poem

My Poem ‘Wanderlust’

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

I am a ‘wanderbird’,
I am a traveler;
when I look up at the moon,
and I see it split in-two –
one side as white and beautiful
as the colour of snow,
and the other side of the moon
obscured by shadow –
I imagine a writer, or an artist,
in the future on the surface of the moon
looking back at the Earth,
trying to capture its magnificent beauty
in photography, in a painting,
or in a verse of poetry;
and I wonder what a poetic astronaut
would think about themselves, where they are,
and what the sacred home of the human race means.

Whenever I have looked up at the moon,
I have never been able to stop myself
from wishing that I were there;
if someone were to offer me
a ticket to the moon,
so that I could look back with love
at our beautiful blue marble,
I would suit-up,
and be in the cockpit of the rocket like a shot!

I am an explorer,
I always have been – even if it were only
imagined journeys that I embarked upon,
every expedition was one that I was excited about,
and nothing was going to stop me;
I have always been a great navigator –
I have always been able to find my way
to where I wanted to go,
and even from a young age
I understood there where you are going
is not the important part:
the thing that makes you who you are is the journey.

Looking at the stars
has always made me want to travel between them
and see interstellar sights
that would defy explanation, or description;
the sky, the heavens, the galaxy, the universe,
is where my head has always been –
because, above the clouds and on other worlds,
to me that is where adventure awaits;
the thought of what lies in the dark
has always filled me with fascination;
the future of humanity
is something that I care about,
and where we are all going as a planet
is something that I think a lot about.

The Earth is special;
our world is the only one we have;
no matter how many planets we discover,
nor where our star treks take us,
the planet we live on will always be
the most wonderful and beautiful,
and the life that is unique
and can only be found
on this blue and green sphere
will always be the end of our celestial path.

There is more to the universe than we know;
there is more to life to be learned
than can be taught in a rush;
there are things that are universally important
to remember, no matter who you are or where you go;
there is a word to describe people like me
who live every day with an impulse in their heart
and a love for life like no other:
I am constantly in a state of unbelievable
‘Wanderlust’.

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My Poem ‘Here’

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

I am where I have been
a thousand times before –
but this time it feels different,
this time I feel different.
When I write, I like to write
about exactly what is on my mind
at a particular moment in time –
however, where I am right now,
I have never been her before.
We can all go off and enjoy adventures
and make mistakes,
but we should never forget
what and who is truly important –
and I think, for a little while, I did,
and I have, and I realize now
the cost that our actions can have,
and there are always consequences
to going off like an outlaw
off the beaten-path.
I feel, looking back,
that I made the mistake
of forgetting who I truly am,
and chasing after a mirage
that never existed.
That is what happens
when you find yourself in a desert
and you lose your way –
when you want something so badly
you can accidentally find yourself
in the middle of a game
that someone else is playing.
Now I feel like I have come through the dust,
and the wilderness, and I have found myself
back where I started –
I am a different man to the one
who set out so long ago,
but seeing the familiar places and faces
who were a part of my life for so long,
I feel like I have come home.
I feel like ‘the man with no name’;
I feel like I have returned
after taking a treacherous trek
through lands where no one would ever
knowingly choose to dare;
I feel like I have found an old photograph
and I have stepped inside the frame;
I feel like I have come out
the other end of a dark tunnel
into the light of the day,
and I need to find out who I am again.
Where am I?
I am where I should have stayed all along,
I am where I belong: I am here.

My Poem ‘The Ember days’

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

There are days in the year
when so many of us gather together;
there are days when we meet up
with our family and friends
and reminisce and tell stories,
as if we are all basking
in the glow of everything
while sitting around a camp-fire;
there are days when we happily
give gifts to each other;
there are days when we are held,
and we hold the thing
that truly matters in life,
and share love and feel love –
like holding, without fear of being burned,
a glowing red-hot ember.

There are days of the year
when the energy-level is extraordinary;
there are days when every hour
is a treat as sweet as chocolate;
there are days of the year
when you can look around
and truly take-in just how lucky you are,
and remember the glory days of your life-story;
there are days which are too important
to ever be forgotten.

