meaning

My Poem ‘Two for Joy’

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

Trust and connection,
familiarity and intimacy,
understanding and love,
that incredible and amazing feeling
that makes you so happy.

A look, a smile, a sound, a laugh,
a shared energy of meaning and identity,
that stimulates a feeling
of fluttering butterflies within your heart;
a shared song, a duet, a pairing and an enlightening
of the best of each other that you yearn to feel
and want to show and share with everyone
watching both near and far away;
a poem inspired to be written
in the same way that the melody of a song
needs to be played.

Glances, kisses, touch,
timeless love that makes you feel lost;
when you know that you have found your One,
nothing and no one else matters,
because to you what they mean to you
is as precious and as phenomenal
as interstellar dust;
they are your world,
they are your life,
they are a part of your soul,
they are your light.

I have always believed
that true love is like a force of nature;
while gravity pulls you down,
love lifts you up;
I have never wanted
and I have never been able to keep
my feelings from bubbling over;
while you are worrying about what may
or what may not happen,
there is a divine dance
and a biological transition taking place –
that is quietly magnifying
and setting into motion
the opening of a stream
and a waterfall of extreme emotional expression,
that will make every part of you
feel even more addicted, obsessed, and in love.

When you are one,
you can feel sorrow;
when you are one of two,
there are things about you
that you only want the One you love to know;
when you are up at night,
or waking up first thing in the morning,
when you are in love
there is only one face and one voice
who you want to see and hear
with your eyes, with your ears, in your mind –
because they always have the rejuvenating power
to sustain and keep you alive
and protected from ever being destroyed;
when you see two people together as a couple,
or when you see a male and a female bird,
or any pairing of two animals
who adore each other
and who want to be with each other,
think of the one that you love
who means the most to you,
and remember the first line
of that memorable rhyme:
“One for sorrow, two for joy…”

My Poem ‘True Calling’

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

There is a reason
why a writer is a writer;
there is a reason
why an artist is an artist;
there is a reason
why a singer is a singer;
there is a reason
why someone can pick up an instrument
that calls to them,
and why when they play
they can do so epically and with such ease.

Acting without thinking,
moving with fluidity,
expressing without talking,
feeling the intensity
and the deep meaning
and wonder of your natural ability,
and not having to try;
being yourself; living the good life;
feeling rejuvenated to overflowing
and perfect health.

Words, numbers, sight, sound,
taste, touch, day, night,
sense, style, view, voice,
darkness, light;
symbols, windows, music, life,
colour, vibrations,
leap, dive, rise, and shine.

There are some things you “just know”;
there are some songs you replay
that will never get old;
there are some things that “just flow”;
there are some things you can see
and understand without having to be told.

Music is life filtered,
interpreted and expressed, through the senses,
inspired by the seasons and the surroundings
that the artist finds themselves,
that comes from the source and the heart
that lives to breath and beat
constantly and indomitably;
muse is inspiration made tangible –
which you can touch with your mind,
with your body, with your spirit and soul,
that keeps your artistic fire alight,
and keeps alive your unquenchable desire
to express the inexpressible.

What is meant for you
will always catch you
if you ever find yourself falling;
believe in destiny;
never forget that which to you is truly beautiful;
listen to what is all around you;
follow and answer that which to you
is your true calling.

My Poem ‘From the top’

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

My time, my days,
often see me surrounded by people
on an infinite, overwhelming,
incalculable, unfathomable scale;
there are days when the thought
of how many billions of people
there are in the world
literally boggles my mind;
the obsessive observer in me
wants to see everything,
and wants to meet everyone,
and sit down with them,
so that they can tell me their tale;
the dominant writer in me
wants to discover and convey
the meaning of the entire universe
and the meaning of life
and wrap it all up in a story,
or a poem, and leave a message
to live and to love life by
for all of mankind.

I cannot help but look out and see more;
I cannot help but listen and hear
a symphonic opus;
I cannot help by feel drawn
in multiple directions,
while still keeping my feet
firmly on the ground –
like a rocket of potential
waiting to launch;
I cannot tell you how much love means to me,
and to me the meaning and the feeling of love
is the most important thing in and of my heart
that I wholly trust.

Most things occur and are where they are
according to a plan;
everyone is defined by their own unique chemistry
that, to some degree, dictate the things in life
they can’t have and the things that,
if they want to, they can have;
knowing what to do and when
is one of the key indefinable instincts
in attaining your dreams;
some things, no matter how simple
they are on the outside,
are not what they seem.

Trillions of stars,
billions of planets,
millions of galaxies,
thousands of possibilities,
hundreds of variations,
tens of directions –
but only one of each of us;
each of us bound,
each of us free,
each of us still connected
genetically to ancestors
and to distant family members
who once spent a great deal of time
thinking, adapting, understanding,
and swinging from the branches of trees.

The farther back in time we go
into the history of Earth,
and the more we read of humanities
relationship with the planet
we are blessed to live on,
we can tell and we can see
the direct effect that we as a species
have had on our environment,
on life, on ourselves,
and the most fundamental fingerprint
of humanity is the ability
to deliver change globally –
both quickly, and slowly,
quietly, and sometimes boldly –
and because change is in our nature,
we sometimes do not know when
or how to stop.

