking a walk around and through Central Park,
returning to my hotel room with a breakfast bagel,
and then leaving my hotel again
and going off on a new adventure
in my favourite city.

At night, when I was in my hotel room,
near Central Park, and I sat at my desk near my bed,
I dreamed, I wrote, I remembered,
I ingrained every moment of the previous day
into my DNA forever;
while walking the New York City streets in the moonlight,
I knew that I was where I was always supposed to be;
while sitting in the shadow of a statue of Christopher Columbus,
on a bench at Columbus Circle, in New York City,
I knew and I felt an incredible and energizing feeling
that felt like I was in my own version of heaven,
and a perfect paradise for anyone artistic,
creative, especially a writer.
Every minute that I was in New York City,
I knew and I understood why the best city on Earth
was also the worlds most spectacular city,
and why it was known as “The Wonder City”.

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My Poem ‘I Look Above’

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

Above my head,
caught in the branches of a tree,
I see a red balloon –
a former gift and token of love
from one person to another on Valentines day –
that had floated away,
so that it could be seen by me,
so that it could inspire me,
so that I could start a new poem,
while looking at it,
as I wonder where it came from,
who it used to belong to,
who bought it, and how long it will be as it is,
as it was always meant to be –
and as with most things that I witness and see,
I know that the red balloon in the tree
will only be a sight to see
that is temporary.

Above my head, I see clouds of white
that look like a frozen blanket of snow hovering in the air;
above my head, I can hear an invisible airplane –
invisible to sight but not sound,
and the unmistakable noise of travelers on their way;
above my head, there is always something
that I can look up at for hours, and simply stare;
above my head, is a dream of an endless, perfect, day.

As I look above, I remember being above –
I remember being among the clouds
and imagining the sensation of flying like a bird;
as I look above, just as when I remember looking below,
I am frequently lost for words
and in full belief and feeling
that I have all that I could ever want,
and there is nothing more to life
that I need to see or know.

I look above a lot;
I look above, because I cannot yet imagine
seeing or knowing enough;
I look above, because I am reminded
every time that there is more
to a small pin-prick of light
than there might at first appear –
just as there would be more to see
for an extraterrestrial astronomer
looking at the Earth from their observatory
and seeing only a faint blue dot.
The sky is just a veil
to many wonderful and magical things
that cannot be seen with the naked eye,
and that is one of the reasons
that I will continue to look above.

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My Poem ‘Heart of a Poet’

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

The heart of a poet
is one of the most beautiful, amazing,
wonderful, things in the universe;
the heart of a poet is one of the most pure,
enlightening, electrifying, and special,
miracles of life, that blesses whom it belongs
with a mastery of the most spectacular
and gorgeous of words;
the heart of a poet is always open,
and it feels things and experiences
exceedingly more deeply than usual;
the heart of a poet is like an open wound,
like an open book, and on each page
that the poetry of the poet is written on,
with every word of every verse,
the ink from the poet’s pen
flows like that of the poet’s own blood,
and every drop, or full-stop, is undeniably magical.

The heart of a poet was brought to life,
and beats every day of its life,
because of the the muse, the spark,
that inspired it right from the start;
the heart of a poet has its own distinctive
and individual rhythm, and a signature mark of the poet,
that anybody, no matter when or where,
can feel and see, even in the dark;
the heart of a poet aches to touch the heart of another,
and begs to be touched;
the heart of a poet always bounces back,
even if it has been hurt, or crushed;
the heart of a poet is bigger on the inside,
and even during an entire lifetime
it is impossible for it to completely be filled;
the heart of a poet is at home anywhere –
in space, in the air, under the sea,
breathing in the openness and beauty of a sunny afternoon
looking at the staggering scenery of nature
that surrounds a countryside field.

