poem

My Poem ‘Eccentric’

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

Everybody has their own quirks of personality;
everybody has something about them
that wonderfully singles them out;
everybody has the rite
to wear the crown of their own reality;
everybody is like the weather of the world –
depending on the temperature,
depending on the colour,
depending on the time of the day, or the year,
the forces of nature
and the thoughts of everybody close by
can combine to reveal wonderful
and phenomenal personal eccentricities.

I love the eccentric;
I adore the quirky;
I love the one of a kind
that are poetic and epic;
I adore the thrill of discovering a new find;
I love the unconventional;
I adore the extraordinary;
I love the language of the true individual;
I adore an oddity.

Everybody in the world is sometimes obsessive;
everybody on the planet is sometimes compulsive;
everybody has their own version
and vision of perfection;
everybody knows how to bring an oasis of peace
to a tumultuous storm of disorder.

Life is an infinite spectrum;
free-spirited and care-free people
are a bubbling cocktail
of many infusions of taste and inspiration –
like a mirror of life
reflecting the world back on itself;
life is a never-ending exploration;
the more natural that something feels
can only be something that is good for your health.

Some people thrive when in the spotlight;
some people would rather live in the shade;
some people are secret masters of life;
some people just want to heal the world
one person at a time –
even if the only thing that they can offer
is a smile to anyone and everyone
who needs one every single day.

There are some people
who like formality and predictability,
over improbability;
there are some people who act with serenity
when everybody else may have already descended
into a state of unbridled panic;
there are some people
who will never change who they are,
who will be amazing in more ways
than they will ever know,
always and indefinitely;
there are some people who are magnetic,
energetic, synergetic, kinetic, poetic,
who are in their own way prophetic –
because they are so wonderfully eccentric.

My Poem ‘Cherokee’

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

Every group of indigenous people,
from every country and continent
around the world –
within their history,
within their teachings,
lies a deep-seeded belief
and a connection with the world,
as well as a bridge to use
to understand the importance of life and death:
both the Aboriginal people of Australia
and the Native American Indians and their tribes
have always known that the planet that is our home
has a name, an identity, and a spirit all of its own,
and they have always seen and considered
the Earth that we all walk on
as if it were the skin of an astral being,
and that there are places that are sacred
and need to be protected – so that,
like so many places of natural beauty
that have been lost, there are places
that will always remain
as they are meant to be and unscarred.

There were no greater storytellers,
there were no greater warriors,
there were no greater teachers,
there were and there are no greater
people who remember their inspiring ancestors,
than the Native Indians of North America –
everything that I have been told,
and everything that I have learned,
has been a revelation to me –
and, to me and to lots of people,
I would point to my fascination with them
and to their amazing and timeless culture
as the source from which from every question
I have received an infinite number of answers.

Since the dawn of humanity,
since the moment when
the first of all of our ancestors began to believe
in what they could feel was out there,
but that which they could not see –
the many tribes and cultures that have risen
have believed in a greater divine higher-power
that seeks to communicate a meaning
and a way of life that can be discovered at any time –
even though it may sometimes appear hidden.

The traditions, totems, dreams, thoughts, emotions,
that indigenous cultures teach us to be mindful of –
the tribes that believe that the stars of the sky
are the eyes of our ancestors
watching over us from above;
mountains, monuments, deserts, valleys,
even to this day and always,
are places and trails to some people
who believe that there are some things
and some people who must never be forgotten;
spirit-guides, animal-guides,
are said to be all around us –
and when we dream, Native American people
teach that Earth and its people
share a constant dialogue of language
and inter-connected communication.

Everybody alive shares ties
with the first tribe
that made that first journey
and took those first epic steps
that to them must have felt
as if they were on a star trek
in search of who they were;
everybody of the modern world
shares traits with whom it was
who struggled to get us all
to where we are now –
even though the faces of those first people
have long-since disappeared into history,
in each of our cells and our DNA
there are important and integral lines
of their timeless poetry;
everybody at some time has felt a presence
with them in the dark;
everybody must never forget where we all came from,
and we must all never forget
that to understand what we do not know
about the life we all have, knowing who we is the key:
that is why I relate,
and that is why I subscribe in every way,
to the teachings and to the customs,
and to the insightful and the divine wisdom
of respect for all life of the Cherokee.

