spirit

My Poem ‘Interview with an inspirer’

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

Across a table,
over a mug of tea
or a cup of coffee,
over the years I have sat down,
spoke and communed
with the truly inspirational –
and every ghost of everybody
who has chosen to come
and pass on their wisdom to me
lives on in the words of the verses
within the lines of my poetry.

A long time ago,
William Shakespeare himself,
with quill in hand,
taught me how to write
and how to tap into
the well of inspiration
of my own heart;
only a couple of years ago,
I was sitting in a coffee-shop,
when who do you think it was
who sat across from me?
Why it was the ghost of Vincent van Gogh –
who instilled in me
the importance of every brush-stroke
that we all make, in art and in life,
and to not be afraid to make our marks
that number as many as a sky full of stars;
the white-suited spirit of John Lennon
regularly sits down with his guitar next to me
and inspires me to imagine and to see the world
for how it should be.

Only a few days ago,
I was having a deep and meaningful conversation
with the legendary ‘Starman’ David Bowie;
Amelia Earhart wants me to remind
every man, woman, and child
to never stop overcoming the odds
and reaching for the stars;
Audrey Hepburn has stopped by
to share breakfast with me –
she teaches me every time I see her
that being happy in life is all that matters;
Agatha Christie likes to drink
a cup of hot black-coffee
when sitting down with me
and explaining the importance of a great mystery;
“don’t be afraid to let your mind run wild
when you are writing anything”
was an inspiring piece of advise given to me once
by the author of ‘Frankenstein’, Mary Shelley.

I have been visited many times
by amazing people with epic stories
to tell from and of their lives –
Robin William, RIP, comes by often
to tell me a joke and to give me
the answer to a question
that I did not even know was on my mind;
everybody who sits across from me,
or beside me, talks to me, I believe,
because I listen and because I care deeply,
and perhaps because my imagination
and my heart burns like a fire;
special people never stop having
something to tell you and pass on –
even after death the light of a person’s spirit
lives on, and I am always ready and waiting
if somebody who used to walk the Earth,
but who is now in the after-life,
wants to return to life
through words and through memories
by allowing me to talk and interview
those who will always inspirational
and an eternal inspiring inspirer.

My Poem ‘Forest of Forever’

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

Many years ago now,
in my forest of forever,
I stopped, I stood,
I looked, I dreamed,
I listened to the song
that played as the wind blew
through the trees,
I was alone but surrounded
by ancient spirits –
even though there was no other
man, woman, or child
around to be found,
I knew that I was being visited
by the ghosts of poets
and the muses of fellow dreamers –
it was as if I were communing
with my younger-self,
as well as with my future-self
and the one writing this poem:
the one who sees
and the one who believes
that every thing that happens
happens for a reason.

As I write, as I think back,
as I use the infinite sight,
as I remember all the steps
that I have taken along my path,
I am again in the woods of yesterday
and breathing in the air
and being intoxicated by the smell of pine –
I am again standing in the sunlight,
as if I have managed to leap back in time,
and I remember all that I felt
and all that walked with me
when my poetic gift was still in its infancy,
and I can know and I can remember
things that have not yet happened
but have already happened
that I have been immortalized in my poetry.

I see in my memory a land far-away;
I see the beautiful face of the one person
in the entire who is the true light of my day;
I look in front of me and I see
the man who would be me;
I turn my head and I see a boy
with blond curly-hair
who was once and will always be me;
I see an incomplete circle;
I see an unfinished masterpiece;
I see a continuously ever-changing world;
I see a shadowed version of myself
looking at me from afar
from their vantage-point
from which they can see every incarnation of me.

I cannot hold-on to my flashback for too long
before I flash-forward again;
I continue to write as if all that was
had always been just the words
that I had written by my own hand
with my own pen;
I look out of my bedroom window
and I see a floating white feather
and I am reminded of the falling leaves
that will be always frozen in time
when I return in my mind
to my forest of forever.

My Poem ‘Never-ending’

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

Words that mean so much;
smiles of I love you;
I have someone in my life
with whom I will always trust –
because she is so beautiful,
because she shines so bright,
because for her
there is nothing that I would not do,
because she is my life.