The heart of a poet is sensitive to sights, sounds,
smells, touch, and emotions;
the heart of a poet is one of life-long love and devotion;
the heart of a poet is better described of as a fire;
the heart of a poet is capable of unbelievable generosity,
and its greatest hope is to be inspired, and to inspire.
The heart of a poet is not given away easily,
and, like trust, you must earn the gift of the bond it forges,
and it should never be taken lightly, or for granted;
the heart of a poet is always scarred,
overactive, unique, and haunted;
the heart of a poet is able to transform
any full-grown adult into a big kid;
there is nothing in the entire world
you will ever encounter, see, read, hear, and touch,
more phenomenal and epic,
than the immortal heart of a poet.

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My Poem ‘Momentous Momentum’

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

The momentous momentum of life
means something different to everybody
who feels it and experiences it;
the breathtaking fast-paced world
can seem too intense sometimes,
especially when trying to adapt
to the constant changes that happen
that may seem impossible and as hard
as trying to dodge the oncoming flight
of a bullet from a gun;
it is only the very young who have the luxury
to not have to worry about
what is going to happen next,
and because they know no better
if they were asked by one of their friends
to jump off a cliff they would in a heartbeat;
it is only as we grow older,
and start looking back and reminiscing about the past,
do we start caring about the passage of time,
and how important all the days of your life were
when you were blessed by love, friends, family,
and the golden light of the sun.

Children have no perspective,
because most perspective is born
from the marrying together of experience and meaning;
adults have the gift of knowing right from wrong,
and yet they still make the same mistakes over and over again;
children have all the energy in the world,
they could outlast anyone in a marathon,
but because they have so much drive and passion
it is hard for them to focus on just one thing;
adults find it challenging most of the time
to simplify their thoughts and their lives,
because, more so than a child,
their thoughts are always at the mercy of their emotions.

Your life is not short,
unless you choose to shorten it;
your choices become complicated
the more that you think;
your life is supremely important,
and you are constantly making a difference
to your own life, and to other peoples lives,
even on the days when you do not think
that what you are doing
would be anyone’s definition of something exciting;
your choice to get out of bed,
to think about another person,
to do something for yourself, and for someone else,
is something that you learned at a very young age
when the thought of looking out the window,
running out the door, enjoying all the time
and moments that you didn’t even know you had,
was absolutely awe-inspiring;
and even when you think that life
could not possibly do anything anymore to surprise you,
something will happen that will be profoundly enlightening,
and it may be something akin to an eternal puzzle,
that you might spend the rest of your life deciphering.

Never be frightened of your feelings;
daily embark on a personal mission;
remember as much as you can of what you see
and the moments in which you are living;
embrace the rush of inspiration,
and take every opportunity to think outside the box,
and without even realizing it at first
you will be a part, and enjoying,
the wondrousness of life’s momentous momentum.

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My Poem ‘Sex’

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

The greatest thing about humanity,
the thing that excites me, inspires me,
drives me, thrills me, and always makes me happy,
is the thought of the infinite
and endless potential of everyone on Earth
to do and to be whoever and whatever they want to be;
no matter their background, skin colour, disposition, or sex –
man, woman, black, or white –
you can achieve what no one would expect;
you can work hard, and do what you love,
and be an inspiration to those who will see you
as a shining example to follow,
and who will want to emulate you,
stick a picture of you up on their wall,
and look at you as their hero.

The long-held misogynistic and sexist views,
opinions, and barriers, have for the most part
been replaced by role-models of both sexes to both sexes,
who give samples of wisdom and templates off possibility
that anyone can see and copy, if they want;
however, anyone who is looked upon as a star
in the eyes of someone else will tell
any budding emulator of their craft
that they first and foremost have to take their own path,
and try not to be too much of a carbon-copy of anyone,
because, as an artist will tell you,
the best art is one that is individual
and personal to the artist who creates it,
and if you just replicate a style, a voice,
a way of being, without your own spark of creativity
infused into the mix, whatever you do
will constantly be missing something:
your touch, your taste, your heart, your imagination,
and everything else that is vital,
that no one else could possibly bring.

