nature

My Poem ‘Complexion’

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

With every step you take through nature,
with every minute in the sun,
with your eyes you can see
phenomenal, beautiful, fantastic,
incredible features,
with your ears you can hear
the rhythm and the natural music of life,
of which you could only previously recall but a fraction,
and your memory can only be a reflection.

The feeling of the sun on your skin;
the shape and the colour of every flower;
the aroma that is a mixture
between that of cut grass
and the most intoxicating perfume;
the time that can seem like a blissful eternity
that in reality is like a magical glass globe
of a world in which the blossom from the trees
floats and is carried by the wind
within a matter of hours –
on a sunny spring day
there is only one song and one sensation
you want to replay and replay.

The world would not be the same without us,
and we would not be the same without the world;
just as the molecules of our bodies
are bound tightly together to make us in a certain way,
just as our genetic traits slowly become noticeable
throughout our lives and will always be present in our DNA,
humanity is like a mixture of chemicals in a test-tube
and Earth is where the reaction happens
and can be observed in the galactic laboratory
that is always making and remaking
the definition of life’s mould.

There are skies of red;
there are seas of white;
there are stories never to be known or read;
there are birds that will never take flight;
life is no accident,
but it is an ongoing experiment;
things that were thought lost forever can return;
beauty can be different from person to person,
and can have different meanings
in different places on the same planet;
ice is cold, but it can also burn;
eternity can be an unimaginably cruel gift to some,
to live forever would be the most unnatural thing
to have to endure –
because every living thing lives and dies
so that all life can carry on;
change is fundamental in welcoming
the arrival of the future;
everyone must be both a balance
of different and the same;
to see the universal differences
there must be a spectrum;
everybody has an instinct about things
that can’t be easily explained;
biological life has its own natural colour
that is truly a miracle to behold
and to watch it as it defies explanation
every time while showing the simplicity
and in the same instant the complexity
of the infinite and the multi-dimensional
complexion of the universe.

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My Poem ‘The Fox’

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

In the early hours of the morning
when everybody, mostly,
was asleep in bed,
I used to walk the streets
while the sun was still rising,
and I would see and hear the world –
and there are things that I saw,
and things that I heard,
that I have never before confessed.

I used to listen to the silence,
and, as when I was a child,
I believed that I could hear
and feel the Earth turning;
I used to see the sun
and instantly feel the hairs
on the back of my neck stand on-end,
and I could feel the heat of the sun –
as if my skin was about to start burning.

With the moon still in the sky,
and the stars still shining bright,
the streets, the houses,
the trees, and the flowers,
looked in a stage of rest
as the people sleeping nearby –
and even though it was a new day,
it still had the look
and the feel of twilight.

I used to hear the first birds,
in the trees and on the rooftops,
begin the symphony of song
that is the dawn chorus;
I used to look up at the sky
and see the colours
and the canvas of the clouds
change and paint a unique picture,
with the sun acting as both
an inspiration of natural art,
as well as a back-light.
There were mornings
when I just used to stop and stare,
and feel a part of each
and every beautiful moment;
some mornings were absolutely
stunning, incredible,
phenomenal, and magnificent.

I was witness to true wonders of nature;
I lost time, because I used to forget
that it even existed;
I used to have this feeling
about what a day would consist of
right at the beginning –
like sampling an unfinished meal
and trying to get a sense of it’s flavours;
the times when I felt like
the only person left on Earth,
as if I were its eternal guardian
and destined to walk the miles
of this wonderful sphere forever,
were the best.

