natural

My Poem “Ramblers”

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

In the warm embrace
of the shining morning sun
I walked through a forest of trees…
in the bright and beautiful open air,
as I breathed in deep,
I found myself enraptured
by an instant sense of peace.

As I walked amongst the flora
and the fauna that surrounded me
my eyes were opened wide…
as my eyes were drawn
to all the colours that I saw
I experienced the sensation of
a door opening within my mind
and I felt as if I were somewhere
completely removed from time –
and it was this feeling of contentment
that made me close my eyes,
smile, breathe in, and sigh.

Within nature is where I feel
the most at home…
when I am blessed to see
a bumblebee collecting nectar,
or when I am fortunate
to hear the sound of birdsong,
or when I inhale the infinitely
complex fragrance of nature,
I wish that I could share exactly
what I see, what I hear,
what I experience, and what I feel:
rejuvenation, elation, and,
most importantly, overflowing
waves from an invisible ocean of hope.

I like to live in hope…
I like living close to nature…
I like to immerse myself in
whatever I find wherever I go…
I like wandering down a path
while wondering about the future.

I thrive on the beautiful poetry
of the natural world…
I am always inspired
after spending some time
visiting oases of life…
I feel like I can converse
with the blossoming trees,
the green fields, and with whom
and with what I do not see
without even having to utter a word…
there are times when everybody needs
to leave the beaten path and explore
what gives the wonders of the wilderness
its enamoring allure to those of us
who are commonly described as “ramblers”.

Advertisement

My Poem “Memory Lane”

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

Walking down and around
my old stomping grounds,
down the long and winding lanes
of the countryside near my home
that I know and could never forget –
especially now, while the world
feels like it has been turned upside down –
feels so rejuvenating, it feels so relaxing,
it feels like stepping back in time
and simultaneously being the man I am now
as well as the man I was back then
when I last walked this path,
as if I am in communication with myself
as I was five years ago in the past.

The grass looks just as green…
the budding trees look just as pretty…
the sky above looks to me to be
the brightest blue that I have ever seen…
the furrowed fields look just as
mesmerising as they always did –
in fact everything that I see, hear,
feel, and inhale of the nature that surrounds me
intoxicates me with its natural,
lush, and majestic beauty.

It is no wonder to me
that so many artists have attempted
to capture a view and the epic expanse
of a landscape within the confines
of the edges of a canvas –
because there is so much to be found,
because there is so much to take in,
because there is so many evocative
shapes, colours, textures, nuances,
wisps of language and meaning
that constantly jump out from
a green and pleasant environment
that has so much to say
and to convey about itself,
about who and what calls it home,
how it has changed and how it is
exactly the same as it was.

Quite often you find things out
about yourself that you recognize,
sometimes you might encounter
things about yourself that
you may have forgotten about,
and sometimes things can look different
when seen through the prism of time,
experience, memory,
and what we see can inform us
of exactly where we have been,
where we are going,
what we have been through,
and most important who we are –
and that is why one of the most amazing,
transformative, and rejuvenating things
that we can do from time to time,
especially when we feel like
our spirit needs a boost,
is to see beyond the frame of the present
and take a walk down “memory lane”.

My Poem “Close to the Land”

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

So many people
feel this incredible draw
to nature, to the wilderness,
to the back to basics lifestyle
of living out the dream
of having a cabin in the woods
to call home, in the middle of nowhere,
and a backyard surrounded
by of acres of trees, plants,
and wildlife all living in
a state of balance with one another –
even from a young age,
so many people have this automatic,
undeniable, unflinching feeling
deep within them that
the place that they want to spend
most of their time is the same place
from which all of our ancestors
sprung from and had to endure,
traverse, and adapt to for centuries –
the forests, the jungles,
the snow-covered peaks of mountains,
the dry and arid deserts,
the extreme heat, the harsh cold;
and everywhere on Earth has its own
conditions that daily test a person’s
strength of will and their reason
for being where they are,
and why they choose to do what they do –
and for some people life comes down to
and revolves around that universal
drive to be free, to feel alive,
to look around, to understand life,
to connect with our origins
in ways that transcend
the mirage of the material world
of modern society so that
they can feel fulfilled
by the spirit of being awestruck,
and feel compelled to know more
about the environment
and the natural ecosystem of our planet,
and sometimes the only way to do so
is to venture into the wild
and live as close to the land
as anyone possibly can.

My Poem “The Rings of Saturn”

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

While growing up,
when asked by someone:
what my favourite planet
of the solar system was?
I would always immediately respond
by saying the name
of the most renowned
and the most instantly identifiable
and recognisable ring-encircled
“Gas Giant” that almost everybody
on Earth is familiar with,
and that Giant of the night sky
is the one and only planet Saturn.

Why has Saturn been my favourite
planet since I was a child,
and not Mars? Jupiter?
Neptune? Or Mercury?
Well, I am not entirely sure;
however, for whatever reason,
there has literally always been
a gravity that has been
drawing my attention
to Saturn in particular –
perhaps it is because
every time that I have seen images
of its vast, iconic, beautiful,
and incredible ring system
that surrounds it,
that is all made up of tiny pieces
of rock and ice that all seem
to fit together perfectly
and combine harmoniously to create
an example of natural astrological art,
there always seems to be a synergy
that to me is symbolic
of some many fundamental things
that I believe life it’s true meaning.

