morning

My Poem ‘April Hours’

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

It was a Sunday morning…
it was a day of rest…
it was a day that began
with a beautiful dawn’s calling…
it was a day when a great many things
from around the world
peaked my interest:
there was the Royal visit of William and Kate
at the Taj Mahal –
a wonder of the world built as a monument to love…
there was the news-reports of the Japanese Earthquake –
a powerful reminder, yet again,
just how incredible and sometimes destructive
the forces of nature are.

I must have spent an hour or more
just looking back over photos and memories
taken and spent with the love of my life,
who I just cannot get enough of;
my thoughts and my imagination
danced around in my head –
fluttering, pulsing, flashing with excitement
like a handful of fireflies caught in a jar.

I was sitting in a cafe
when a mouse ran across the floor –
some people were so shocked and surprised
by the mouse’s sudden-appearance
that they immediately ran for the door…
I, however, just stayed where I was
and looked on at the commotion with awe
at just how much panic could be caused
by something so harmless and so small.

Blue-sky and golden sunshine
was the order for the day…
being a Sunday, all that I could hear
were the chimes of the church-bells
as they played;
being as it was a weekend,
there were more people out and about…
me being me, I could see and I could sense
inspiration in every direction
as if it were a pheromone
that I could somehow smell.

The month of April is significant to me
in lots of ways…
the month of April for some
is synonymous with rain showers…
the month of April has always been
filled with days of colour, growth, and change…
and of course a very special birthday…
the month of April,
the month of the calendar year
in which we are now living in
is like a flower of power
that blooms over and over again
more beautifully with ever passing April hour.

My Poem ‘Morningstar’

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

To me, writing is like driving;
to me, writing is like flying;
to me, writing is like diving;
to me, writing is like searching;
to me, writing is like remembering;
to me, writing is like imagining;
to me, writing is like smiling;
to me, writing is like crying;
to me, writing is like sharing;
to me, writing is like exorcising;
to me, writing is like star-gazing;
to me, writing is like trying
to capture something breathtaking
that almost defies explaining.

When the morning-star rises
it calls to all of us;
when the morning light shines
life below the surface of the Earth
is tempted to break-through the dust;
when the morning air is inhaled
into a near-infinite number of lungs
every-thing breathes in each-other;
when the morning colours reveal themselves
is when something amazing
and unexpected always occurs.

When I write
I look out,
I see things,
I feel something
and then I think…
when I write
sights and sounds become emotions
and meaning is transformed into words
that feel like they are
ready to be spoken on the tip of my tongue…
when I write
an entire new world of wonder
is built with every blink…
when I write
my imagination and my thoughts
race, explode, and flash brightly
like the lightning of a thunder-storm…
to me, writing is akin to watching
and experiencing in all its epic-magnificence
the great gift of seeing the sun rising.

The planet Venus is so far away
but shines so bright in the sky
that it is often mistaken for a star;
it isn’t until you see something up-close
that you can know if it is truly
all that you wished for it to be
when it was far-reaching and yet fascinating;
it isn’t every-one and every-thing
who gets to inspire and change the course of a life,
when in perspective to most things
they are but a dot in the dark;
I have been inspired by many things
since I first began writing,
but to me nothing and no-one
could ever compare to the beautiful shining face
of my angel who I see each and every morning.

My Poem ‘Morning in America’

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

Morning light; morning silence;
morning life; morning peace;
morning in Tennessee and Georgia,
there is a calmness, a stillness,
a chance to breath in
the new day’s fresh air;
morning in my favourite states of America
is like waking up in a dream-world
that hypnotizes you
with its beauty with every second that you stare.

Star-spangled banners gently flutter and wave;
raindrops fall from the branches of trees
and from the roofs of porches
from the remnants of the storm
of the night before,
people go out in their cars
and carry out their daily routines;
every morning I look out of a window
and I see a red cardinal pass my way;
when I step outside for the first time
every morning I look around
and I am completely in-awe:
I see so much perfection,
and I feel so happy and so content
that it takes me a while to realize
that what and whom I see
is not in fact the stuff of dreams.

Birds sing; wind-chimes ring;
flowers open; morning has truly broken;
the sky is white, bright, blue, and pretty;
I feel so lucky to be here
with an intoxicating warmth of energy
surrounding me.

