inspiration

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.

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.