inspiration

My Poem ‘Book Bag’

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

I am a writer.
I have always been the one to be seen
with his notebook open
and his pen ready to write in his hand.
I am a reader.
I have always been known to carry around with me
everything I could possibly need,
while I am walking and rediscovering the world,
in my constantly changing holdall and bag.

Wherever I go,
the bag that I have hanging from my shoulder
always has a book or two inside –
I carry around both of my own poetry books,
but I also always have the book that I am currently reading
at the moment with me too,
in case I accidentally, or intentionally,
find myself on a deserted island somewhere,
and I need a good story and compelling characters
in order to get by with and pass the time.

Just recently, right now, and usually,
my “book bag” has inside it:
my poetry notebook,
my books ‘Poet of the Sphere’ and ‘The Sound of Mark,
‘The Drawing of the Three’ by Stephen King,
and Ray Bradbury’s amazing ‘Fahrenheit 451’;
I just love the thought that I always have a place
and a world to go to, within my myself,
or within and under the covers of an incredible book.

I am never too far away from books and stories of every kind,
of varying depths of complexity, passion, language, and adventure;
I always have in my mind, if not in my hand,
tales of people and characters who live and breath
in real and fictional worlds in the past, in another life,
in the optimistic reality of an imagined future.

There are people who don’t read books,
who never even think about what they could possibly find
hidden and waiting for them
within the chapters and story of a classic;
there are some people who use exclamations to describe things,
but who have never felt the thrill of reading a true epic.

There are people who love to read and love stories,
and who read many things, in many ways,
and in this day and age they can do so electronically, anywhere:
books filled with romance, thrills, horror, life, mystery;
I, myself, am a purist –
someone who believes that the experience of holding a book in your hand,
feeling the weight of it, and flicking through the pages,
is part of reading a story that every reader should have;
and even though, in my opinion, I think that anywhere
and in any way creativity can be shared is the best thing ever,
and I am not against sharing art by any means,
I would always choose to have a story read
and ingrained in the paper pages of a soft-cover or a hard-back book –
and that is why I will continue to carry stories of my own,
and of other writers around with me, in my “book bag”.

My Poem ‘Poet’s Corner’

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

I am sitting here writing;
I am sitting here musing about the world;
I am sitting here enjoying a coffee-
the voices of people,
and the sounds of everyday life;
I am sitting here alone at my table;
and on the table next to me
a fellow poet is meeting up
and having a conversation
about how they just wrote a new poem,
about how beautiful the new day’s morning is,
and about things that they have seen
which they find exciting, inspiring, amazing,
and they sound just like I do in my head,
and I cannot stop smiling.

The poet sounds like they are from South Africa,
by their accent;
the poet is talking to their friend,
and they sound and they talk with so much
clarity and passion.

The poet is wearing a poppy;
the poet is not eating or drinking anything;
the poet is definitely someone after my own heart,
and obviously, to them, living, breathing,
writing, communicating, is not just a hobby;
the poet and his friend, it turns out,
have never met before,
and have only communicated over the internet,
until this moment;
the poet is describing a “great adventure”
that he has undertaken, and is still on,
and they are obviously, genuinely,
happy about the joys in their life,
and what they have gives them,
and what having a connection with people brings.

It is truly unbelievable what happens in life.
It is no accident who you may sit down next to.
It has been my experience that artists, writers,
poets, and people of deep thought passion,
and imagination, are drawn to each other
by a mutual drive;
it is the way of the universe
that people are who they are,
and the way that they are,
and there is an important reason
that people do what they do.

I watched in silence as the poet and his friend
exchanged gifts and spoke about what their presents
and their presence means to them;
I was hypnotized by their conversation,
by their story, and by everything they said;
I was enthralled, but I was sad –
because I knew that I would probably
never see or hear these amazing friend again,
but I too was thankful to them both
for coming into my life,
even if it were only for a sparing,
precious, and short time,
and the whole time that I was in their presence
I was unbelievably energized and phenomenally inspired.

There are too many coincidences and commonalities
for life to be just a string or a chain of accidental encounters,
there are too many things that matter to too many at once
for them to be unconnected,
even if they are the separate lives and stories of strangers.
There are so many places on this Earth
which attract people who share a brilliant,
beautiful, open, heart of a storyteller;
there are places like this place
that I am sitting in right now
that have a meaning and a power to them –
which I like to describe, and which I believe,
are amazing poet’s corners.

My Poem ‘Heaven is a library’

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

Surrounded by an infinite,
amazing, incredible, epic,
beautiful, endless,
collection of books –
the most breathtaking, awesome,
and extraordinary, hive of information,
stories, words, facts, writers, and authors,
from all around the world,
from every century of mankind –
I am sitting here listening to beautiful piano music
being played by an old man who, to me,
simply wants to play, feel, remember,
share and bring joy.

Every second that I spend walking around,
looking, sitting, listening,
staring out of giant glass windows,
lost in my own world,
connecting and passing through someone else’s story –
seeing them, meeting them, listening to them,
being inspired by them –
I feel as if I am in heaven,
and I could so easily and happily never leave this place;
because this place, the library, to me,
is a perfect place, a special place,
a place that is a hub, that not only connects
the people who visit it,
but also every person who has ever lived.

I feel myself drifting away,
being carried by the music;
I feel intoxicated by the smell, the taste, the touch,
the feeling all around, in everyone,
in every mind, in every book;
I feel emotional, because as I watch the outside world,
who are not with me here in this incredible,
magic, idyllic, library,
who are walking around under a blue sky,
through a forest of tall buildings,
and I want to tell them to come inside
and experience what I am feeling,
think what I am thinking,
listen to what I am listening,
know me and know what brought me to this library
and keeps bringing me back,
and how important a place, an Eden on Earth,
like this is to me,
and to all of us who are living this life
that we are living.

I can feel my heart pounding in my chest;
I can feel my imagination burning and shining like a star;
I feel overwhelmed; I feel at my best;
I feel like I can touch
and hear my own my own inner-muse and poetic spark.
The library is not as old as some,
but to me this library is as rejuvenating,
energizing, and as radiating as a sun.

I am here; and where I am, to me,
is holy-ground, and a source to find and know
the secret of all humanity –
where it has been, where it is going –
and a place to discover and see it in all its glory,
to walk around, work in, study in,
read in, write in, congregate in,
listen to people and music in,
to talk in, and make the most of every wonderful second of;
because this place is a miracle of beauty,
and proof-positive to me, as I have always believed,
that heaven is a library.

My Poem ‘Modern Muse’

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

The modern muse of music,
poetry, art, life-
the light that guides
and shines so bright,
the love that stays with us
that we obsess over,
the fragrance that tantalizes us
that comes from everything, everywhere,
that can be seen atop the beautiful mountains of Snowdonia
and felt on the wind at the White Cliffs of Dover.

The modern muse that we capture instantly every day
with the cameras of our mobile phones,
the real relationships that we have and cherish
that could never be cloned;
the things that matter to us the most,
because they make us feel on top of the world;
the house of cards that we constantly want to rebuild;
the changing tone that accentuates the seasons,
the way to exorcise your inner-demons;
a way to live in beautiful harmony;
a maze of discovery;
an angel that looks differently
than would be expected;
a song that explains everything your mind and heart
have longed to have been depicted.

A final word, a final sentence;
the voice of a songbird;
a perennial flower and symbol of our precious existence;
a sky that is all blue that reminds me of you;
a path of clues; a spark of beauty;
a here, now, forever,
modern muse.