Many mornings, many hours,
the only other living thing
that I would see was wildlife –
and the amount of animals
that are already up
and doing what they know,
and what their instincts tell them to do,
without even thinking, is amazing;
and every animal that I used to see
was a moment, for me, that was truly magical:
from deer, to rabbits;
from hedgehogs, to badgers;
from frogs, to cats –
however, the species of wildlife
that I saw the most, and the animal
that I used to see
and would see looking back at me,
the beautiful creature of the night and the day,
which knows the true value of family,
which knows what they have to do to survive
and provide for their family,
that I used to read stories about as a child,
and the animal that I used to see daily
and be captivated by,
was the animal with the most warm and fiery fur on Earth,
which I used to see casually walking down the road,
which I was not for a second afraid by,
and which was and still is one of my favourite animals
of the night and early morning,
and that animal is the fantastic fox.

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 ‘Sputnik’

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

It’s six o’clock at night,
on a cool spring evening,
and I am looking out my window to the sky
at a beautiful gold and blue light,
watching the sun setting –
and the sight of it takes my breath away;
and within seconds,
I watch the sky go from red to grey,
as all that I see becomes draped
in the dark veil of twilight.

I watch the stars appear;
I see the planets rise;
I see the ultimate display of the constellations,
and I name them one by one, as I imagine them;
and then, when I see the constellation of Orion,
I am awestruck by how wonderfully its stars
shine so clear, and my entire vision
is that of an infinite number of stars in my eyes.

I spent my day taking in nature,
listening to the world around me,
being captivated by birdsong,
and watching the building of bird-nests
in the branches of the trees above,
and in the hedges of the ground below;
I spent my day believing that I knew
all in life that I could ever need to know.

Right this second, I feel like a satellite;
right at this moment, I feel like I am alone in space,
and no one even knows I am here –
because I am just a faint moving white dot in the dark sky;
right now, I feel so far away –
like a distant flickering candle
in the window of a cottage atop a hill;
and barely noticeable –
like a star of the night;
now, I look down,
and around at everyone else on Earth,
and I see what I can of their lives:
I see true happiness,
and I wonder what that feels like.

I look up at the moon;
I gaze up at the stars;
I see the heavens –
the place from where we all came from,
and I dream that I may return there soon;
I imagine that I can reach up and touch the sky,
because in the dark the void of space
does not seem that far.

Every human being has looked above
on a star-lit night, and wondered:
are we alone in the universe?
And, is anybody else out there?
I have asked myself that very question,
and I know the definitive answer –
and I speak that answer aloud every night.

Everybody sometimes goes into their own
“hibernation mode”, in which they appear
to leave their worries in another place somewhere;
I have always found it difficult
to remove myself from the world,
and not think about what is always on my mind;
some days I wish I could be a living, breathing,
astronaut floating in space –
or a part of Earth, circling the planet,
like the very first satellite: Sputnik.

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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 ‘Beautiful Extremes’

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

There is more happening
every nanosecond in the universe
than we could ever conceive
in a lifetime of imagining:
there is life emerging, evolving,
taking their first steps,
communicating, aspiring,
inventing, and understanding,
brand new concepts,
leaving the atmosphere of their planet,
seeking, meeting, interacting,
inspiring, believing,
knowing that they are not
the only intelligent life in their galaxy,
on a planet orbiting around a star,
existing with a purpose,
dreaming about other beings of life and light,
who are as inconceivable to us,
because we are in the dark about them
and who they are, as they are about us –
however, no matter how different we are from each other,
and no matter how we choose to express ourselves
in our own individual ways,
one thing unites everyone and everything in the universe,
and to all but who will be there at the end of all things,
and who will see the last few seconds
before everything starts again,
the knowledge of what it is that binds us all
will for now, and most likely for a few eons to come,
remain a tantalizing, compelling, inspiring,
driving, enlightening, fascinating, exciting, mystery.

The nature of planet Earth teaches us
that life will find a way to exist and thrive
in great extremes of environment,
even in a vacuum, even in a toxic soup,
even somewhere where the temperature is so low
and so past absolute zero that most things would die,
and even somewhere where a living thing
would spontaneously-combust
because the temperature is beyond
that of the hottest fire;
why things work out for some, but not for others,
is a constant cosmic question
that does not have a simple definitive answer,
because everything revolves around circumstance
and timing, and everything finding its match –
however, the meaning of life can be found
when you find the balance between what you have
and what you desire.