One thing that I have learned about life
is that nothing is predetermined in stone –
but a prosperous and a hopeful future for all
can happen if people work together,
and if hope can be promised, assured,
and delivered every time it is spoken,
or shown by those who in the pyramid of the world
lead from the front as well as from the top.

My Poem ‘Hard Rain’

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

It’s never too late
to learn something new;
it’s never going to be the case
that you are going to know
everything about everyone;
it is at times when you are not
expecting anything to come to light
that you invariably learn something
you never knew;
it’s never too late to ask questions
and get answers that make your thoughts
just want to run and run.

Music has always been important to me,
and to my family, for as long as I can remember,
since long before I was even born;
music has always had the key
to unlock the door into our soul;
however, it wasn’t until just recently
that I learned from my Dad
that he had once been a ‘roadie’
in the 1970’s for a rock-band,
and I am still enthralled and in awe
because (yet again) my Dad has surprised me
with an interesting and inspiring insight into him
which I love to learn and hear stories
told to me about –
because, to me, it just makes my Dad even more cool.

Hearing my Dad tell me how he used to help
transport and set up the equipment
of the band ‘Hard Rain’ –
a group that I had never heard of before –
I was inspired within seconds;
hearing my Dad reflect and remember
times that he enjoyed, as always,
brought a smile to my face
and made me feel emotions
that no one else could possibly understand.

As a child, I remember us as a family
having musical instruments around us:
a recorder, a keyboard, an organ,
an electric-guitar, an acoustic-guitar,
that my Dad used to play and strum
a song and a tune exquisitely with –
even now, my Dad knows more songs
and can sing every word of his favourite band,
‘The Beatles’, and he knows the deep meaning
within those magical lyrics,
and he has been moved by them
on more than one occasion – as have I –
and each song, and each piece of music,
I know when I hear them now,
are nothing short of amazing and incredible poetry.

I have always wanted to play an instrument,
write a song, come up with a melody,
bring my words and my inner music to life,
so that the whole world can hear it;
I have always wanted to take my poetry
and make my imagination and words
shine like no other poet;
I have always wanted to give something
back to people, and the world,
for reasons that I can’t fully explain;
I have always been someone
with a great eye and a great ear,
and, to me, seeing and hearing
as much as can be seen and heard
is a gift we are all born with –
and if you are someone creative,
or if you are someone who just
wants to be a part of something in some way,
then I can honestly say
that I too am there with you
in that want to be touched and changed,
and to remain connected to,
what makes my heart beat so long and so thunderous
as the music of hard rain.

My Poem ‘Onomatopoeia’

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

How does a ‘thing’
become a ‘something’?
When does a piece of art
come to life?
How does a person
become a someone?
When do words of a song
naturally find their own voice, and sing?
Could, and should, a child have a name
before its face first feels
the warmth of the sunlight?
Is a word and a name given to something
and someone accidental?
Or, perhaps, is a name
part of a more interconnected and greater plan?

A word can have many meanings
in different languages;
a name can symbolize and capture
the character and the disposition of someone
miraculously, and each person with the same name
can share things in common;
a word can have many different faces;
a name can be very important
and influential in the life of someone.

Some names are past down through families
and through traditions,
and they are in themselves ‘calling cards’
and snap-shots that tell a long story;
place names carry the history
and the original intent of the place in question
long after that same place has become
a place of so much more;
surnames and family names have evolved
from the profession and the job
that someone was known for,
to a connection of lineage and bloodline,
and is now a means for people
to trace their families’ origins
and reveal traces of hidden memory;
just as everything has a reason for being,
so does the choice of a name
have a reason and a meaning
running throughout a thing
or a person’s life
that was there before someone was even born.

Names have always fascinated me;
the why of a word and where it comes from
has always taken me on an exciting
and an inspiring journey;
the power of a word
and the significance of a name
is something that you can see,
use, and understand
if you use words in your life,
and if you see particular words
as a form of magic:
and there is no one who knows
how to use words in the way
that they are intended to be used
more than a magician –
and a magician will tell you
that the power of incantation and suggestion
has a fascination to it
that is too hypnotic to explain.
If I could be anyone,
if I could create a role for myself,
I would be someone who has the gift,
the privilege, and the power
to be able to give a person, or a thing,
its identity based on who, or what,
I see before me when I look at them –
it would be unlike anything else
to be the ‘coiner of a name’.

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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 ‘The Feeling’

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

Every day I am overcome
by a sudden intense wave of emotion,
like the tide of an ocean;
I could be doing anything, at any time,
when I feel a light-headiness
that is one of a kind;
and when I feel it,
I know that something is about to happen,
I know something is happening right now,
I know something is building and rising
and growing in so many ways
like the sun in the sky.

Our internal thoughts
have more of an external influence
than we may think they might:
I have imagined things happening,
and they have come true;
I have come face to face
with something I dreamed about one night;
I have seen things turn around on themselves
and show themselves to me again,
as if they were brand new.