My Poem ‘Many voices inside the one’

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

Daylight is a flash of many colours;
day life is a mass of many choices;
just as a skyscraper
is a single building of many floors,
the light and the dark of the world
can only stay in balance with one another
if there is always a way and a forum
to speak, to sing, and to shout
with the tongue of many voices.

People learn more in the years
that they are a child
than they will ever learn
in the subsequent decades
that they are alive;
a child could literally grow up
to be anybody that they want;
someone who feels inspiration,
as well as sees inspiration,
in themselves and of themselves,
will be an inspiring bright light;
do not ever believe anyone
who tells you that lightning
cannot strike twice;
the people who truly lead the dance of life
do not always do so front the front.

A building must be built;
a person must grow;
every sword must have a hilt;
there must always be something
that you do not know;
a painting must be painted;
a movie must be written, acted,
filmed, edited, orchestrated, and directed;
music must be a conduit of many hearts;
to be funny, a joke –
no matter how many times it is told –
must always be one that makes everybody laugh.

Nobody can ever choose where,
nor to whom, they are born to –
however, if the history of humanity
can teach is anything
it is that birthplace and parentage
are the place, and they are the people,
from where our lives begin,
but they will never be,
nor should they ever be,
where or why our lives come to an end;
throughout our lives,
the voice that we talk and communicate with
changes depending on our ever-changing environment –
like the skin of a chameleon;
we are all somebody of many voices,
not just the one.

My Poem ‘Unlimited Data’

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

The world is constantly buzzing
like a bee-hive;
the planet is beating
every second of every day
with the speed of a rapid pulse;
the Earth has never been so active, nor alive;
humanity is constantly craving data
and information – and everybody, it seems,
constantly has this unquenchable thirst
to see, hear, and experience something,
anything, everything first:
because, to some people,
there is no time that matters more
than that which only happens once.

The most amazing thing about life
is that it is constantly changing;
the most incredible thing about the world
is that it is constantly evolving;
the most influential language
is the language of pictures and photographs;
the most powerful drive of a metropolis
is using and interpreting numbers
by using the natural and original enigma machine
that is the human brain to think and speak,
perhaps without even knowing that they know it,
the infinite dialect of maths.

It is incredible to me how far we have all come
in such a short space of time –
even in my lifetime,
humanity has pushed the boundaries of possibility
and has achieved epic advances in so many areas:
technological, philosophical, biological –
which so many of us have been blessed
to take advantage of and make them integral
and important parts of our lives;
we as a species expect things to happen instantaneously,
and we sometimes expect a reply to a question
to arrive as soon as it is asked –
and because there is so much knowledge
to be found by anybody at anytime,
answers no longer have anywhere to hide.

We are all a part of the repeating cycle
and frequency that governs everything,
that makes us who we are;
everybody biologically fits
into a pattern of behaviour –
and a part of that inbuilt and inherent design
is extreme adaptability;
no matter how much we think we know,
there is always more;
everybody is data-hungry, energy-hungry,
interest-hungry, and if we did not have
power and electricity
I could not tell you who we would all be.

Some things, in no time at all,
just become a way of life;
some things we completely rely on
in the modern age to be to us
a literal life-saver;
some things that we do we take for granted –
like the ability to push a simple switch
and turn on a light;
some things just become a necessity –
and I am sure that if you were
to ask a technologically-savvy
and internet literate
and always connected member of humanity,
the gift to them that keeps on giving
has to be the miracle, if you can get it,
of unlimited data.

My Poem ‘The Writer Type’

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

I can always tell
another writer when I see them;
I can always tell poetry
whenever I read something
that someone has written;
I can always tell another poet
when I hear them speak
with so much passion,
energy, and depth of intuition
in their voice;
I can always tell
and I always know
when a writer has an idea
for something to write in some form,
because I have that feeling
multiple times a day –
and when you feel that need to write rise,
as a writer, you just know in yourself
that what is on your mind
needs to flow unabated
as a matter of necessity and destiny,
and not always as a matter of choice.

I have a sixth sense for creative people;
I have an instinct for the inspired;
I have been a member of the church of poetry
for years now, and I am its life-long disciple;
I have the greatest adoration for people
who can change the world with the power of words,
and to whom their love of language
is one of the greatest of all their desires.

I could sit with my notebook
at a table in Starbucks,
I could lay on my bed looking out the window,
I could sit on a bench in the park,
I could sit under the moonlight in the dark,
and be absolutely captivated and lost
in thought by the most incredible
and the most inspiring creation of my imagination –
as I try to interpret, convey, and convert
my thoughts into words
that perfectly capture
the constellations of my universe
into understandable verse.