To me, the rings of Saturn
symbolize how life and the universe
is in a constant state of revolution
and almost clock-work like precision,
and depending upon which
vantage point certain things
are being observed from
that can have a fundamental effect
on how they are perceived;
for example, when seen along their
peripheral edge the rings of Saturn
are almost imperceptible,
but when seen from above
or from below the majestic magnificence
of Saturn’s rings show just how
spectacular they are to behold.

From a singular human
perspective and interpretation,
the rings of Saturn resemble
a vinyl-record ingrained with
the music of an artist –
and, just like a record spinning
on a turntable, people here on Earth
have been able to find a way to listen,
to interpret, to record, and to share
the music being generated
by this impressive world,
that just like every spinning
sphere of the cosmos –
be it a star, a moon , or a planet –
is constantly resonating a signal,
a voice, a music, a song
that can only be heard by those
with the right ears to hear it.

The universe, the galaxy,
the solar system of planets
that Earth is a part of
has always been a source
of exploration and discovery,
of intrigue and inspiration,
and thanks to the inventions
of some of our most inspired
and innovative creators and inventors
we have all been able to have
the privilege to see, to hear,
and to feel the pull of
some of the cosmos’ most
awe-inspiring and incredible phenomena;
however, to me, no matter what else
is discovered and uncovered
behind the dark veil of space,
I will always look to and consider
the impressive ringed world
of Saturn to be among the most exceptional
and evocative wonders of the universe.

My Poem “Transient Existence”

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

Human beings are a naturally
transient species…
We are all always on the move…
Human beings have come a long way
since our ancestors ventured out
of the ocean and on to land
and then up into the trees…
We are undeniably always
going to be a race of travellers and explorers,
and one day in the not too distant future
the first of us will leave Earth
and found the first colony on the moon…
Our entire genetic drive
is one that revolves around
and relies upon our instinct
to take a leap into the unknown
and discover a new world
of infinite possibilities…
Our inner-space, our mind, our spirit,
our consciousness, our imagination
thrives upon our internal aspirations
and their interactions with
our outside inspirations
as we go where we go
and as we do what we do
throughout our transient existence.

My Poem ‘Cosmos’

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

There are some absolutely
breathtaking sights…
the vivid, spectral,
ethereal, green, dancing
magnetic field of our planet
that comes alive and creates
the mesmerizing Aurora
of the Northern Lights
above the sea and the mountains
that touch an arctic sky…
there are some incredible
and stunning places that perfectly
exemplify how truly beautiful
the natural world is…
there are some unbelievably
heavenly spaces, and some
other-worldly lands
that still have yet to be
trekked upon by the foot of a human being –
places that encapsulate the meaning
of the word “wild”…
there are some amazing landmarks
of every country, continent, and island,
where people are drawn to
and they would sacrifice anything
to breathe in its air
and take in everything that makes
such a place so special and enthralling…
there are some things that need to be seen
to be believed that they actually exist.

There are places that need to be seen
in the right light so as to truly witness
their magic – at night, when the sky is dark
and the stars burn bright from so far away
all that can be seen from here on Earth
is a shimmering white…
there are songs sung and music to be heard
when we look up and a celestial voice
speaks to us and unlocks
the doors of our imagination…
there are other worlds out there
in the universe teaming with life
of unimaginable forms that dream
dreams of us at night…
there are things that are being born
every second, everywhere,
that are experiencing what it means
to be alive wherever they find themselves,
and they are discovering for the first time
the wonders that flicker in a person’s heart
and eventually become love.

There are moments when knowledge, intellect,
and words just become redundant
when compared to what we see before us…
there are feelings that overwhelm comprehension
and go beyond our instincts that we trust…
there are miracles and wishes
traveling at the speed of thought
to come and answer the calls
of those who feel lost…
there are galactic travelers
voyaging between the stars
that will one day enter our orbit
and who will reveal to us
things that we have never believed possible
but which are ubiquitous
all throughout the cosmos.

My Poem ‘Early’

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

First thing in the morning,
with the dawn of the first light of the sun,
and the sound of the first birds singing –
even when the air outdoors is cold to the touch –
for some people, at the moment that they wake up,
that first realization that they are no longer
asleep and dreaming is enough of a spark
to relight the fire of their heart,
like the flame of love…
for some, when the time and the day is early,
that is when they begin their daily story.

In the Summer-time the days feel endless…
when it is Winter and it is colder
you have to keep on the move more,
and so the days feel shorter…
in the Summer-time you feel like
you have got all the time in the world
to close your eyes, relax, and rest…
but when it is Winter you feel like
you can’t catch-up with the time
that feels like it is running away from you
like a stream of rushing water.

I am naturally an early-riser,
so waking up while it is still dark outside
is an every-day thing…
I would not be me if I did not greet
that new day with open eyes
and a wide-smile, and with hope in my heart
at what it may bring…
I have been waking up
before everybody else in my family
since I was young and my hair was blond and curly…
I have a feeling that my natural instinct
to stay awake, and to not fall straight back to sleep
after I first wake up,
is ever going to change anytime soon –
just like I am never going to stop writing poetry,
I do not think I am ever going to stop
waking up early.

