rhythm

My Poem ‘The Meaning’

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

As with most things
it all begins in our eyes
and with what and whom
we see with our eyes…
as with most things
we all come to things,
places, people,
from different directions
and at different times…
as with most things
there are always things
that we regret…
as with most things
a part of something
always remains within
the heart and the soul of something
even after the outer-layers
have withered away and died.

Humanity is fragile…
every day of a person’s life
they are in a constant state of change;
humanity by nature is fallible…
every day of their life
a person can do things
that when looked upon in retrospect
they would see them as a collage of mistakes;
everybody is prone to repetition
and we value our routines;
we are all so caught up in our own lives sometimes
that we are mostly oblivious
to the changing of the times
and the rhythms of life.

A life is full of meaning,
even if you can’t see it:
music, children, love, sport, art,
work can give a person’s life what they need…
no two people live the same life in the same way…
no one and nothing ever stops changing…
what matters the most in life
is what you find in the moments of silence
when there is no sound, music, or talking –
there and then is where you find
what lies within your heart
and what you cannot live without
because of the way that it fills
your life with such meaning.

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My poem ‘The Drummer’

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

It was all he heard…
it was all he felt…
it was all he wanted to do…
every morning, every night,
the drummer felt a longing,
and the beat was the only cure…
over and over again,
the drummer played the rhythm
of his favourite beat in his mind,
with the fingers of his hands,
and every time that he tapped his feet…
it was as if it was his own heart beating…
it was as if it was his own pulse racing…
it was the most epic sound
he had ever heard in his life,
since he was a baby
and he used to look out his bedroom window
and listen to the thundering sound
of the pita-patter on the window-pane
when it was raining…
it was more powerful
than any kind of hunger or craving…
to Mark, the music was like the heart-beat of God…
to Mark, the music that came from his soul
was something that was transcendental…
to Mark, the music was what kept him
from becoming among humanities lost…
to Mark, the music he heard was what he loved…
and to him it was beautiful.

Becoming a member of a marching-band
had been a dream of Mark’s since he was a child –
Mark had everything that any band
would ever want, or ever need: Mark loved music,
and he loved his favourite instrument…
even as a child Mark would turn his parents’
pots and pans into home-made drums,
and he used to play them,
and his parents let him be free
and express himself, and go wild –
and if anybody came around to visit
Mark and his parents
they would see and hear
Mark playing the most phenomenal of beats,
and every day of his life
music, especially his music,
has become more and more important.

Mark tried-out to be in his high-school band…
Mark had dreams of one day playing
in the marching-band of his favourite
college football team…
Mark played and practiced every minute
he was awake or asleep,
and he knew that it he just played
with all his heart
that everything in his life
would happen as he always dreamed it would,
as if it were all a part of a plan –
however, all Mark could play,
all Mark wanted to play,
all Mark loved to play
was the beat that he heard within…
and when his moment came
to show just how incredible a player
and a drummer he was Mark froze…
and then he did what he always did –
he played the music that he knew and loved.

Mark never made it into the marching-band…
Mark was disappointed to not be able to play
and march in front of his favourite football team –
but he wasn’t sad…
to lift his spirits, Mark’s parents ordered him
a band-uniform all of his own and they told him to
“never stop playing” the music that made him
the most happy and the music he had always known…
Mark’s parents told him to go out in his uniform,
with his drum, and “fill the world” with his music
that to them was like no other –
and that is exactly what Mark did:
he went out…
he walked down the main street
of his home town’s most busiest road…
he stopped people and traffic
to a stand-still everywhere he went…
and as he played he knew
that because of his music
he would always be remembered
as the boy, and later the man,
who would always be known as
“The Drummer”.

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My Poem ‘Click’

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

You know that moment
when you have got so much to say,
but you don’t know how to say it;
you know that time
when it feels like your mind and your body
feel like they are stuck in cement;
you know that instant
when your mind goes blank
and you just forget something you knew
only a day or so ago,
but now it has seemingly disappeared into the ether;
you know that sensation of déjà vu
that comes over you
that completely convinces you
that you are reliving something over;
you know that story that you hear about
that you read that accurately
which completely describes you and your life,
as if you were the one who wrote it for you to read;
you know how magical it is to see something grow
into something big and amazing
that once started out as a small and simple seed.

Some “thank yous” don’t follow
immediately after a favourable deed has taken place –
it can take some time, and a flash of realisation,
to understand what a moment truly means and what it meant;
some people are truly unforgettable
and you constantly see echoes of their face;
some people mean more than other people,
and that is why they can come to mean to you
as if they were more like family than friends.

What makes something “great”,
what makes something “the best”,
what makes something “special”,
what makes something stand out,
is indefinable –
however it is individualistically natural;
when something goes and “feels right”
it feels like nothing else of Earth
and like you have been blessed.

It feels great when you find your rhythm;
it feels fantastic when you find your number one;
it feels awe-inspiring to come face to face
with a real-life legend that has an air
and a mystery to them like a myth;
it feels like a true miracle
when everything goes as it supposed to
and you see, hear, and feel
that undeniable ‘click’.

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 ‘Sweetness & Light’

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

As the sweet taste of maple syrup
touches my lips,
as the sunlight streams in
through the window,
as the first shot of caffeine of my day
starts to hit,
as my mind races faster
than you could know,
as the world that I see gets started,
as the inspiration unfurls,
as life dances to the rhythm of a brand new party,
as the spiral of clouds begin to swirl;
I do my thing, I write my words;
I listen to my music and I want to sing;
I go into my zone, and I imagine a hopeful world;
I look, I see, I remember, I think,
I strut, I write poetry,
I feel like I am being carried on the wind like a feather;
I close my eyes; I fantasize;
I take another electric and stimulating sip of my drink;
I feel comfortable, I feel at ease,
I feel in control, I feel like the world
is racing towards me at full-speed;
as long as I am on the open road I cannot ever stop;
as long as I continue to believe,
I know anything can happen;
as long as I hope for happiness,
I will taste sweetness;
as long as I have the future in front of me,
I will continue to breath;
as long as I know what to do,
I will continue to follow the pattern;
as long as the world is bright,
I will continue to race towards the light.