life

My Poem “The Right Turn”

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

In times of crisis and confusion,
or at times of rest and relaxation,
everybody has the same people,
the same things, and the same places
to return to that have always had a way
of bringing them back down to Earth,
of settling them down,
of bringing something out in them
which has always helped to enlighten
and to illuminate a way to find
a sense of peace of mind.

Everybody either has a go to “something” –
good book, a favourite TV show,
a movie, a song, or a piece of music –
that always has this transformative
magic and power to be able to instantly
change a person’s mood
and even have an effect upon
how a person thinks, talks, and moves.

Everybody always seeks out answers
and wants to find simple solutions
to questions and puzzles
that play upon their thoughts,
but sometimes the most accessible,
acceptable, and easily digestible
explanations are hard to find
because sometimes you have to
firstly unlearn what you have learned.

Everybody always has paths
that they travel down that they
know better than others
as well as mental maps that they know
the landmarks of in such detail
that they almost seem ingrained
upon their brain like a tattoo,
because when the time comes to act
they instinctively know what to do,
how to do what they need to do, and who,
what, and where they need to be
to make the right turn.

My Poem “The Comet”

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

As I watched the bright tail
of the comet streak overhead
I began to imagine all of the things
that had to have happened
since the creation of the universe,
since the disk of our galaxy came together,
since the formation of planet Earth,
and since the origin of humanity,
and how everybody and everything
has always been surrounded by
the darkness of space,
all the little things
and all of the big things
that had to combine to make up
the tale of everything –
and no matter the absence of colour that I see
I continue to smile because I know
that there are stars and there are nebulae
out there in the cosmos of the universe
that are like oases of light
and like gardens of life
which are composed of streams of matter
and energy that twist like ribbons
as they ripple like the waves of an ocean,
where stars are being born
every second that our world turns,
that are an example of how something
is always happening somewhere
in places where wonders beyond
the wildest of dreams are being realized –
and as I stare at the bright halo
and the streaking tale of the out
of this world interstellar snowball
I wonder how many other people
have seen this same remnant of
the beginning of the solar system
over the centuries since the journey
began for this particular comet.

My Poem “Impressionable”

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

Since I was a child
I have always been impressionable…
since I was a boy
I have been profoundly impacted
by many sources of entertainment
that subconsciously
left their mark upon me…
since I first started to be drawn
to the images of screens, the words of books,
and the ultrasonic magnificence of music
I have been changed little by little…
since I first began going on journeys
with fictional characters who
inhabited many different worlds
and who lived many different lives
I have been led to believe and to imagine
that what I was shown or gifted
the vision of was a real and true
possibility in some distant
and distinctive alternate reality.

In retrospect, I believe that my childhood
was and still is a treasure trove
and a goldmine of inspiring stories,
visuals, music, and feelings
that over time I saved within my memory
until the day when I would need
a boost of inspirational energy
to help fuel the poetry and the stories
that I would ultimately come to tell…
I truly believe that had I not grown up
how, when, where, and with whom
I grew up with my life would
have turned out very differently
and I would not have been able
to get through some of the things
in my life that led to me to learning from
all the lessons that I now know so well.

There were books that I read,
there were songs that I listened to,
there were TV shows and movies
that I watched over and over again as a child
that I loved and I thought I knew
everything about and every moment of
that when I rewatch and when I replay
them now I realise they were full
of many subtle, but amazing,
details and messages that have
a different, but still just as incredible,
effect upon me that reminds me
why it is sometimes important to return
to something or to somewhere that you
think you know like the back of your hand –
because everyone and everywhere
has more layers and levels of meaning
to reveal about themselves,
especially to those of us who have this
insatiable curiosity about so many things,
who are at their heart someone
who is and who always has been
unashamedly impressionable.

My Poem “Decennium”

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

Time goes by so fast…
life goes by like a flash…
one minute you are
starting down upon a path
and the next thing you know
an entire decade of years has passed –
and when you look back
you see now what you could not see
back then all the things that would
not work out, as well as all the things
that would grow beyond
your ability to truly grasp.