Both men and women, of all ages,
can be writers, artists, teachers,
musicians, singers, politicians, magicians,
drivers, divers, astronauts, police officers,
entrepreneurs, builders, designers, chefs,
shop owners, hairdressers, presidents, prime ministers,
celebrities in their own right,
because they are capable
and because they have achieved something extraordinary –
because they felt like they could make a difference to the world,
and even the problems that they may envision
coming face to face with don’t feel too complex,
and as they get closer to the goals
that they and everyone sets themselves,
it will be like achieving something amazing in the best way you can:
by taking every opportunity to show the potential they have inside them,
and focusing, and working hard to steadily make the most
and appreciate every step.
The world can change in such a short period of time,
and what will happen next, and what people will achieve,
will have everything to do with what their heart desires,
and have next to nothing to do
with their colour, creed, upbringing, or sex.

My Poem ‘Reading is Believing’

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

Libraries are closing everywhere I look;
the doors of places of knowledge and wonder
are being closed shut, like the covers of there books;
our breathtaking banks of inspiration are no longer protected;
I one day fear that children will miss out
on a magical and life-empowering experience,
should our libraries evaporate into a cloud of numbers and frequencies,
and as a result the future of the world will be affected.

Every day I hear about another library
under threat from being turned into a “used to be”;
every day I see people reading and entranced in a story;
every day I see people in bookstores being drawn to books
by their title and the incredible art of their covers;
every day adults and children fall in love with books
and characters for the first time –
thanks to teachers, friends, family members, fathers, and mothers.

Every second a new writer, a brand new story-teller, is born,
and continues the story of humanity;
every baby who is brought up to loving parents,
in an incredible family, is introduced to reading,
and sharing ideas, from almost the day
that they get to sleep in their own bed;
every experience has its own voice,
and some have even been reinterpreted in the form of a novel,
and then adapted into a movie.

There is no more sad or depressing story, to me,
than that of a nearby town thinking about closing a library;
I never want to see a day when the only way that words can be read
is strictly and exclusively electronically –
digital books are great, but they will never have the life-span,
or the story and journey, of a physical book,
and that is the way it will always be.

Libraries are islands of tranquility;
books are the legacy of hope, history, tragedy,
that also still carry the story and the DNA of its parent tree;
reading a book is a personal passion for some people,
and to me there is no better place to see the belief
that reading is believing than in paper books,
that are like reading every person who has ever lived’s diary;
and that is why I believe it is everyone’s duty and responsibility
to do all they can to save the libraries.

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My Poem ‘The Genie’

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

Real life genie’s present themselves
and pop up unexpectedly in our lives all the time,
and sometimes they appear before they are summoned;
genie’s of all shapes, colours, and sizes,
rise before our very eyes and make themselves known
to be a guide, to be an angel who has blessings to bestow,
and as a friend who has the power
to make more than wishes come true;
there are genie’s who can open up whole brand new worlds,
and who can give a light to live by
brighter than that of the sun.

I used to be a genie.
I used to be the one everyone came to,
and asked to be granted their heart’s desire;
the gift to be able to give someone anything,
the power to be able to send anyone anywhere,
the touch and the omnipotent will to make any thought a reality,
was what was always there in the palm of my hands –
but after a lifetime, which felt like an infinity
of only being called upon when someone wanted something,
and used as a means to an end, I grew tired of the rub
of the life that was all that I knew,
and I left my lamp behind, and I chose to retire.

I still hear people looking for me,
and sometimes calling out for me –
but that has not happened in a while,
and it is usually when they have no one else to turn to,
or if they want a quick fix to their problems,
and want someone or something to do what they can’t.
I admit that I do still use my influence,
and my wisdom and knowledge to help others from time to time,
and I do grant a wish or two occasionally
when I am in the mood, and I can genuinely see and feel
someone is desperate for something that they really want.

I am one of thousands of genie’s, and ex-genie’s,
who live to just do good and use their gifts
to better someone’s life,
but most of us are invisible upon first look,
and live a day to day life and job, like me.
The secret to attaining what you want
and what you wish all of the day for,
is to first look and see if you already have
what you think you don’t have around you, inside you;
and the trick is to ask yourself first for what you want,
before you go looking for, rubbing the lamp of,
and asking to be granted wishes,
by the powers of a genie.

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