When I write, it is a stream of consciousness;
when I daydream, there is never
any limit to what I can imagine;
when the rhythm of my soul takes me
and I give birth to a newborn of my own poetry,
I love the experience so much;
when the artistic animal
catches me its sights and its embrace,
there is nowhere to run…
which to me is my kind of fun!

I can always tell someone
who has seen the artistic light;
I can always understand
when someone says out-loud
that they do not know
why they are doing what they are doing –
however, in more ways than they can describe,
they just know that what they are doing
just feels right;
I can always follow the thoughts
and the emotions of someone,
and I love sharing my own
as I too spread my poetic wings and take flight;
I can always tell ‘the writer type’.

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 ‘Mark The Pirate’

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

Life can sometimes feel to you
like you are on a wooden ship
sailing across the seven seas;
when the wind is at your back
and the waves beneath the hull of your boat
are crashing around you,
as you are rocked from side to side,
you can feel like you are living
the life of a pirate –
looking for a new bounty of treasure
so that you may rest easy
and to not have to worry
about anything or anybody
but your shipmates and crew.

I can imagine it all now:
me, looking to the bright blue horizon –
making my eyes shine a brighter blue
than they normally do;
the sensation of the wind and the ocean spray
whipping through my hair;
the black and white skull and crossbones
of the Jolly Roger flag being displayed
proudly over my head,
the sound of “arrr matey” and “arrr me hearties”
coming from my crew (naturally I am the ship’s captain),
with bottles and barrels of rum being drunk,
if and when possible –
and a parrot called ‘Mo’ perched on my right shoulder,
for good measure and for good luck.

What a life it would be
to live the life of a man with a plan,
with a map, with a direction and a compass
to follow and to guide our way to untold riches;
what fun I would have if I were a pirate
living in the world of the 17th or 18th century –
when the world was still thought to have an end,
and a treasure chest full of gold
was the pinnacle of all wishes.

To see the world;
to discover the wonders of the unknown;
to constantly see the sails of my fine vessel unfurled;
to call the ocean seas my infinite and perfect home;
to fight when I need to fight;
to write a Captain’s log of all of ours adventures;
to experience a life like no other during the day,
and to sing, dance, and be merry all through the night;
to live the dream;
to feel the constant rush of excitement
invigorate me and never stop the speed
of the drum-beat of my heart;
to be able to know how fast my ship was traveling
just from feeling the vibrations of the wooden
boards and beams beneath my booted feet;
to be able to cry out, laugh, joke,
and maybe even through in one or two
“yo-ho-ho’s” for good measure too…
it would be so amazing, even for a day,
to be and to live the life of a pirate.

My Poem ‘Busk for you’

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

Strumming guitar strings,
a phenomenal voice
singing into a microphone,
an amazing and captivating
reverberation of sound –
a singer, a guitar player,
an artist, a hopeful dreamer,
an entertainer, someone with a gift
who is now standing at the centre
of a circle of people,
playing their heart out,
and singing every song as if they mean so much to them,
and as if every song were a song that had be written for them;
entrancing, inspiring, amazing,
making everyone stop and stare, smiling,
and even moving a black man
in a white hat holding a basket-ball
to stop in his tracks
and start dancing like Michael Jackson.

It always amazes me how much and how deeply
music can move and touch someone,
it has always enthralled me no-end
the connection that people form with certain songs;
it has always brought me joy
to see the happiness on the face
of someone who just loves singing
and who loves playing their instrument;
it always inspires me to be up close
to share some time with the gifted
and the artistic people that I randomly meet,
who are wonderfully exceptional and brilliant,
because they are so different.

I have seen performers of every age,
colour, gender, and ethnicity,
performing publicly, in all weathers,
in every city and town that I have been to;
I have watched singers, violinists,
guitarists, brass-bands, choirs,
full-orchestras, change and effect
the very air and the atmosphere of somewhere
and share hope through their music;
I have been moved in so many ways
emotionally by every artist whom I have listened to;
I have always envied singers and musicians –
because, anyone can write a rhyme,
anyone can have an idea come to them,
and anyone can tell a story,
but only a singer or a musician
can bring words and notes to life
in such a way that elevates them
from a page to make them truly epic.