My thoughts often bubble up
and leave the confines of my mind;
my emotions are noticeable
and can be read in every language that I know –
from the sound of my voice,
to the tone of my poetry,
to the language of my body;
my instincts know know to read most of the universe’s signs,
but I always find myself somewhere
I might never at first would have thought to go –
which makes the choices that I make
sometimes more spontaneous and in the moment,
and they are phenomena of my life
that have stayed with me.

I remember where I was, who I was with,
what I thought, what I felt,
what every second meant,
when something that turned out to be life-changing for me
flashed into existence, and changed me,
and propelled me on a new course and direction, as a result;
I have the gift to see myself
as I was at a particular time in my life,
and although those days will never happen again,
and those moments can’t ever be repeated,
I am truly blessed to have lived a life
that has been so eventful, epic, inspiring, and full.

I am nostalgic;
I am someone who looks at old photographs,
and says to myself: remember when?
I believe that love is more than a word,
more than a simple emotion,
more than even a poet or a song could ever truly express –
because it is real ‘magic’;
I don’t let go of anything without a fight,
especially something that I believe
with all my heart was heaven-sent;
I know I am not dreaming
when the thing that I am imagining
is so amazing, awe-inspiring, and heart-racing,
that it becomes the dominant thought
that I can’t stop thinking,
and when what I am seeing is so exciting
it becomes the defining meaning of everything
I am intensely feeling.

My Poem ‘Science’

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

As one cover closes,
another cover opens;
as one world freezes,
another continues to never know
the feeling of what it is like to be frozen;
as one story ends,
another adventure begins;
as a stranger becomes a friend,
another friendly acquaintance
is off to see something new
that they will declare when they see you next
that they had never seen such a thing before, or since;
as one road changes,
another connects with the one before
but simply with a change of name;
as one fire rages,
another dies until it is no more
than the after-glow of an extinguished flame.

Starts, and finishes;
beginnings, and ends;
birth, and death;
life’s phases of change and transformation;
thoughts, and wishes;
fresh air, breathing, cleansing;
right, or left;
chaos, order, belief, science;
everything in balance,
and happening for a reason,
like the variable in a perfect equation.

When things recur in nature;
when things are born, twinned with another
instead of singularly and alone;
when the present is also the past and the future,
that is when we all should take notice
with all our senses and instincts –
because it is then that we realize
that it is always better to be a designer
of your own life and style,
instead of simply being the same as someone else
and acting like a clone.

The seasons of Earth,
the names that we have given
the phases of our planet,
are never the same from one year to the next:
some winters are mild,
some winters are unbelievably harsh,
some summers are as golden as those
we always remember having when we were a child,
some summers are like being bitten hard
by a tyrannosaurus rex.
The sun continues to burn, and shine;
the water level of our rivers and lakes rise
and they fall, unexpectedly;
life is what it is,
and can never knowingly be kind, or unkind;
things happen again and again, invariably,
wonderfully, and sometimes surprisingly poetically.

Life is a continuous moment,
that our time existing in which
could be balanced on the tip of a needle;
our voices are but a whisper
in the cosmos of perfect silence,
and it is life’s precious finality
that empowers me the most,
and inspires me to the deepest of depths
and to the greatest of heights –
because once our lives are lived to their entirety,
we expire and then begin again anew,
and with another life to live and slowly reveal –
and that is the great journey,
and that is the great discovery of life,
of the universe, and the answer that follows
the equality sign posed eternally
from time in memorial by a meaning of life,
that is both a religion to believe in,
as well as the refined tried and tested
practice of a science.

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 ‘Corvus’

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

As black as the night-sky,
as intelligent as a mathematician,
as symbolic of life and death
as any bird that you will seeing flying in the sky,
the Crow is a bird that has always
gripped me with intrigue, awe, and fascination.

Crows have always been close by
when something life-changing and important
was just about to rise on the horizon;
there have been legends written and told
that tell of crows being messengers of life and the afterlife;
crows have featured in many supernatural stories
that walk a line of magic,
and tell tales of emissaries of hell and heaven;
if there we ever a bird that I would imagine
to be the perfect embodiment of night existing during the day,
it would have to be the crow, in every way –
even their black, pearl-like, eyes
are enough to elicit a shiver and a fright.

I often hear the caw of a crow;
I see a murder of crows almost every day;
I live very near to a forest of trees
in which crows roost and have a nest
on almost every branch of every tree,
and they have been there for longer than I know;
I have come face to face with a crow more than once,
and on more than one occasion it seemed to me
as if there was more to their fascination with me than I could ever say.

Crows are carriers of information;
crows are renowned in mythology as omens of gods and goddesses,
as tricksters, as reincarnated spirits,
who have unparalleled direction.
I believe there is more truth in a crows symbolism and significance
than legend or mythology could ever tell us.
In my bedroom, I have the most life-like
figure of a crow you will ever see,
and for some reason the sight of them
always gives me pause and focus;
and the name that I have given the crow perched on my bookshelf,
next to my Stephen King books,
is the same name as its genus –
the one and only ‘Corvus’.

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