There are days that are significant to us,
because the anniversary of a particular day –
where we were, with whom,
and what emotions were stirred
and what memories were eternally made;
there are days that can come to define our entire lives
in special and magical ways;
there are days when our internal spirit
rises up and overflows out of us
and we show a side of us
that leaves people in a daze;
there are days when words are just not enough
to say what you want to say.

Every day of our year
is about remembering the days
and the times that were,
and continuing traditions of connection
so that we may realize time and time again
that each and every one of us
only has one chance of making our lives
the way we want it to be;
days soon become months,
months soon become years –
however, our lives are timeless;
and even if every day isn’t light and bright,
filled with gifts, presents,
smiles, flowers, and candy,
there is always something there for us to take with us,
and there are always lights in the dark for us
to look at like the illuminations of a Christmas tree.

Never forget the people you have known;
never forget the people who would
never knowingly leave you alone;
never forget the happiness you felt
that continues to live on deep inside you
that you will take with you to the grave;
never forget the days of light and celebration
that will continue to blaze throughout your life,
and bring you back always to the ember days.

My Poem ‘The Book People’

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

Every book lover
has their favourite author;
every literary enthusiast
has their favourite book;
every storyteller,
every story reader,
knows that books
are really secret doors;
everyone with an imagination
can go on a journey
and cherish every word,
as if they had never read
a single sentence before.

I love hearing people say:
“oh my god, I love this book!” –
especially from the mouths of the young;
I always smile when I see
a fellow fan of an author
and a book that I love.
Stories have the power
to make you feel something amazing,
to greater depth and effect
sometimes than a song;
there are tales and characters
that shine for me and show me
the way to somewhere I have been looking for –
like the stars that shimmer like glitter
in the dark sky above.

A library is like a gold-mine of riches;
a bookstore is like a fountain of wishes;
a mind is a place where stories become a part of us;
a network of like-minded people is absolutely wondrous;
communication is the best way to feel free and boundless;
language is the supreme method
to teach someone about themselves;
sharing your dreams can inspire the dreams
and the imagination of countless generations;
the world that you live in with everyone else
is full of art that is truly timeless.

Books are meant to be opened and read,
and books are meant to share your life with you,
and they are meant to change as they live their own life –
being carried from place to place
and being held by person to person;
every book and every story, to me, is a limited edition;
any and every book has words and worlds within
that are uniquely special;
everybody has their own attractive qualities,
but to me their is no greater gift and attribute,
and no greater example of enlightened character,
than to be one of the millions of people,
of all ages all around the world,
who happily count themselves
as one of “The Book People”.

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My Poem ‘Everything Flows’

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

You can’t ever repeat a moment,
we can’t ever step twice into the same stream;
you can’t ever expect the world to stay the same,
because nothing is truly permanent;
we are constantly changing,
and in time what is will become what was
and slowly flow past us, like a river of rain.

With a new day comes new memories;
with the changing of the tide,
new things come into our lives
and stay on the surface of our life’s sea;
with the changing of the seasons and the time,
the world looks slightly different –
just as when the leaves fall from the trees;
with the arrival of a new symphony
that is carried on the wind,
the world, even from space,
always looks like it has never been seen.

The universe is a continuum;
everything is in a constant cycle;
the very cells of our bodies are vibrating every second;
nothing and no one is immortal,
but everything and everyone
has their vital part to play
in the reshaping of the world, for a while.

Every form of life goes through stages;
everything has an inbuilt blue-print and memory;
every form of life throughout their lives changes faces;
everything can be inspiration for philosophy,
history, psychology, artistry,
beauty, stories, and poetry.

Everybody is constantly learning something new
that they didn’t know;
everything and everyone
all seem to be constantly on the go;
everybody is always changing their moods,
and adapting to new codes;
everything is a road,
and to get the most out of life,
and to live to the fullest,
you need to stop holding back,
and just let everything flow.

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My Poem ‘Writing the blues’

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

Writing the blues
is writing about what you feel
deep in your heart;
writing about your feelings
is sometimes like telling a story
that you don’t know how, or where, to start;
writing is one of the most important things
in the life of a poet;
writing poetry is sharing your soul beautifully,
and seeing your dreams travel to the stars.