It’s been ten years since
I declared loud and clear
that I was a Poet and that
I was going to write from the heart
and let my poetic gift
dictate where I would go
and what I would write…
ten years since people from far
and wide started to read what I wrote
and began to tell me that I should
collect what I had written together
and publish all my hopes, all my dreams,
and all my feelings within a book
that could be held, read,
and which could be a source
of inspiration for people seeking out
a literary ray of light.

Over the last ten years
I have written hundreds of poems,
I have written and I have compiled
ten books of poetry and stories
that were creations of my own
imagination, as well as inquiries
into the heart, the mind, and the soul
of humanity through multi-layered
characters, supernatural tales,
and of course through poems
that were often both questions
and answers that spontaneously
came to me when I began
every verse of my poetry.

Over the last ten years
I can honestly say that I have
learned so much about the world,
about people, about myself,
about writing, about publishing,
and if I knew ten years ago
what I know now then I would hope
that I would not change too much
about what I wrote and why –
even the many mistakes that I have made –
because if I had not done what I did
then I would not have learned
why some things matter
and why some things do not,
and why some things are a matter of
being there at the right place
and why some things are a matter of
being where you are at the right time
to sit down, to open up, to write,
and to leave your mark in some way.

InShot_20200623_114808248

My Poem “My God Father”

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

Forget Zeus, forget Odin –
because no other father in history,
nor within the pages of mythology,
could ever compare to my father
because my Dad will always be
one of the most inspiring, influential,
and important forces over me,
because all his life my Dad has given
the gift of his presence and he has
been there in so many ways for me
and for our entire family.

My Dad has worked all his life,
he has given back,
and he has helped others
through so many selfless acts
that embody who my Dad is,
what my Dad stands for,
where my Dad comes from,
and what has always been
important to my Dad:
his family, his friends, his humility,
his enduring spirit, and his strength
of character that is incomparable
and which is the reason why no one
ever forgets my Dad nor
all the amazing things that he
has done throughout his life.

My Dad is a hero – just ask anybody
who knows him and his name…
my Dad has been through so much –
but never do you ever hear him complain…
my Dad is the personification
and the example of the person
who you would hope and pray
to arrive – with his distinctive
blue eyes and his magnetic smile –
to save the day while using
all the power at their disposal
to bring about a miracle –
and that is why when I look at my Dad
I never see just a man,
because when I look at my Dad
I always see my father: the God.

My New Book “The Rambler” coming soon…

Image Mark Hastings books, Poetry , , , , , , , , , ,

My Poem “Bandit”

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

I might wear a mask
but I am not a criminal…
I might cover my face
but you don’t need to be fearful…
you might not be able
to see my mouth but
underneath I am a smiling …
you might not be able
to recognize me by my eyes alone
but I hope that you can see
that I am not lying
when I tell you that I will
never stop hoping nor believing
that the human race can make it
through anything and everything.

How times change…
How different things can rapidly
turn from one state into another…
How often people have to cross
from one side and from
one lane to another…
How times of crisis make people
look around and want to comfort
each other when they stop looking
for someone to blame.

Events dictate our actions
and what we have to learn from
for our very survival…
our past self speaks to our present self
and our present self calls out to our
future self for them to forgive us
for some of the things that we did…
everything and everybody is kinetic
and nothing can stay static and the same
even if they want to because,
like a river, time never flows uphill…
in life sometimes we all have to grab
a hold of opportunities for optimism
and run wild with the new hope that we
have acquired and be like a bandit
in a world struggling to find their way.

My Poem “Revelation”

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

Life in the cities feels like
it is slowly restarting…
life on the streets feels like it is
in some way restoring…
the sunlight that falls upon
the windows of the tall buildings
reflects back upon everything
and everybody and makes the world
shimmer and glisten…
the beautiful weather beckons
to the young and the old –
and even in the slightest of sunbeams
there are sights and there sounds
to be found that could be thought of
as gifts of personal perfection.