My Poem ‘Poetry or Truth’

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

Poetry has the softest of voices,
but the loudest of echoes;
truth, just as beauty,
is in the eye of the beholder;
poetry speaks and always knows;
truth is the voice within
that is tempted to life
by the whispers of the light and the dark
as if personified by a good fairy
and a bad fairy sitting either side of your ears
resting upon your shoulders;
poetry is natural;
truth is often accidental;
poetry is limitless;
truth returns trust.

A traveler is always chasing light and time;
a detective is always chasing
the perpetrator of a crime;
two lovers are constantly in a dance with each other;
two sides of anything
always share an edge that binds them together.

When an astronaut on a space-station awakes
and they float from their bed to the nearest window,
all they want to look out and see
is the planet they orbit
and the vibrant sphere of light and colour
that looks as precious as a raindrop on a leaf;
when we all look up at the stars,
those who live among the stars
are constantly looking back at us;
when someone dies and we lay a wreath
we promise to never forget them,
even while they rest in the ground beneath;
when shooting-stars fly by
they shower us all with their interstellar magic dust.

Poetry or truth –
in my mind they are one and the same;
just as a coin is a token of currency with two faces,
dualities are how life is maintained;
truth can always be read in poetry,
and poetry writes of hidden worldly-clues;
true meaning is at the heart of everything
and it becomes even more apparent
when you ponder the question:
poetry or truth?

My Poem ‘Percussion’

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

The pitter-patter of raindrops
against a window early in the morning;
the foot-falls of steps
outside your door;
the dial-tone of a phone ringing;
the rumble of a crowd of people
reverberating over a floor.

The sound of drums;
the strike of lightning;
the impact of hand against instrument;
the synchronous movements
and almost-balletic arm accentuation
that make the musical performance of an artist
that much more exciting.

The voice of an instrument
that is brought to life by its player
as it was always meant
to be played and heard is magical –
the tone, the depth,
the range, the indistinguishable
call to rise of emotions
that only they can elicit
and evoke is phenomenal;
like the vocal-cords that vibrate
that allow someone to speak,
the unmistakable beat,
like that of a heart,
is its most effective
when it is allowed
to reach its natural peak.

No two ears hear the same;
no two players share the same gestures,
nor the same emotional connection
to a piece of music;
no two pieces of art
can coexist within the same frame;
every member of the same band
shares the same feeling
of being carried-away
and drifting like a flurry of snowflakes
on the wind.

The music of interaction;
the melody of harmony;
the natural cycle of repetition;
the actions of fluidity;
the language of notes;
the knowledge of keys;
the memory that never leaves;
the gift that comes with ease.

While there is still music playing,
while new songs are still being created,
while there is still the sound of waves crashing,
while new lovers of music are born
and want to become instrumentalists and percussionists,
the world will go on,
the Earth will play on and sing as-one,
the sources of all joy sadness
will continue to drum –
and those fluent in sharing
the music of the spheres of the universe
will want to continue to play
with all their heart the music
and the instruments of percussion.

My Poem ‘The Light of Me’

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

The light of my eyes,
the light in my heart,
the light in my mind,
the light of my soul,
the words of my poetry,
the beautiful perfection of my muse,
the hope that I feel and see,
the rhyme, the reason,
the redemption, the revelation,
for everything that I do;
the way that I write;
the way that I walk;
the voice that is all mine;
the phenomenal and the inspiring
answer that always returns my call.

When I first began writing,
I knew that I had found my path;
when I first sat down
to write that very first verse,
it felt so natural,
and yet I was nervous;
when I first discovered
that I had something inside me
that could touch the heart of someone else,
it only made me want to feel,
think, and write more and more –
I knew that my first poem
would not and could not be my last;
when I first opened my heart
and I saw my words come to life
and grow one by one
until they become a poem
and a part of me that I loved,
I knew that my instinct
for seeing the hopeful and the good
in almost every and any situation
was one that, above every other,
I should listen to and trust.

As soon as I knew that I was a poet,
at that instant my entire world changed –
it was a perfect moment
when everything fell into place,
it was a time in and of my life
that I will never forget;
it might sound silly,
but I did not know what to do –
I did not question
my newly discovered super-power,
however it was like starting a journey
to somewhere and to something
that was to me beautifully brand new.

My thoughts changed, my feelings changed,
and I felt like a new man;
I met new people, I made new friends,
and I felt like I now had the happy thought
that would allow me to fly
with joy and excitement, like Peter Pan.
The universe opened up like a natural history book,
and so many details and secrets
that I had missed before about the world
started to pop up;
people started to speak to me
and say so much to me
with the power of a single look;
my dreams became epic adventures;
my experiences felt more profound
and worthy of being shared in poetry;
my creativity was met with love
and gratitude which alleviated
any and all of my fears;
my entire life as poet began
when I looked into a mirror,
and I saw looking back at me
was who I really was,
and what I saw was the light of me.

image