To me, this place is sacred
as much as it is blessed;
to me, the America that I know
and the America that I see
is like a country of heaven on Earth;
to me, I cannot wait to open my eyes
as the sun rises,
just after I put on my clothes and get dressed,
and reach out and hold the hand
of the most beautiful angel of Earth
who I have been destined to be with
since the day of my birth.

I love all that greets me
and all who speak to me
as my senses awaken;
I love driving to places
with my soulmate in our car;
I love how I feel like
every morning I have been saved
as well as taken;
I love every day when I wake up
and it is morning in America.

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My Poem ‘This New Day’

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

Each new day presents new challenges;
each new day we all leave new footprints;
each new day relies on its connection
to the day before
so as to rhyme with the day to come;
each new day is a choreography
and a mix of infusions
of many styles of dances;
each new day we see people pushing their limits;
each new day our closest star shines and burns
and keeps alive life on Earth,
and until we reach our dying day
that important star will always be our sun.

This new day, this new start,
this new time to play,
this new chain of moments
are ours to do with what we choose;
this new awakening, this new cycle,
this new rising, this new drum-roll,
is ours to make something vibrant and amazing with
just as glorious as the sky above is blue.

Every new day is a new poem;
every new poem is an entry in a diary;
every new page is written on
with the ink of inspiration and fascination;
every new thought is the first step
of a writer along the way
towards the penning of a brand new
creation of poetry.

One good morning;
one good afternoon;
one good evening;
one good night;
one new drawing;
one new moon;
one new inhale and exhale of breathing;
one new burst of beautiful sunlight
will lead and will be an important seed
that will grow like vines in a jungle
in many new directions,
and the more that we all follow
these extensions of our actions
the more new ground we too will lay –
and this process will continue
and it will go on and on forever,
and the future of tomorrow
will be made of what we all do
on this new day.

My Poem ‘Living the dream’

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

Morning. Silence.
Blue sky. Sunday.
Sunshine. Green leaves.
The sound of flying birds and bees.
People having breakfast;
people cutting their lawn;
people still in bed
enjoying a well-earned rest;
people opening their eyes to the daylight;
people opening their mouths wide with a yawn.

Church bells ringing;
friends cycling;
music on the radio playing;
somebody somewhere
on the early morning ocean
sailing, loving, breathing, living.

Walkers, runners, riders,
painters, daydreamers, photographers,
embrace every moment of light and feeling;
diners, parishioners,
attend the same place of worship
and break bread together to prove
that they believe what they believe;
pilots, para-gliders,
balloonists, sky-divers
take to the air and defy gravity
and live the dream of touching the worlds ceiling –
people who just want to step away
from the rush of the world for a short time
and feel the amazing and the rejuvenating energy
of total and utter release.

People experiencing awe;
people feeling wonder;
people traveling far;
people feeling hunger.
I look at the world
and I see depths of colour;
I listen to what I hear,
and I hear sounds
from every length of the sound spectrum –
from water-drops in a pond
to the joyous explosion
of a child’s laughter.

Life is important;
life and purpose is individually indefinable,
and yet understandable, tangible,
as well as miraculously magical;
life can only be lived once;
life and dreams can sometimes be indistinguishable;
life is living and not worrying
about the things that people sometimes say
and the things that some people do;
life is reading, feeling, sharing,
and witnessing the dream of life come true.

My Poem ‘Psyched’

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

Every morning is a new beginning;
every time we open our eyes
we see something we have never seen before;
every time something opens our eyes wide
we all experience a sensation
that feels to us as if we are falling;
every night just before we fall asleep
every one of us psychs ourselves up
for the day that is to come –
and just as when we are a child,
the first steps that we take of anything
are as important and are as essential
as finding your balance and then walking,
or making sound and saying words
that will form the basis of talking
and sharing what you are thinking.

Whenever each of us has a task to perform,
or a thing that we must do,
each of us has to build up some kind of momentum
before we can truly move;
whenever an artist looks in front of themselves
and they see the space of a blank page,
each and every artist needs to see
an imaginary picture so that they have a guide
to follow, or the outlines of something
in between which they can colour in
with their own emotion
and individual experience colour palette
that they have been mixing together
successfully their entire lives
every single day.