Believing in what we cannot see,
imagining what is impossible to imagine,
witnessing and remembering the light of what has been,
reading and interpreting the world and it’s moments
and years, like epic words and verses of poetry,
finding infinite connection, experiencing perfection,
holding in your hands, imagining in your mind,
feeling in your soul and in your heart,
that which is made in a place, and at a time,
is a miracle of beautiful extremes.

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My Poem ‘The Dissimulation of Birds’

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

Have you ever walked past a hedge,
or a bush, a nest, or a tree,
and heard the tweets, the chirping,
the calls, the teachering of birds
being all that you can hear;
have you ever had a bird come up close to you,
and not for a second show and signs
of agitation, or fear;
have you ever seen a murmuration of starlings at dusk,
and been awestruck by the immense number, speed,
and constantly changing shapes it makes;
have you ever come face to beak
with a raven from the Tower of London,
and been so astonished by it and its interest in you
that you can’t and don’t want to look away.

The life of birds happens right along-side
the life of everything else on Earth,
independently, but occasionally overlaps;
the life of birds, the society of birds,
is self-sustaining, and it is an existence
that is at-one with nature and the seasons of Earth;
the life of birds requires impeccable memory,
instincts, and spatial orientation,
and a geographical blue-print in the form
of an incredible, second to none, internal map;
the life of birds is knowing
not just the distinct language of your own species
and recognizing it at a moments call,
but also knowing the voice of another class of bird,
and their potential intentions from a single chirp.

At dawn is when you will hear,
but not necessarily see, the majority of songbirds
that sing in chorus with one-another,
to make the most of the magical and beautiful sounds –
hearing the natural and amazing voice and melody,
while seeing the spectacular phenomena of a sunrise,
is a divine and wonderful experience that always astounds.

Different birds have different nests,
and every birds learns in time how to build a home
and a bed for themselves and for their mate and offspring;
different birds live different lives –
some regularly migrate to different
and recurring places and countries,
some stay the whole time in the country they first fledged,
and return to the same nests where they hatched, time after time.

Birds, as a collective species,
are one of the most intelligent and highly-evolved
forms of life on our planet;
birds have so many gifts to be envied –
I have always been fascinated by their freedom to go anywhere
with the miracle that they have of instantaneous flight;
I am convinced that birds convey more between themselves
than anybody in any language of humanity could ever convey in words.
If you ever want to see an incredible and beautiful thing
that speaks to our own need for independence
and interdependence you will see, hear, feel,
experience something special in a flock, a murder, a cloud,
a flight, a convocation, a charm, a congregation,
a watch, a dissimulation of birds.

My Poem ‘Take Away’

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

Sometimes you just want things fast and quick;
sometimes you can’t wait for what you desire;
sometimes you wonder of yourself:
if you rely so much on something,
does that make you an addict?;
sometimes you just have to have something,
to feel the rush that it gives you –
like passing your hand through the flame of a fire.

Waiting is a test of patience;
deciding on something is usually rudimentary;
anticipation can only fuel
what will be your final pleasurable response;
the arrival of what you crave
is one of the most satisfying sensations there could ever be.

We all know that we should savour every moment;
we all know that a special time cannot ever be repeated;
we all feel a tinge of sadness when an experience is over,
because we know deeply what it meant;
we all miss the years, summers, Christmases,
dreams, friendships, kisses,
and care-free laughs that we had when we were a kid.

Things come, things go;
we all need to be recharged in some way sometimes,
like a solar-powered invention that needs the light of the sun;
we all need to see what nature is always happy to show.
We all need a wave of momentum to carry us through every day;
we all need an idea in our minds to change the way we think,
in even the smallest of ways;
we all need to remold ourselves sometimes,
as if we were made out of clay;
we all sometimes need the instant emotional
and physical take-off that can only be had
from a take away.