Places

My Poem ‘Fever’

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

There are places in space,
there are moments in time,
there are faces, there are rhymes,
there are things that happen,
there are people who are who they are,
there are things that draw your attention,
there are an infinite number of multi-coloured stars
that brighten, enliven, and make your life feel
as if it is complete,
there are links that form
that give strength to weak.

Some may look at the landscape of a war-zone
and see desolation and a reason to doubt
the longevity of life on our planet,
while another person looking at the same sight
may see it as an opportunity to rebuild
and to reinvigorate, and to heal old wounds
and to put long-lasting hope into the mortar
and the stone of the newly relaid foundations
and draw lines of inter-connectivity
into the very blueprints of what is being rebuilt.

Anything can happen at any moment;
anybody can imagine anything
when their senses are brought to life,
like a spark to a fire;
even a single word can have lasting importance;
even a single glance and a look
can quickly evolve into desire.

A flash of light and colour;
the touch on your skin of a gust of wind;
the sound of a voice that always pulls you into
a magical world of wonder;
the feeling of euphoria that true love brings;
the way that things are,
the way that the many faces of the universe inter-work,
the way that even the smallest of actions
can have the most life-changing of powers,
is what will always be as things are forever –
and that is why it is always important
to cherish, to take care, and to kindle an idea,
because it does not take much in the right hands
for a single thought and dream
to take over and spread like a fever.

My Poem ‘Countryside’

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

As I dream about a city across the sea,
there is someone over the ocean
wishing that they were walking
the fields of the English countryside;
as I sit and hear the sounds
and the accents that I remember so well,
there is someone in the very country
where I wish I was now
thinking about what it would be like
to be where I am, doing what I am doing,
completely untroubled and free.

As I write I think about that friend of mine
telling me about their wish,
and I wish that they and I could trade places,
even if it were only for a few minutes,
and even if it was only a momentary
swapping of minds and lives,
so that we two could for moments
walk in each others shoes
and know the taste and the smell of each others air…
if they were here and if I were there.

If my friend were here at this moment
they would cry at the beauty of the sight of my home;
if my friend could see with my eyes,
their entire vision would be met by
all the colours of the rainbow
represented by the colours of the surrounding
and blooming flowers;
if my friend were able to take in the perfection
that I have known my entire life
which never gets old,
they would never be able to describe verbally
what their eyes cannot look away from –
even if they were describing the landscape
to someone on the phone;
if my friend could follow in my footsteps,
they could and they would never stop exploring
and seeing something new and beautiful
everywhere they looked,
even if they kept walking for 24-hours.

Even when it rains,
and the leaves of the trees are speckled
with droplets of cleansing water from above,
the green that is England through and through
only becomes even more striking,
and when the clouds part
and the sunlight comes blazing through
there is no view anywhere
that is more amazing, nor breathtaking,
than the sudden explosion of colour
that is nature accentuated by the golden rays
of the most important star in the sky
that always makes my home
look like a real life landscape of art
that could never be fully explained,
because it is what it is:
a true, heart-breaking, paradise,
that is so beautiful
it will never stop bringing tears to my eyes.

There are people who I have not yet met face to face,
but who I want to meet;
there are places where I have been
that I want to return to some day,
where when I left them I cried;
there are friends of mine in other countries
who I can’t wait to fully introduce myself to
in the flesh when we first meet and greet;
there are places that I see every day
that the sight of makes me smile,
that if I could I would share with the entire world –
where I have done my fair share of walking,
thinking, contemplating and imagining,
in the most heavenly place on Earth
that is the great, glorious, gorgeous
and beautiful English countryside.

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My Poem ‘Hang Out’

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

In arcades, in malls, in parks,
in places where people assemble like disciples,
in large groups, in smalls numbers,
there are places that continue to attract people,
for one reason or another,
because of what they mean,
and because of what they offer.

Friends meet up to talk, to see each other,
to catch up, to share some time with each other,
to have a drink with each other,
to have lunch with each other,
to maybe see a film at the cinema with each other,
to have fun with each other,
to celebrate life, and to continue to bond with each other.

