natural

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.

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My Poem ‘The Night Owl’

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

You stay up all through the night;
you see the shine of the moon,
as well as the rise of the morning sunlight;
your natural environment is darkness;
your natural instincts come alive
when the world is quiet
and you can spread your wings
and use to the best of your ability
your finely-honed senses;
you see more than most others do;
the daylight You is more beautiful than words,
but the nocturnal You allows you
to show parts of you
that can only be seen
by they who can see that you are
the most wonderful and magical miracle
in the entire world.

You look, you see, you hear, you know;
you take flight into the air
faster than a firefly;
when you hear the heartbeats
and the pulses of energy
of the music of the night,
before you can think
you are following your own heart,
and away you go!

When I see you,
you glow and draw me towards you;
when I look into your big,
gorgeous, dark-brown eyes,
my thoughts burn like the sun;
when you call to me,
I feel like I may soon
turn into a mythical wild animal –
like a werewolf howling at the moon;
when I take in everything about you –
when I watch you, when I follow you,
I feel with every fiber of my being
that you are my true heart and soul desire,
and I feel like I would not and could not
be me if I did not have you.

There is life that thrives
and was made to have an innate connection
with the twilight;
there are people who only know
the tranquility that can be found
in the dark when the stars can be seen shining bright;
there is life with gifts
that mostly show themselves
only when the sun has set below the horizon –
with powers to them that, to me, are in every way
amazing, epic, magical, and mythical;
there are people who feel comfortable
in their own skin who feel serene and wonderful
when they can be their natural self,
when they are up all night long
and enjoying every moment
of being the quintessential night-owl.

My Poem ‘The Umbrella’

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

The greatest escape on a rainy day,
the best cover to tie you over
from the lightning and the thunder;
whenever, wherever, you are
something akin to the sun of a Summer’s day;
a perfect oasis and the most serene place
of peace of mind and spirit;
that which when you hear it playing
is literally music to your ears,
that is personal –
but can also be shared in a different way
with people that you are in constant contact with,
that both stimulates all kinds of emotions and tears –
the thing that is so intrinsic to you
it is almost a part of your soul;
the coat of protection
that helps you brave the winter’s cold.

Like the roots of a tree,
like the canopy of a forest,
like the ground beneath all of our feet,
like the constituents of a bird’s nest,
we all have things above us, below us,
and around us, that ground us,
and that inspire us and amaze us
over and over, and without them
we would not be who we want to be,
and we would not be blessed with life’s
invisible, natural, but always present, poetry.

When the rain stops falling,
when the clouds part
and the sun shines again,
when life emerges from where it has been hiding,
as the writers continue to drive
the swirls and the course
of the ink of their pens,
when the Earth settles
and a brand new set of ripple effects
echo throughout the world,
like raindrops falling on the water of a pond,
when new experiences and new thoughts
accentuate and strengthen already deep-seated bonds,
when you need a shelter to wait for a break in the weather…
take out, unveil, open again,
that which has always served to be your refuge
and your constant umbrella.

My Poem ‘Click’

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

You know that moment
when you have got so much to say,
but you don’t know how to say it;
you know that time
when it feels like your mind and your body
feel like they are stuck in cement;
you know that instant
when your mind goes blank
and you just forget something you knew
only a day or so ago,
but now it has seemingly disappeared into the ether;
you know that sensation of déjà vu
that comes over you
that completely convinces you
that you are reliving something over;
you know that story that you hear about
that you read that accurately
which completely describes you and your life,
as if you were the one who wrote it for you to read;
you know how magical it is to see something grow
into something big and amazing
that once started out as a small and simple seed.

Some “thank yous” don’t follow
immediately after a favourable deed has taken place –
it can take some time, and a flash of realisation,
to understand what a moment truly means and what it meant;
some people are truly unforgettable
and you constantly see echoes of their face;
some people mean more than other people,
and that is why they can come to mean to you
as if they were more like family than friends.

What makes something “great”,
what makes something “the best”,
what makes something “special”,
what makes something stand out,
is indefinable –
however it is individualistically natural;
when something goes and “feels right”
it feels like nothing else of Earth
and like you have been blessed.

