This episode is a part of Mark’s “A Journey Through Poetry” – a personal reflection of his life as a poet, a writer, and a author – in which he recites a different poem from every one of his poetry collections. In this episode Mark recites his poem ‘The Touch of The Poet’, from his poetry collection The Comeback Kid and he gives some insight and some context into why he was inspired to write this poem in particular.
poet
My Poem “The Author Mark Hastings”
For several years now,
not only have I been a writer and poet,
I have been an author of books
of poetry and stories -
each one filled with expressions and impressions
of me, my experience, and my imagination…
for so long now, I have been using my instincts
and my innate gift to be able to capture
a moment in time and create something new out of it -
a poem; a story; a thought; a character;
a motivation; a power; an insight of inspiration
that has never existed before,
but also a combination of other things
that might have come before,
but reconstituted with my own voice,
with my own words, and with echoes
of my own soul interwoven within.
It was never a dream of mine
to become a writer and an author, until it was;
it wasn’t until fate guided my way
and gave me an opportunity to open myself
to the possibilities of the universe and the future
that I knew something had happened to me
and something within me had been awakened…
being a writer and an author
was never a reality that I considered -
until I started down upon this long
and winding path that had gifted me so much,
and has taken me to so many places,
and I began to realise that I was not like everyone else,
but also that I was not alone in believing
and knowing that I had a calling to answer.
While growing up, I loved language,
I loved stories, I loved books, I loved characters;
however never did I imagine that one day
I would create my own for others to read,
enjoy, and go on a journey with them,
as I have done within my thoughts,
within my dreams, within the words within my books…
while growing up, I always saw the silver lining
of every cloud in the sky;
I always saw the proverbial glass
as half-full instead of half-empty;
I always believed that everything that happened
always happened for a reason -
however that was before several
inexplicable, unexpected, and unimaginable
things happened to me and I started to use
my poetry, my stories, my art as a means
to decipher the meaning and the mysteries
that I sensed bound the fragments
of the tapestry of my life together,
and it was when I started to see
everything and everyone for what they are -
as inspirational in an infinite number of ways -
that I knew I was fully embracing my destiny
and my chosen identity as that
of the poet, the writer, the storyteller,
and the author Mark Hastings.
My Poem “The Last Day of Summer”
The sun is still shining bright,
the sky is still as blue as a baby’s eyes;
but the audible ferocity of the wind
blowing through the trees
and making the power lines sway
is signalling the obvious end of one season
and the beginning of another…
it’s getting cold again;
it’s time to throw on a hat, a scarf, a coat,
and maybe a pair of gloves,
when going outside and having to go
and to do what has to be done.
Everything, once again, is transitioning
and transforming before our eyes;
some people cannot wait for what is
approaching them at full speed,
while others just want things to slow down
while they catch their breath;
everybody is just trying to keep calm
and collected while they feel as if
they are being caught up in a storm
of feelings and emotions,
because there is this palpable sense
that everything, once again, is changing –
and for some people this time of the year
is always one of uncertainty and fear
mixed with feelings of anxiety,
because what is going to happen
will leave a lasting impression
and strip some people of their confidence
just like a tree is made to slowly
shed its leaves and then find themselves
surrounded by them,
and they can’t do anything about it.
Some seasons are long;
some seasons are short;
some seasons are beautiful;
some seasons are hard;
but every season is different
from all those that came before
and are all filled with moments of joy,
as well as with moments of sadness –
and no one can no what a season will give you,
nor what a season will take from you…
some people will never be able to express,
nor explain, why they always feel as if they are
more or less a version of themselves
that they never believed they would become –
especially those people who have to choose,
and have chosen, to do things that they know,
and knew, other people would not be able to see,
nor understand, until all was said and done.
Today is the day when the world itself
shifts its axis and drags everyone
into a new direction and down a path
that will not always be easy to navigate,
and impossible to reverse;
but this is what has to happen,
this day is when it always happens –
whether everyone realises it or not;
today is the day when everything
and everyone closes their eyes
and then opens them again
and just like that one season has faded away
and another season has already begun,
and today is the day and the time
when that biggest change of nature
comes in from the west and pushes
everyone into a new place
and into a new phase of existence;
today is the day and the time
which is also known as
“the last day of Summer”.
My Poem “The Stranger”
Upon returning from
the land beyond the horizon,
the man in black -
almost blinded by the light
that he raced towards
because it promised answers
he had sought all his life -
walked upon the golden fields of his home;
however, he found himself unable to find the words
to describe what he had seen while he was away -
but he knew one thing for certain:
life, nor the world, ends when,
nor where, you think it does…
upon returning to the place he used to know
more than anywhere on Earth,
the man in black had to attempt to make himself
remember who he was before
he had untaken the journey he chose to make
after feeling as if his connection with the world
had somehow been lost…
after losing himself within the shadows
that lie behind the curtain of the universe,
beyond the light of a sunset,
the man in black had been taken
to somewhere that seemed to exist beyond
time and space, beyond identity,
and a place of infinity and energy
that was tempting to stay within;
however, after hearing the call
of duty and familiarity,
the man in black chose to return
to the world of chaos and disorder
seemingly the same instant that he had left -
after spending what felt like an eternity
in another reality that was what
he had been searching for all his life.