Just as every artist needs a muse to inspire them,
everybody needs something or someone
to get up for and to keep them going;
just as every day, in a way,
everybody has to start again,
sometimes you just have to act on instinct
and use the power of your muscle memory
to see you through something
without any unnecessary deep-thinking.

Days must end so that others may dawn;
we all must go through darkness
so that we can appreciate the light of life;
close one door behind you
as you open another exciting new door –
and as you do, leave signposts
and suggestions for others that may follow behind you
so that you can teach what you have learned
and all that you have been taught.

For anything that you may face,
for everything that you have got to do –
do what you would do
if you had to make a high-dive:
close your eyes; take a breath;
imagine the splash,
not the jump or the fall;
and smile your widest smile
to get yourself truly psyched.

My Poem ‘Get Up and Go!’

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

Whenever I wake up
and I feel the warmth of the sun on my face,
whenever I hear the sound
of birds singing sweetly outside my window,
whenever I open my eyes and I see my home
and the perfect oasis of the human race,
I always feel invigorated with inspiration
and energy, and I always feel this irrepressible need
to get up out of bed, walk out my front door,
pick a direction, and just go!

It’s great to have something planned to do –
however, I always find it more exciting and fun
to not plan too much, and instead just go with the flow;
it’s great to have something to look forward to,
but I always say that you should never worry
too much about the finer details of something –
because if you let things happen naturally,
amazing things can happen and will happen,
one after the other,
like a line of dominoes falling in a row.

If you are lucky enough to live near a beach,
then every morning the soft sand,
or the infinite pebbles, of that beach
should always be your first port of call –
because to be able to walk the shoreline
and hear the sound of the waves crashing near me
would be unquestionably amazing and incredibly beautiful.

I have always believed that the way that you wake up
will always inform what kind of day you will have;
I have always believed that no matter what happens
you should always start your day with a smile –
to the world, to someone, to yourself –
and whatever you do just do your best
to ride all the ups and downs of the worlds waves.

The thought of surfing in the morning;
the feeling of sitting somewhere tranquil and gorgeous,
and opening my mind up to everything,
and not even thinking too much…
just living, breathing, seeing, dreaming, and writing;
the thought of running along the wooden boards of a pier
and then reaching the end and diving off into the ocean;
the feeling of the perfect sea-breeze
blowing through my hair would make me want
to live intensely to the extreme of every emotion.

It is never too early;
it is never too late;
you are never too old or too young to run free,
or maybe even climb a tree;
you can do anything that you can put your mind to,
if you leap and keep moving
with every beat of your heart;
sunsets are meant to be seen;
memories are just waiting to be made;
knowledge is just waiting to be known;
life can be lived as if it were a dream;
if you enjoy every and any ride that you find yourself on –
then you might perhaps find yourself
face to face with someone who needs to be saved;
so if and when you ever feel
an energy within you start to grow,
run towards the light,
feel carried as if on a great wave,
and embrace the rush
of your inner get up and go!

My Poem ‘The Open Window’

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

I have never been able to say “no”
to an open window;
like a little white bird on a ledge,
I have never been able to fight
the feeling, the draw,
nor have I ever been able
to not take an opportunity
to fly off on an adventure –
like a child dreaming so happily
and so soundly that they are
far far away in a Neverland
of infinite imagination,
while still tucked up
at night in bed.

An open window first thing in the morning
to me is always a calling;
the view of a beautiful scene
on a hot and sunny afternoon
is as rejuvenating as a kiss;
an insight into another life
in which the possibilities are infinite
is an adventure that I never want to miss;
the white clouds of the day,
and the stars of the night,
keep me dreaming and imagining
while I am still wide awake
of epic worlds that keep me going
and thinking all day, all night,
and straight on till morning.

Windows do not stay open
for as long as doors do;
windows sometimes have to be broken through,
or more ideally climbed through;
windows can show each of us things
before we actually see them in the flesh,
so to speak;
windows… every window
are living and constantly changing and evolving
pictures of life and time
that are momentary, brief, precious, and unique.

