music

My Poem ‘Foreverland

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

The stories we tell children
are incredibly important;
the traditions that we keep
are how the world works;
the tales that we children
are what they need and what they want;
the observance, the ritual,
the continuation, the spoken word,
the twilight bedtime storytelling,
to a child is like imaginary, magical,
meaningful, and real fireworks.

Retelling stories, reenacting and bringing to life
parables, fables, lessons, and legends,
in a play, or in a piece of expressive art,
teaches children early on the power
and the wonder of language and imagination;
even as an adult you will always remember the times
as a child at school when you were taking part
in an ensemble celebration
of one of the greatest gifts of any civilization:
the art of communication.

It is important that children
know about and believe in magic,
and are allowed to dream and imagine anything,
and taught that when it comes to their own potential,
and their future, nothing is impossible;
a child’s life, well-being, and happiness
stems from a constant feeling of comfort
that they must be gifted with from the day they are born;
other worlds, other ways of looking at something,
different ideas, different variations of a theme,
soothing and beautiful music
that sounds as if it is from an album of voices
and melodies from another planet,
can give children a skeleton key to anywhere in time and space,
and give children a truth and a feeling that is so special,
that is so eternal, it is fantastic.

Dreams and wishes do comes true,
but sometimes not when you expect them to;
you can do and see just as many breathtaking and beautiful,
hopeful and gorgeous, spectacles when you are awake
as well as when you are sailing away
on the winds and waves of your dreamland.
If you believe and never forget
that every person is a story in themselves
that is ever-changing, old, but also brand new,
as an adult, as a child,
you can continue to live he dream of true miracles
that comes naturally if you continue to believe
that everything – the past, the present, the future –
is a foreverland.

My Poem ‘Echo’

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

I often wonder why people go to the same places:
why they shop at the same shops,
why they eat at the same restaurants,
why they drink the same drink at the same pubs;
I often wonder why music, fashion, brands,
bands, writers, movies, have the impact that they have,
and why they become the thing that someone people genuinely love;
I often wonder the same questions as an ‘ad man’ would
of a product he is figuring out how to sell and advertise,
and get people thinking and talking about something;
I often wonder the same thoughts as an artist
has to think when they want to start turning their passion
into a means of living.
There must be thousands, if not millions,
of people like me in the world,
but I don’t think that there are many people
who ask questions and come up with their own informed answers
in spontaneous verses of poetry –
most people don’t have the time to think about things
that are outside of their normal way of thinking,
their circle, and do not have the passion that I have
for imagination, connection, freedom of expression,
through a love of life and words;
I would guess that there are not that many people
who can see what I see.

I have always been fascinated by what draws people
and all forms of life to what they desire
and want above all else:
when a moth is drawn to a flame,
that doesn’t mean that they want to kill themselves;
when an astronaut leaves the Earth,
that doesn’t mean that they want to separate themselves
from the world and from the rest of humanity;
when someone does something
that may have consequences for them in the future,
when they start they are not thinking
that what they are doing will one day be bad for their health;
when someone looks for an answer in a book,
or in a story about a time gone by,
they are looking for a truth already been found by someone else,
they are looking for clarity.

The rings within a tree are an echo of its life
and of the times that they have lived through;
the DNA of someone is an genealogical timeline
of an entire family of infinite members
that can be traced back and mapped to the beginning of time;
the frequency of every piece of man-made technology
can be followed back from the present day,
to the invention of the light-bulb,
to the manufacturing of the first wheel,
to the amazing and phenomenally detailed drawings of Leonardo da Vinci;
the entire meaning of all that matters
can be glimpsed in the natural art of the universe,
and in the first thought that always follows
when someone asks a question of why?
Everyone, and everything that happens,
exists, and is a thing of momentous importance,
in the endless ripples and waves that is
the universe of the big bang of creation’s echo.

My Poem ‘Mixtape’

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

Your life is a mixtape;
what you hear from day to day
is mostly familiar, but not the same;
people become important to you,
things are necessary to you,
and like songs that you have brought together,
and have connected and made a part of you,
they are always on continuous-play
inside you and around you,
as a matter of fate and not by mistake.

People often ask why a particular song
is among your favourite songs,
and why you regularly play it over and over –
but, most of the time, at least for me,
the reason why I love a song so much,
is because the words and the music get inside me,
move me, make me smile, make me cry,
and are a reflection of my thoughts, feelings, and emotions,
that in relation to what I am thinking about
at a given moment lie far deeper.