Only a fellow poet can know what it takes
to put your emotions and memories into words;
only a fellow artist can understand
what it means to create something important,
as a gift to the entire world;
only a fellow dreamer
can possibly go on a journey with you,
and give you hope when you need it the most;
only a fellow friend
with the most amazing generosity of spirit
can pick you up and bring you back to life
when you feel lost.

Things in life happen for a reason;
even the most beautiful and gifted of humanity,
some of the most gorgeous people that we know,
have to go through pain and confusion –
however, those friends, those dreamers,
those artists, those poets, those kindred spirits,
I pray will always remember that,
no matter how near or far away we are,
we are all on this planet
and we all live in this world
to be there for each other.

To you, my fellow poet of the blues;
to you, my fellow poet of the universe;
to you, from me the poet of the sphere;
to you, for you, because of you –
in the form of this poem,
I just want you to know,
that I am here for you.
Let your tears flow,
collect them and let the wave of life take you –
but stand tall, stay strong, think of me,
and continue to dream beautiful poetry;
when you sleep, and when you wake every morning,
continue to write from the heart,
and, as if you were singing,
continue writing the blues.

Dedicated to the wonderful poet Zula Blues Poet

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 ‘Selfie’

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

Long before the ‘selfie’ was the “selfie”,
long before we used to take pictures of ourselves
with our cameras and share them with our friends,
the ‘selfie’ used to be known as the ‘self-portrait’ –
and, to this day, it is a way
for an artist to show people
what they look like so they can see
who they are, where, and when;
so, the so-called ‘selfie’
has been around for hundreds of years –
however, instead of using paint
to create our self-portraits,
we now use our reflections
as they appear in mirrors.

It is a time-honored tradition
to take pictures of ourselves,
and to me it is in no way egotistical
or self-indulgent;
it is the most important thing
to capture memories and to show how
someone appeared when they had moments to remember,
and when they were happy and in full-health –
and that is why I believe
the self-portraits that we capture and take daily
are brilliant.

If you are comfortable to take a photo of yourself,
it just shows that you are happy in yourself
and how you look;
those who don’t have the same level of self-acceptance
in their appearance would seldom choose
to take a picture of themselves,
because there is something about them
that they would change if they could.

There is nothing wrong with taking a photo of yourself,
especially if the reason that you are taking the picture
is because their is no one else around
to take a photo of you;
people have been posing for pictures
since cavemen were captured on cave-walls
in paintings of hunters hunting gazelles;
if you have a camera in-hand
and you want to show someone what you look like
in a second, why wouldn’t you?

Self-portraits are art;
in this day and age,
you can create a self-portrait instantly;
self-portraits are our signature
and our unique mark;
self-portraits may no longer be called ‘self-portraits’
today in the digital age –
however, they are still what they were,
even if they now have a new same:
the “selfie”.

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My Poem ‘Where art endows’

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

As soon as I boarded the train to London;
as soon as I set foot on the bustling platform
at Euston Station;
as soon as I rode the tube to Bakers Street;
as soon as I looked down at the wet pavement
shining under the shadow of a statue
dedicated to ‘The Great Detective’,
I saw art in everything above me,
everything around me,
and everything underneath my feet,
and the art that I saw left me breathless
because it was so epic.

When I was a child,
I used to look at the cover of The Beatles’ album
‘Abbey Road’ and imagine that I was John Lennon –
dressed all in white, and the one to lead
Ringo, Paul, and George over the crossing
to the other side of the road;
and, while in London, I decided
to follow in the footsteps
of the greatest band that ever was
and go to ‘Abbey Road’,
walk over the famous zebra-crossing –
and I swear that while I was there
I felt incredibly emotional
and so privileged to be there,
and I absolutely felt an abundance of love:
because even though I was walking across by myself,
I didn’t for a second feel alone.