When a busker is busking
they never want to stop playing,
and when they are playing
they never want to rush;
when a singer and a musician
who loves what they do
gets the chance to play,
they experience a feeling of true divine love;
when an instrumentalist
is masterfully bringing together
all the notes before them
and combining them into one
perfect expression of sound,
they feel and they know their instrument
so well that both player and instrument
have for each other a mutual trust;
when a busker is playing on their street corner,
or in the open space
where they feel the most comfortable playing,
and where everybody knows that they are going to be,
all that they want to do
is play like there is no tomorrow,
and busk for you.

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Check out the amazing Esther Turner on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/esthermusic and on Twitter at @Esther_Ninja

My Poem ‘Koi No Yokan’

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

‘Koi No Yokan’ – Japanese origin:
“The feeling upon meeting someone
that falling in love with them
is inevitable”

The right place, the right time,
the right face, the right light,
the right spirit, the right person,
the right minute, the bright light of the right star
who fills your sky and your life instantly –
a perfect angel, a beautiful sun.

Every lock has its own combination;
until you hear the unmistakable ‘click‘
you cannot know what is locked away inside something;
every look has a shine to it of wonderful fascination;
every mixture of words, thoughts, emotions,
and intentions is its own spell of magic.

Love between two destined
and fatefully connected people is inevitable;
love that is meant to be
is not always instantly understandable and conceivable;
love that grows stronger over time is addictive,
intoxicating, and incredible;
love that is timeless can never dim
nor become any less intense,
because such love is indescribable
and worth fighting every day for.

Love can be shown;
love can be expressed;
love can be said in many different ways
in every language all over the world;
love is more than any simple word;
love is a question; love is an answer;
love is a meaning; love between two soulmates
is rejuvenating and healing;
love is its best when it is instant,
natural, and it comes into your life
and never leaves –
because if it were to run away
you would never stop feeling
within your heart and your soul
as if something were missing.

You may love many things,
you may love many people in your life –
but your one true love
is everlasting beyond compare,
and they are what you think
and dream about from morning to night;
you may meet someone
and instantly feel a connection with them,
as if you have known them for years –
and that feeling is so unbelievable,
and it means so much,
that no matter where you go,
being together and loving one-another
with all your heart
is not only beautiful to behold
like a beautiful perennial flower,
but it is also the most amazing miracle
that will ever happen to you in your life,
and from day one is indescribably inevitable.

My Poem ‘Art & Soul’

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

Art is personal;
art is an expression of heart;
art is life’s missing parts;
art is the signature,
the fingerprint,
the indelible footprint,
of our soul.


To me, an artist is a magician of colour
who understands the deep emotional connections
that are ever-present throughout life;
to me, a piece of art is like a timeless child;
to me, an artist is a wizard of light;
to me, art should be seen, embraced, felt,
and it should call to you –
like the roar of a lion in the wild.


The epic mountains, the vast valleys,
the beautiful shores and seafloors of Earth,
are like a piece of one of a kind
natural sculpture –
and the time that was taken
to create and sculpt such masterpieces
was worth every second of every century;
the art painted on every cave
that still remains, and will always remain,
on the cave walls on which they were painted
are landmarks of human evolution
and creativity that are more extraordinary
than words could ever describe –
because, to me, they are proof
that not only were our ancestors
masters of hunting, gathering, and surviving,
but that they were also communicators,
dreamers and thinkers,
and curators of compelling
and powerfully evocative artistry.


Art has been a love of mine since I was a child;
even at a young age, expressing myself
with pencils, pens, colour, and paint,
was my way of letting my imagination go wild;
artists, to me, as a child, were like lords of time
who could capture a moment at its most inspiring
on a canvas that was always deeper
than it appears when seen from the side;
the moment that I first saw
Leonardo da Vinci’s ‘Mona Lisa’,
I looked into her eyes
and I instantly started to smile.

Whenever I go to an art gallery, or art exhibition;
whenever I look to the landscape of the horizon,
at any time of the day, no matter where I am,
I see art that is beautiful;
whenever I see something artistic
that somebody has made and created,
everything about me vigorously vibrates
with voracious energy and inspiration;
whenever I see art –
be it a Michelangelo, an Andy Warhol,
a vace of Sunflowers or a Starry Night
by Vincent can Gogh –
I want to make my own art
and express the emotions that I feel
about what I see, in words of poetry
from my heart of art and soul.