I have been making and remaking,
recording and rerecording mixtapes since I was a kid.
Mixtapes are fun to make, because they can be made up of anything.
Having a wide and eclectic taste in songs, music,
artists, singers, and bands,
means having a mixtape that is better,
more magic, more engrossing, and more epic;
having many differing, special, varied,
voices, lyrics, sounds, and instruments, to listen to,
and fill your ears, your mind, your consciousness,
is like going on a journey every time
to a different time, to a different place,
to a different state of being,
that can be emotional, exciting, breathtaking, and amazing.

Pressing play on a playlist,
and listening whether in order or randomly to songs you know,
expect to find, anticipate, look forward to,
and some you may have forgotten about,
is like putting you own ear to your chest
and hearing your heart beating,
and every time reliving something you have always felt.

For some of us, that one collection of songs
is the only way we can get through
what we have to go though on any given day;
for some of us, we could not live without our favourite songs
that we constantly replay from our own mixtape.

My Poem ‘A World of Difference’

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

Today I gave money to a homeless person;
today I gave a smile to someone
who really looked like they needed it;
today I offered to help someone;
today I bought a gift for someone, and it felt good;
today I thought about a friend,
and I silently gave them my love;
today I wrote a poem;
today I hoped that one day no one
would ever have to want for anything,
and that we all would honestly be able to say
that we have enough;
today I marveled at the spirit of generosity
that I felt in the air;
today I watched the sunrise,
and I am about to watch the sunset;
today I had a conversation with a random stranger
in a music store about vinyl albums,
and about how music sounds better
when it is played on a record player;
today I am thankful for what I have,
and not for what I don’t have –
because it is important to remember
sometimes that we are one person,
of one life, on one planet,
and one act of thanks and gratitude
can make a world of difference.

My Poem ‘As the song says’

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

I am only ‘Human’;
I live to ‘Imagine’;
In my ‘Imagination’
I have been ‘To the Moon And Back’;
I love intensely, endlessly,
‘Truly, Madly, Deeply’;
I have seen the face of ‘Heaven’;
when I was younger, I used to wish
that I had been ‘Born In The U.S.A.’;
I have stood high above the world
and have been captivated by the awe-inspiring
height I am standing at ‘All Along The Watchtower’;
I would give ‘Anything’ to look at my own reflection
and be the ‘Man In The Mirror’;
I would love it if I could make some moments
last forever, and ‘Stay Another Day’.

My ‘Burning Heart’ has never burned hotter or brighter;
my taste for life is as sweet as ‘Chocolate’;
my best has never been ‘Closer’;
my ‘Human Nature’, my inside-out emotions,
let me feel, see, and allow me to ‘Dance In The Dark’;
my new day feels ‘(Just Like) Starting Over’;
my hope has the power of a ‘Kiss from a Rose’;
my smile lingers;
I love my angel of inspiration,
and I could never ‘Let Her Go’.

The world and I play ‘Mind Games’;
the soundtrack around me makes me ‘Move Like Jagger’;
the world is able, this day and age, to bestow instant ‘Fame’;
nature is able to show you the truth of things,
daily from its ‘Little Black Book’,
and give everyone a dose of ‘Instant Karma’.

I am not just a ‘One Trick Pony’.
I embrace all things with ‘Open Arms’.
I sometimes feel ‘Out of Touch’,
but I always come ‘Back to Life’
when I feel ‘The Power of Love –
and I daily feel like I could run a marathon,
and climb to the top of high steps,
and raise my arms, as if I am ‘Gonna Fly Now’
like ‘Rocky’.
I feel like I know ‘Salvation’ when I ‘Say Something’,
and I sing to the one I love ‘Everything I do, I do it for you’;
as astronauts have silently said while ‘Walking On The Moon’,
as friends have felt ‘Always’, ‘Together’ –
especially those who were alive in the ‘Summer of ’69’;
and I never forget that ‘Life is a highway’,
that ‘True Love Never Dies’,
and that ‘The Best is yet to come’,
while we are all ‘Surrounded’ by the wonder
of a ‘Sky Full of Stars’, like the song says.

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.