There are moments of silence…
there are moments of laughter…
there are moments of stillness…
there are moments of drama…
there are moments of childhood…
there are moments of exploration…
there are moments of love…
there are moments of deep,
peaceful and necessary
meditation and contemplation.

Everybody’s life is slightly
different from one day to the next…
the weather of our planet
has been teaching us for centuries
that there will always be
some things in this world
that we will never be able to control
no matter how hard we try
or how much we are blessed…
everything is governed
by a clockwork cycle of universal
laws and proportions that are so
inherent to what makes life
what it is that it’s signature
can be seen time and again within
so many examples of nature…
the more that you believe
that there is no more to know,
that there are no other places to go,
and that life can no longer surprise you
is naturally when something or someone
will challenge that view
and deliver to you a revelation
that will make you question your past,
that will make you look at your present,
and influence the course of your future.

My Poem “Nature and Me”

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

There are some mornings
when I walk out into
the bright light of a new day
when I feel like I am being
compelled to walk in a particular
direction so that I may go somewhere
that my heart, my mind, my soul,
the path before me needs me to be –
and sometimes the place I am drawn to
is somewhere I find myself returning to:
a place where I felt an awakening within me.

A place of tall trees that has always
felt like a natural cathedral, a church,
a temple, a place of worship
that has always meant so much to me…
a sacred place that I have a connection to
since the moment I walked under
the sun-drenched summer leaves
of its canopy and since I first
walked upon and through the
glowing green grass that in
the summer time carpets
the forest floor before me.

A place of beauty seemingly far away
from the rest of the world
that has inspired countless inhales
of intoxication of the pine laced air
that has always been the cure
and the spark to bring alive
and bring together every thought,
every instinct, every hope,
every beat of my heart in unison
with one another.

When I am walking on my own
I always feel like I have been gifted
and I am following the path
that I need to take to bring
everything into focus, to give me clarity,
to see the poetry that explains
things so simply and yet so profoundly
without the need for an audible
explanation to be heard.

A spirit, a joy, a presence
has on numerous occasions
made me close my eyes and open
my arms wide as I take in every moment
that I feel directly connected
to the source of all life in the universe
that I feel is my greatest gift
and which I believe is that
inexplicable perception of reality
that people for a long time have had
many names for but which is commonly
known as their “sixth sense” –
that is what I feel and that is what I see
when there is no one else around
and it is just nature and me.

My Poem “Masked”

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

Masks are everywhere these days
and they are being worn
by many people in many ways –
but some masks have been worn
for much longer and for more reasons
than for what and for why some people
now wear them for and for what
they now wear them
to protect themselves from.

The masks that people wear
every day, sometimes for years,
look like a face that you might
remember and recognize –
but beyond, behind, and below
that mask of skin and muscle
often lies the real person:
someone who may be crying out
from inside a deep and dark tunnel
where they are troubled by
thoughts, feelings, and emotions
that at times of intense trauma
make them feel like they are
a prisoner within the cell of a prison
the walls of which no one else
could ever possibly understand.

People often wear masks
which have smiles upon them –
however, in reality, the true face
that they are wearing on the inside
is one like that of a sad clown
with tears running down their face
and ruining the makeup that they wear
to continue to sell the facade
that helps them not break down
physically, mentally, and emotionally
whenever someone gets too close
for comfort and they start
to stop and stare.

Wearing masks is not a new thing,
however the wearing of material masks
has become more normalised
and is more prevalent than ever…
people often wear emotional masks
so that they can go through life
and are not constantly being asked
whether they are alright
or whether there is something the matter.

Things like the physical pain
and the psychological anguish
that people have to daily cope with
are easier to hide when seen
from far away but they are harder
to disguise when seen up close…
some people need to wear masks,
because who they reveal themselves to be –
perhaps when they are alone
in the shadows of their bedroom
and listening to the music
of their favourite artist,
when they can finally let
their inner-self be free –
is often not the same person
who they want to see,
or want to be seen,
in reflection, or by anyone,
because the face of who
they really are is that of someone
whom only they know
and whom only they know how to be.