Words can’t say it all;
touch is the only way;
I need to express my timeless love
to my beautiful angel
in every way every day –
because she is all that I see,
because she is the one
with whom I have always felt
shared the same spirit as my own,
because I love her
and she loves me.

Understanding means the most;
bank accounts go up and down;
every day with my soulmate
feels like an endless day
soaking up the sun
on a beach on the gold coast –
because to me my Angel princess
already wears a golden halo
that doubles as a crown.

I had searched the world
for the one who was meant for me,
then one day I followed a star
and came face to face with meant to be –
and when I ran to her
I knew that no matter what
I had to be with her.

Life is like a song;
music can guide your way;
if your heart is true
you cannot ever truly go wrong;
and on that day when you know
beyond any doubt
that the meaning of everything
is the person that you have found,
the beating of two hearts as-one
and in-time is the one and only sound.

I will never stop
loving the one I love;
I will never stop
doing the things that I have always loved –
but the one thing that is my everything
is the love that I share
with the woman who will always be my everything,
because what we have is never-ending.

My Poem ‘The Outer Limits’

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

Ever since the first astronomers of Earth
looked up at the sky to the stars and the planets,
humanity has been asking questions of themselves
about their relevance and about just how rare
and important they are within the universe;
humanity has been searching the galaxy and beyond
for a signal from another galactic inhabitant,
and even to this day there are those
who openly proclaim that because we have not yet
made contact with another form of intelligent life
in the Milky Way that we are the superior species
to be found anywhere, and that Earth is and could only be
the only inhabited world.
When I look above, I can almost hear the call
of a fellow interstellar searcher
and the beating heart of a fellow poet of the stars
being inspired by their muse
and taken away in mind, spirit, and soul,
to their imagination outer-limit.

We here on Earth know only too well
that feeling of awe and intrigue
that we feel when we see photographs
being returned to Earth from man-made probes
of distant worlds – that we have all known about
and heard about, but which have never been seen before;
we all experience sheer breathtaking amazement
whenever something happens above us and around us
that may only happen once in a lifetime;
when we watch a rocket launch,
or when we witness the first footsteps
and impressions made by someone or something
on an unknown and undiscovered brand new land,
we all return to the memory of when we were a child
making an airplane out of folded paper
and watching it be carried on the wind, and sour;
we, I, always go ten steps beyond
when the thought of what and who could be out there,
in the dark, on their own planet, imagining us,
as we imagine them, and what just the knowledge
of each others’ existence would mean
and would do to the thoughts
and to the dreams of the others’ mind.

Every form of life is special and unique;
every planet orbiting around every star
is like the integral and unmissable
musical notes of a galactic symphony
that have their own vibration and sound to them,
that when heard playing with the rest
of the interstellar musical instruments and keys,
as well as on their own, sound nothing short of perfect;
everything that happens in space
is always a spectacle to us all here on Earth,
even if it is the sight of a fly-by by a passing comet.

Being a poet, I naturally look at life
and the universe slightly differently
to how someone else might see it –
however, I believe that everyone can see
inspiring wonders and they can be inspired
to take a trip of discovery
into an exciting new frontier,
and explore the amazing mysteries and questions
that drive us all when and if
we choose to step into the realm
of the outer limits.

My Poem ‘Dreamcatcher’

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

Have you ever awoken in a dream one night,
only later to discover that the dream
that you had awoken from
was really a dream that you were dreaming
in a dream that you were having?
And really you have been asleep the entire time?
And at the moment that you wake up,
the day has already begun,
and you have no idea of what happened,
nor where you have been –
but you feel like you have emerged
and taken a deep breath
after coming to the surface of a vast ocean?

Some of our memories
can be like sandcastles on a beach;
some of our defining thoughts
can be like landmarks;
some of our experiences
can be like mountains that we climb,
and return from, that cannot be attained
nor ever topped again,
and for the rest of our lives
they may feel out of reach;
some of our happiest and joyous moments
can be like a shield and a defense
than can silently protect us from harm.

Dreams can be shared;
dreams can be a legacy;
dreams can be lived in the real world,
as well as while lying in bed;
dreams have a meaning and a language to them
and within them that not that many people
through history have ever been able to interpret
and understand fully –
because no matter how much a dream
can seem to make sense
during and after you are dreaming,
and have dreamed it,
that same dream, and every dream,
continues to live, play out,
and inform your world subtly and incredibly.