It feels great when you find your rhythm;
it feels fantastic when you find your number one;
it feels awe-inspiring to come face to face
with a real-life legend that has an air
and a mystery to them like a myth;
it feels like a true miracle
when everything goes as it supposed to
and you see, hear, and feel
that undeniable ‘click’.

My Poem ‘When’

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

When things happen is no accident;
timing is everything;
when it is the right time to do something
is sometimes a matter of instinct;
when the conditions are favourable and right
anyone can do anything.

Sometimes you just know;
sometimes you just have a feeling;
sometimes you have to lead,
and sometimes you have to follow;
sometimes to learn how dangerous something is
you have to walk into a storm
and accept the possibility
that you might get struck by lightning.

Most things that seem accidental
are actually fateful;
most things that feel out of the blue
are wishes come true;
most things that feel natural
are the real deal;
most things that you want
you to work hard for,
but life can be so much easier
if you remember, and if you count on,
those who were there when you needed them
years before.

The time is now;
the choice is simple;
the rebuilding of anything can only happen
if you can truthfully make a vow;
time only counts if you make something of it;
if something means anything to you at all
then it is always worth reaching out
and trying again;
if you want to see a flower bloom again in your garden,
you need to take some time
and you need to pay some attention
to the importance of the ‘when’.

My Poem ‘Voilà!’

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

Have you ever thought about something,
and then there it was?
Have you ever thought about someone,
and then there they were?
Have you ever asked a question,
and then got an answer?
Have you ever seen something,
and thought to yourself:
“nothing could ever be better than this”?

I have always liked
the magic of the “spur of the moment”;
I have always loved
the illusionist’s favourite trick
of “now you see me, now you don’t”;
I have always longed
to be a man of surprise;
I have always made the most of every moment
that has filled my eyes.

The gift to spontaneously create something
is unbelievably amazing, to me;
the ability to be able
to make something out of practically nothing,
is like a verse right out of nature’s
magic book of poetry;
the imagination that shows itself in a piece of art,
is as phenomenal to see and to witness
as the expression of a random thought.

A magician would not be as entrancing
if he did not have the most amazing sense of timing;
a chef would not be the best they could be
if they did not know, and have an instinct,
about what ingredients go with what;
a musician with a natural talent
might need to the learn the art of refinement,
however they do not need to go through
too much intense training;
a true creative person
can do anything with whatever they have got.

I have seen the most amazing sights
when I had no expectation of seeing anything exciting;
I have heard a piece of music that has moved me –
from the strings being played by a stranger,
who plays as if they were born
holding and plucking the cords of a guitar;
I have felt enlightenment
that felt like being struck by lightning;
I have had my own moments of reveal;
and I love being there whenever there is an instance
when someone can show their magic,
and have their moment of voilà!

My Poem ‘Dramarama’

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

At school I wasn’t a born actor,
however I didn’t mind a bit of drama;
in drama class, I was always shy to take part at first –
however when I did have to act and play
a quickly improvised part
it didn’t take me long
to make the part I was playing my own,
have fun, and revel in the exposure of the stage I was on –
and thinking back I think I actually liked
creating a character, talking in a different accent,
because it always gave the creative side of me
a much-needed burst.

I can still remember my drama classes now,
and my drama teacher Mr. Brooks;
I can still remember Mr. Brooks telling me
how “natural” I was as an actor,
and if I wanted he could potentially
get me an audition somewhere –
I remember him telling me that:
“you have something a lot of great actors have,
something that is natural,
which can’t be learned from reading a book.”

In another life, right now, who knows,
I could be an actor, a performer, a film-star,
a television personality, perhaps a soap opera regular?
If I had not picked art as the subject
in my final years at school that I wanted to focus on,
who knows which path my life might have taken,
and who I would be?
In another life, I could be on stage somewhere
performing Shakespeare, in a film,
acting opposite my favourite acting hero,
or even living in America,
on the verge of having my own Walk of Fame gold star?
If I had been bitten hard by the acting bug,
I wonder if my life would have been
radically different than it is now?
I wonder if I would have ever written
any sort of poem, or a single line of poetry?