My Poem ‘Mark The Poet’

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

Mark, the Poet-
make sure this time you don’t blow it.
You are starting again-
new page, same pen.
Everything before was just preparation-
you went along for the ride,
because you were in need of love and connection.
You already had everything you needed,
you were just trying to be all things to all people-
but guess what? You found out you weren’t perfect.
It’s not a problem to be knocked down,
as long as you get back up;
it’s human to cry when something and someone
hits you by surprise and knocks you on your butt.
You are a lover, not a fighter-
but, at your heart,
you don’t want to just play your part;
you want to be happy-
that is your life-long wish;
you want to take your time and go gently,
but you also want to do everything right this second-
however, everything you want to do,
no one would ever be able to fit
on any bucket list.
That is your gift, that is your problem;
your intensity has inadvertently opened up rifts,
your overwhelming passion has blown up in your face
like a bomb.
You need to learn to listen to the right people
at the right time;
you need to stop worrying
about what you are going to write on the next line;
you need to go with the flow,
and trust who and what you know;
you need to keep being yourself;
you need to stop wanting to impress somebody else;
you need to keep things simple in your head,
because you know that you are not stupid;
you know who you are,
so don’t for a second forget it.
Be the Mark with the biggest heart;
be the Mark who you’ve been from the start;
be the Mark you’ve been destined to be
since you first breathed in the air,
and looked up at the sky of this planet;
be the Mark of music;
be Mark the favourite;
be the Mark of magic;
write a sonnet,
and be Mark The Poet.

My Poem ‘Our Room’

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

The space, the place, the sanctuary,
the part of our home where we can truly be;
the dance-floor that is there for us to move around on
like John Travolta;
the studio where we can listen to music,
and create our own;
and where we can sing
while channeling every kind of performer-
from a ‘rock god’, to a classically-trained tenor of opera.

In our room, we are surrounded by all of personal possessions
and memories, and all our favourite things
that we have collected throughout our lives;
in our room, we can read, study, surf, watch,
and interact with the rest of the world,
while wearing the face and name of any guise.

Our room is where we dream;
our room is where we can talk to friends;
our room is the place where not that many people have been,
or will ever see;
our room is a cocoon that contains all that we need
for any and every day, and any eventuality,
from the instant that we emerge and rise from our bed.

Our room should not just be the place where we sleep;
our room should not just be where we spend
one-third of our lives without nothing to show for it;
our room should be our temple, our library,
our catwalk, our personality, our gallery,
our place of safety, our place of serenity,
our place of development and growth-
like a mothers womb;
where we return to and enter with a smile;
where we feel and can imagine ourselves as anything, or anyone;
where we can lose our inhibitions,
and shower ourselves with all kinds of magic-
that is the place that is our room.

My Poem ‘Human Condition’

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

Our existence can seem
like a raindrop on the infinite ocean of time;
our voice can sometimes seem
muted by a barrier of silence;
our life can sometimes feel
like we are standing behind an impassable line;
the universe can sometimes feel,
when you think about it,
too big to ever understand and too miraculous
and wonderful to just be seen and lived only once.

Birth and death are inextricably-linked;
life returns even to the scorched Earth
and the black ash of the remnants of a forest fire;
things can begin and end in a blink;
the universe’s ultimate power
is that it will go on and on,
and keep making and creating,
attracting and electrifying,
and being the source and the reason
that everything must transpire.

There are some people who believe
that humanity is the only intelligent life
in the entirety of the Milky Way galaxy,
and perhaps even the entire universe;
there are some people who believe
that after death follows rebirth;
there are some people who honour and worship
an idea and a way of life
that has been practiced for centuries;
there are some people who have claimed
to have seen things, and who claim to know things,
and have been deemed mad or crazy;
there are some people who believe
there is a definitive date for the end of the world;
there are some people who are capable of anything
in response to a single word.

Humanity is a singular, special, wonderful,
fascinating, and complex creation of life-
but in my opinion, it is not, will never be,
and has never been the most intelligent life,
nor the only life in the galaxy;
humanity has described itself in many ways,
and has believed itself to be many things
since we became free-thinking, and self-aware:
in stories, in legends, in monuments,
in countries, and in all languages,
in the form of music, art, and poetry;
and even though we like to think we have considered
and thought of every possibility of existence
there could ever possibly be,
there are dimensions of understanding
we all choose not to consider-
because they are too endless for us to dare.

Philosophers consider the who, the what, and the why;
doctors are the healers of our bodies and minds;
artists are the interpreters and magicians,
and the performers of the colours of the human soul;
astronomers are the watchers and observers
of the past, the present, and the future;
astronauts are the personification of freedom,
and boundless adventure, and a dream made real
that a man or a woman, without gravity, can fly;
a generous heart of someone special
is an example of the best of human-kind;
our wonder and awe at the sight of a sunset
is something truly magical;
our combined knowledge and constant ingenuity
is always going to be the most powerful,
intelligent, and interconnected computer.

We are all on a secret mission:
we all must do the best we can,
consider every possibility,
act on impulse,
love, laugh, see,
live every day with a dream and with hope,
and you will be among the brightest stars
of the human constellation,
and the perpetual life-force
of the Human Condition.