The London Underground is like a warren of rabbits,
a hill of ants, or a hive of bees –
there is so much activity,
and there are so many people
traveling from place to place all over the city,
and everybody is in such a rush;
if you are a daily commuter,
keeping calm and knowing where you are going is a must.
Traveling on the tube is exciting –
everything and everybody I saw
were different from each other,
and to me wonderfully inspiring:
my fellow commuters fascinated me –
all the conversations that I heard,
and all the faces that I saw looking back at me,
were like feeling the pulse of the city,
and it was like the people were the blood
and the plasma of London
traveling down tube tunnels
that made me think of a human bodies
blood-vessels and arteries.

When I first arrived at Trafalgar Square,
and I looked up at Nelson’s Column
towering above two giant statues of Lions
that were the size of two large cars,
as soon as I saw the sight
of the beautiful National Portrait Gallery,
I could literally see hundreds of people outside –
and each person looked to me
like the peaks and waves of a multicolored sea.

While in the National Portrait Gallery,
I found myself completely in-awe
at the beautiful artwork within
which can be found through every open door,
and when I stood in front of Vincent Van Gogh’s
“Sunflowers” painting I was completely entranced
by its magnificence – and every second that I spent
gazing at Van Gogh’s masterpiece of art,
I felt connected to it, and to Vincent Van Gogh
so deeply and profoundly, that I am still engulfed
in the power and the feeling that comes
when you touch something that is
the source of so much inspiration and energy.

From the gallery, I then searched,
and caught a train to Soho,
and eventually came across a wall
that had a piece of art painted on it
by the graffiti artist “Banksy” –
and as soon as I looked at the amazing
piece of modern, incredible,
thought-provoking art that symbolized,
at least to me, the creation of beauty
through self-expression,
in the form of the painted outline of a yellow flower,
I was reminded of another incredible artist
that I had seen earlier,
and the day at that moment came full-circle,
and I knew that everything was connected,
and the world was, and is, a gallery of artistic destiny.

On my way home from London,
I mused and I could not stop thinking
about what I had seen and what I had heard,
and what I had felt during the time
that I had been drawn
from one side of the city to the other,
and I wondered what it all meant.
As I sit here now,
I know, as I have always known and believed,
that things in life do not happen by accident:
I know that the world and I
are connected in ways
that no one else but me will ever know.
In this world there are places with many people
living and working in them
that are fountains of inspiration on so many levels,
and every day I see sources of energy that inspire me –
and that is why I return to certain places time after time,
because these sources and places are exquisite art
that will forever continue to endow me and everybody.

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My Poem ‘Don’t Panic’

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

Don’t panic, if you ever find yourself
in an unfamiliar place;
don’t panic, if you are a writer
and your pen suddenly runs out of ink;
don’t panic, if you don’t win in a race;
don’t panic, if you find out that life
is not what you think.

Don’t panic if it’s raining –
because the sun will eventually come out;
don’t panic, if you lose something
that means something to you;
don’t panic, if you don’t have unlimited wealth;
don’t panic, if there are clouds above –
because above those clouds
there is a sun shining in a sky the colour of blue.

Don’t panic, if you don’t know everything;
don’t panic, if you can’t do what you want;
don’t panic, if something feels like it may be ruined;
don’t panic, if you want to be somebody – but you can’t.

Don’t panic, if you’re late for something –
because you are meant to be there when you are there;
don’t panic, if you feel that something
is sneaking up on you by surprise;
don’t panic, if someone looks at you and stares;
don’t panic, if your plans might need to be revised.

Don’t panic, if the house you built is blown away;
don’t panic, if you are in the middle of a city
and you don’t know where to go;
don’t panic, if someone comes into your life
but they cannot stay;
don’t panic, if you feel like things
are building up around you too much for you to cope.

Don’t panic, if every light you come up against is red;
don’t panic, if things feel like they are going in reverse;
don’t panic, if you gambled and lost –
or you put something on what seemed like a ‘sure thing’,
and you eventually lost the bet;
don’t panic, if you don’t see everything in life –
because there is no one alive
who will ever know everything,
or will ever have seen everything in the entire universe.

Don’t panic, if you are ever running late;
don’t panic, if everything feels manic;
don’t panic, if you have to wait;
whatever happens, whatever you have to do,
don’t worry about the things that happen
in the world around you that you can’t control –
because the universe has its own plans;
and even though you and everyone has a part to play,
the best thing you can do is to do what you know,
and don’t panic.