The things that interest us,
the things that we think about
and feel the most passionate about,
are mostly the same things
that our friends think about,
and usually that is the reason that they are our friends;
the things that we could only share with our friends,
and talk about with our friends,
are usually the things that we cannot speak
to anyone else about –
because unless they know us and who we are,
the context of what we have to say
would be unfathomable to understand.

It’s easy to hang out with people who you don’t know,
but have something in common with,
now more than ever;
where before you would have to arrange a place
and a time to see and to talk to someone,
now, in the instantaneous interconnected age
of infinitely accessible knowledge,
we all can reach out in a second to someone
who might live five thousand miles away,
or five minutes down the road,
and have a conversation with them
using incredible technology in the palm of your hand,
as well as share moments that you have captured
and think they might like.

For thousands of years, people young and old,
children and adults, at different stages in their lives,
have come together to be in the same place,
at the same time as people
with whom they are exactly alike
to the degree that you might think
that they were separated at birth.
The draw to something amazing, and mesmerizing –
a feeling, a light, a flame, a memory,
an individual, a shared understanding –
is one that everybody and every thing
has felt and feels daily in all walks of life,
and to those who are members of every species on Earth.

There are things that we all want to discover,
and learn more about;
there are people who we wish we knew personally,
and we feel things for them
that before them we never felt.
There are clubs, colours, books,
music, past-times, fashions,
that can unite the many and the few, equally –
so much so that they make our heart shout.
There will always be places, and people,
where, and with with whom,
that we will crave to be, and to see,
to spend as much time in their embrace,
and simply hang out.

My Poem ‘Poet’s Corner’

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

I am sitting here writing;
I am sitting here musing about the world;
I am sitting here enjoying a coffee-
the voices of people,
and the sounds of everyday life;
I am sitting here alone at my table;
and on the table next to me
a fellow poet is meeting up
and having a conversation
about how they just wrote a new poem,
about how beautiful the new day’s morning is,
and about things that they have seen
which they find exciting, inspiring, amazing,
and they sound just like I do in my head,
and I cannot stop smiling.

The poet sounds like they are from South Africa,
by their accent;
the poet is talking to their friend,
and they sound and they talk with so much
clarity and passion.

The poet is wearing a poppy;
the poet is not eating or drinking anything;
the poet is definitely someone after my own heart,
and obviously, to them, living, breathing,
writing, communicating, is not just a hobby;
the poet and his friend, it turns out,
have never met before,
and have only communicated over the internet,
until this moment;
the poet is describing a “great adventure”
that he has undertaken, and is still on,
and they are obviously, genuinely,
happy about the joys in their life,
and what they have gives them,
and what having a connection with people brings.

It is truly unbelievable what happens in life.
It is no accident who you may sit down next to.
It has been my experience that artists, writers,
poets, and people of deep thought passion,
and imagination, are drawn to each other
by a mutual drive;
it is the way of the universe
that people are who they are,
and the way that they are,
and there is an important reason
that people do what they do.

I watched in silence as the poet and his friend
exchanged gifts and spoke about what their presents
and their presence means to them;
I was hypnotized by their conversation,
by their story, and by everything they said;
I was enthralled, but I was sad –
because I knew that I would probably
never see or hear these amazing friend again,
but I too was thankful to them both
for coming into my life,
even if it were only for a sparing,
precious, and short time,
and the whole time that I was in their presence
I was unbelievably energized and phenomenally inspired.

There are too many coincidences and commonalities
for life to be just a string or a chain of accidental encounters,
there are too many things that matter to too many at once
for them to be unconnected,
even if they are the separate lives and stories of strangers.
There are so many places on this Earth
which attract people who share a brilliant,
beautiful, open, heart of a storyteller;
there are places like this place
that I am sitting in right now
that have a meaning and a power to them –
which I like to describe, and which I believe,
are amazing poet’s corners.