Mirrors are reflected images,
while windows on the other hand
can let things come in as well as let things
fly free into the open air;
mirrors can only show you backwards messages,
while windows allow you to leap and go anywhere;
mirrors show only a distorted world;
windows are how children
and those with a phenomenal imagination
are able to understand what is going on
around them without having to hear
or speak a single word.

The best dreams are born
when you let every thought grow and flow;
the most inspiring stories
are inspired by searching for answers
to questions you have not yet asked
about things you did not realize
you did not already know;
just by letting everything and everyone
be connected to each other
you can invite within the light of life
and magic, and perhaps even share
something of yourself with an eternal spirit
who can at times lose their own shadow.
My favourite character of literature
would have to be Peter Pan,
and even though I may have grown older in years
I still cannot, nor will I,
ever be able to resist the temptation,
the fascination, and the flight of imagination
that I always take when I see
and when I look through an open window.

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My Poem ‘Short but Sweet’

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

All moments are precious;
first thing in the morning
every second rushes by like a train;
no matter what it is,
everybody remembers their first;
in the fresh and bright new morning light
the energy in the air is amazing
and addictive and always goes
straight to your head.

I like to start every day
by listening to a song or two;
some people like to wake up
and immediately connect
and engage with the world
that never sleeps and is always up and ready;
I like to begin my day with a poem of my own,
writing for a small few;
some people like to go for an early morning run,
a walk, a coffee from their favourite coffee shop,
to make sure that their day begins with a tone
that makes them extremely happy.

Morning time can feel like you are a skier
on a snowy slope heading down a mountain
faster than you can think or perceive clearly;
in the middle of the day,
some people have time to take a break
and enjoy a brief siesta of mind and body;
in the afternoon, time seems to move much slower
and can at times feels as if
the hands of the clock are standing still;
in the evening, at the twilight of the day,
is when you truly have the time
to make things happen –
and if you are not doing anything in particular,
before the end of the night and the day,
you soon will.

One day is always different from the previous,
and the day that will follow will also be
its own day with things occurring in it
that will always be synonymous with that day’s date;
every opportunity that presents itself
is almost over as soon as it begins;
there is never any limit to how much happiness
you can generate;
no two experiences has a true identical twin.

Life can seem long when you are living it,
but short and brief when recalled and remembered,
and what is said can sometimes have a half-life
comparable to that of a birds tweet;
life is meant to be made the most of…
so dive below, and reach high and above!
You can do so much in such a short space of time –
so don’t forget to cherish
every unforgettable moment,
especially those that are short and sweet.

My Poem ‘The Night Club’

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

It always been amazing to me
how a song or a piece of music
can make you and can teach you
how to move to it
within seconds of first hearing it;
it has always been inspiring to me
how a memorable character in a story
can have the unknown power
to come into the physical world
and walk around in it;
it has always been fascinating to me
why some people, no matter how soundly
they may be sleeping
wake up early in the morning,
and, just like me, begin creating;
it has always been gratifying to me
to see people sharing what they can
and keeping alive the memory
of a phenomenal feeling.

I have always been a quick study;
I have always been fast on my feet,
as well as fast in thought
and luminous and strong in spirit;
I have always known that
there are multiple levels to a story;
I have always felt just as comfortable,
alive, and sensitive to what surrounds me
in the beautiful light of a sunny day,
as I do walking in the dark
in the moonlight of night.

Everyone is a catalyst;
every day is a new day
that has echoes of the days before
as well as foreshadowing of the days that will follow;
every time you do anything
you are taking a risk;
every eventuality can evolve
from fantasy to reality at any moment
anywhere you go.

When you unexpectedly wake up,
you are being awoken for a reason;
when you randomly find something
that has been left by somebody,
that thing was left purposefully
so that you could find it
and so that it could influence
your life in some way;
when you see something, feel something,
and something within you is changed;
when you know that you are forever in love;
when you know your place,
when you know your time,
when you find yourself awake
and energized like never before –
reading, writing, watching, walking,
listening, loving every moment,
even if that place and time
is midday in the afternoon
or 1 o’clock in the morning –
and you discover that you are a member
and a reveler like so many other people
who are in their element being a star
in the constellation of a night club.