He had not felt for so long -
not since he had been broken and scarred
by the loss of his father and his hero some years before -
but upon his return from the place
he felt he had to make the decision to go to,
the man in black immediately found himself alone
as the sun shone down upon him
and glistened in the dark glass that covered his eyes
from the light that he had not been used to
for what seemed like forever
but in actuality had only been
a matter of hours, and no more…
he had lost his voice, lost his muse,
lost the inspiration that once brought him
and his artistry to life on multiple occasions,
and he also feared that he had left
something of himself in the other place he had visited -
a place that felt like his version of paradise -
and that was what made him hope and pray
that he had not made the wrong decision
to return to the world he was born into.
The man in black immediately found himself
in a state of shock and despair,
and so much so that he fell to the ground
and called out within his mind for someone
or something to once again give him
a calling and direction to go;
however, the only presence he felt
and the only voice he heard
was that of himself -
perhaps a version of him from
another time or a parallel universe -
and it was him, or they, who told the man in black
to rise to his feet and proceed upon the path before him,
because he was told “he had much still to do”…
the man in black questioned himself,
and the voice that sounded like his own for a moment,
before he stood up and looked ahead
to the horizon before him,
and once again he walked calmly,
confidently, and defiantly towards his future;
however, the man in black now felt
like someone or something else -
as if he had been struck by a moment
of silence and revelation
and it was now clear to him that it did not matter
who he was, because his actions meant more than anything else -
which is why he did not fear feeling
how he felt, and would undoubtedly feel
for the rest of his life:
like he was a stranger, even to himself.
The Outsider: “The Poetic Method”, “Poetry is Everything to Me”, “The Outsider”
The poems “The Poetic Method”, “Poetry is Everything to Me”, and “The Outsider” taken from my 2026 poetry collection ‘The Outsider’ – out now and available to buy online from Amazon.
The Outsider: “The Line”, “Ouroboros”, “The Pretender”
The poems “The Line”, “Ouroboros”, and “The Pretender” taken from my 2026 poetry collection ‘The Outsider’ – out now and available to buy online from Amazon.
My Poem “Beam Me Up!” (2016)
Especially for Star Trek Day, I made a video for my 2016 poem “Beam Me Up!” – which I originally wrote to celebrate the Star Trek’s 50th anniversary – which I have slightly modified so that it could also serve as a celebration for Star Trek’s 60th anniversary – and it was great to be able to include some photos from recent Destination conventions to illustrate what Star Trek means to me and to so many of my friends. Live long and prosper! 😊🖖
The Outsider: “A Journey Through Poetry”, “The Insider”, “The Good Old Days”
The poems “A Journey Through Poetry”, “The Insider”, and “The Good Old Days” taken from my 2026 poetry collection ‘The Outsider’ – out now and available to buy online from Amazon.
My Poem “Sunset Storyteller”
Just before sunset
on a cool and calm evening near the seashore,
a group of friends gathered together
to go for a walk and follow a path
lead by a storyteller of infinite
creativity, imagination, and inspiration…
the promise of the evening adventure
was palpable by all who had been
inextricably drawn together by something
akin to the force of gravity;
however no one could have known
just how much of a magical experience
this away mission would be…
a gentle tram ride; a short walk down quiet streets;
the eventual arrival at the beach
all felt like moments filled
with rising levels of energy, excitement and joy –
because as the party of friends
proceeded to walk together
it felt as if new connections were being created
that would last for a lifetime.
The storyteller of languages
both spoken and unspoken
then guided the group of starry-eyed friends
along the beach and pointed out
landmarks of significance
which were a part of a tale that speaks
to the struggle that sometimes rages within people
after they have lost a loved one –
and as everyone followed along
and listened to every detail of the story being told
there was no one who was not spellbound
and entranced by the words and the imagery
that was forming within their minds.
The group then came upon the statue
of the same sea-ogre within the tale
they had been told about
and everyone who looked upon them
actually believing that they might come to life
and threaten the group;
however, because the group were protected
by the ensorcelling words of the storyteller –
an entrancing and spellbinding daughter of the sea –
no one came, nor could ever come, to any harm,
and once again the fellowship
were guided along the beach
until they came upon a giant metal shell
that as they got closer to it
seemed to encapsulate
the various voices of the group
into one harmonious chorus.
The ensemble of companions remained silent
as the sun began to set and the beautiful light of life
bound this group – our group – to one another
as we all looked out to sea towards the magnificent
sphere of fire seemingly dancing
upon the surface of the water;
before long the light of the sun faded,
but the magic of the shared experience remained –
as did the meaningful, profound, lasting,
and beautiful words of the tale
that had been shared continued to echo –
and I was so overcome and overwhelmed
with feelings of gratitude, as well as with
memories of my father who I miss every day,
that I shed a silent tear and thanked
our “sunset storyteller”
for the blessed and everlasting gift
that she had given to me.
The Outsider: “Poet of Tomorrow”, “The Spirit of The Wolf”, “The Sounds of Earth”
The poems “Poet of Tomorrow”, “The Spirit of The Wolf”, and “The Sounds of Earth” taken from my 2026 poetry collection ‘The Outsider’ – out now and available to buy online from Amazon.