Choices, especially life-changing choices,
don’t always appear as they are, as they seem,
when we are faced with them;
whether to go in one way or another
is a choice that you sometimes just have to make
in the moment and hope that everything turns out for the best.
Every performer, or actor,
at the beginning of their performance life
gets stage-fright – and some still do
before every time they walk out on a stage,
and meet their audience –
and that to me is always an indication, at least in part,
that whoever they are and whatever they are doing
means something to them;
and finding your way and your confidence
to be comfortable in moments of exposure,
in one way or another, for most people,
especially actors, is the big test.

Life, theatre, connection, caring, drama,
creativity, motivation, the feeling of butterflies in your stomach,
can seem scary at first, but after a while you love it,
you want it, you need it, you thrive on it;
and what comes after: the response, the applause,
the smiles, the joy, and if you are lucky the love and respect
that you are lavished with, for putting yourself out there
for other people to see and critique;
because, to me, no matter what kind of actor you are,
and in which form your acting takes place,
you are making art for somebody,
and it is the same if you are any kind of performer;
and, as William Shakespeare himself said:
“All the world’s a stage…”;
and as long as there is life,
there will always be drama.

My Poem ‘Tenacious Me’

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

I don’t give up easily; I don’t let go quickly;
I am probably the most dogged person you will ever meet;
I am steady in a crisis, and even in an earthquake
I do not lose my feet;
I remember, I repeat, I think –
I turn things over and over in my mind,
like dirty clothes in a washing machine;
it doesn’t bother me if it rains, spits,
or pours down and soaks me from head to toe,
because I know why it has to rain on me and on everybody –
because I have seen what I have seen
and because I have been where I have been.
It’s raining right this second;
the sky is full of clouds of light grey;
it is a perfect day for you if you are a duck
paddling in the water of a duck-pond;
the rain is temporary, and tomorrow the sun will come out,
that blue sky will bless us, and the rain,
and our troubled thoughts, will have been washed away
and will belong to yesterday.

Everybody has their share of mistakes
packed away in the closet at the back of their mind,
which do not often see the light of day after we have made them –
unless we accidentally make the same mistakes again;
everybody has scars from the personal wars they have been through,
which we only show to a small trusted number of people
who know us inside and out, and any explanation as to where,
when, and why, we came to acquire them we need not explain.

I am someone who learns lessons from life –
my life, my experiences, other people’s life,
other people’s hurdles;
I am someone who doggedly persists at something until I get it right,
but I still know the difference between making things fit naturally,
and trying to completely fit a square inside a circle.
I never lack confidence, nor determination,
and I will tirelessly work to make something
as close to perfect as it can possibly be;
I am someone who wakes up every morning
and wants to be the one someone and anyone can call on,
and that, unapologetically, is tenacious me.

My Poem ‘My Space’

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

Some people find it hard to find their place;
some people thrive and are their most happy
when they are in their own space;
some people need total quiet to concentrate
and to work efficiently;
some people can work anywhere,
no matter the noise they are surrounded by –
some writers and artists like creating
in the sanctuary of their office or studio,
while others can easily write a thousand words
while sitting at a table in the middle of a busy cafe.

Some people feel at home on a beach;
some people feel at their best
when they are with someone somewhere that they can teach;
some people feel alive when they are behind the wheel of car;
some people feel their most comfortable
when they are sitting on their sofa watching films in the dark.

My place, my space, varies from day to day;
my face, my tastes, change as frequently as the weather;
my thoughts, my interests,can seem as if
I am choosing from an inspiration buffet;
when my stories, my worries, are the furthest thing from my mind,
the ease that which I move through the world
can seem as light, and as unbounded,
as that of the flight of a feather.

My life has been shaken up so many times,
I would almost call the answers to the questions
that I pose to myself about life
as insightful and meaningful as that of a Magic 8-ball;
my observations about the world
often feel like I am either celebrating, critiquing,
admonishing, or marveling in wonder
at the state of the human race;
instincts can sometimes feel to me
like I am talking and listening in
on a seven billion person conference call.

My natural way of being, acting,
feeling, breathing, seeing, thinking,
and the place where I find the deepest of meaning
and inspiration, is when I know that I have arrived
where I always know that this is my base,
and the infinite frontier that is my space.