When we dream we see with different eyes;
when we do something or go somewhere
in a dream it can be both an echo, and also a prelude;
when we feel something in a dream
we are trying to tell ourselves
that our heart and our feelings
are more sensitive than we may sometimes realize;
when the cover of slumber pulls us under
and we fall under the spell of our own imagination,
we have no control of where we will go,
or what, or whom, will come to us –
and that is why sometimes our dreams
can feel like we have been dreaming for days and nights,
and some dreams can feel like
they should have gone on longer
because they were over too soon.

Our dream-selves can sometimes seem
to be having all the fun that we wish
when we are awake we could have;
our dreams keep imagining every kind of possibility –
which is why they matter;
our dream identities can be triggered
at any time of the day,
even when we are taking a long hot bath;
our dreams can be so amazing
and so fantastic, sometimes,
that they simply need to endure
and never be forgotten –
and that is why, over the centuries,
people have sought to preserve
and keep alive the dreams
that are meant to create ripple-effects
in the underlying life-connecting
consciousness of the world:
by turning them into tales, legends, stories,
and retelling them over and over again –
and the best way of allowing a dream to never die
is to seek out a kindred spirit
and to harness the amazing power of a dreamcatcher.

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My Poem ‘The Umbrella’

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

The greatest escape on a rainy day,
the best cover to tie you over
from the lightning and the thunder;
whenever, wherever, you are
something akin to the sun of a Summer’s day;
a perfect oasis and the most serene place
of peace of mind and spirit;
that which when you hear it playing
is literally music to your ears,
that is personal –
but can also be shared in a different way
with people that you are in constant contact with,
that both stimulates all kinds of emotions and tears –
the thing that is so intrinsic to you
it is almost a part of your soul;
the coat of protection
that helps you brave the winter’s cold.

Like the roots of a tree,
like the canopy of a forest,
like the ground beneath all of our feet,
like the constituents of a bird’s nest,
we all have things above us, below us,
and around us, that ground us,
and that inspire us and amaze us
over and over, and without them
we would not be who we want to be,
and we would not be blessed with life’s
invisible, natural, but always present, poetry.

When the rain stops falling,
when the clouds part
and the sun shines again,
when life emerges from where it has been hiding,
as the writers continue to drive
the swirls and the course
of the ink of their pens,
when the Earth settles
and a brand new set of ripple effects
echo throughout the world,
like raindrops falling on the water of a pond,
when new experiences and new thoughts
accentuate and strengthen already deep-seated bonds,
when you need a shelter to wait for a break in the weather…
take out, unveil, open again,
that which has always served to be your refuge
and your constant umbrella.

My Poem ‘Fallen Friend’

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

A fallen friend, a fallen star,
a friendship that will never end,
a familiar face to be remembered
always as if they were still by your side
as well as always in your heart.

We meet so many people in our lives,
but the special ones we remember forever;
we make so many friends,
but there are only a small group
to whom our fate and their fate
will always be tied together.

It’s hard to say goodbye to a friend –
especially when their spirit
can still be felt, heard,
and seen where we always remember them being;
it means everything to never forget someone,
and it is comforting to always believe
that one day you will see them again;
it’s hard to put into words
what someone truly means to us
and what about them we always found amazing;
it always hurts to think that a friend of yours
had to endure a time in their life
that caused them such pain.

To recall a shared memory,
to say a silent prayer,
to light a candle,
to say goodbye,
to never forget,
to believe that they who we have lost
we be looking over us
as long we continue to remember them.
Earth angels and heroes never die,
nor do great fighters who keep fighting
until the bitter end…
so, to all the dearly departed,
this poem is for you,
this poem is for all of our
indomitable and special
never to be forgotten
fallen friends.

My Poem ‘Artistscope’

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

When you have a gift
you need to show it;
when you have a natural talent
you need to share it;
when you have a personality
that is wonderful and magnetic
you need to let your light shine;
when you look at life
and you are instantly attracted
to its amazing wonders,
especially if you are an artist,
then you need to capture
those miracles of the world
and of your imagination
and give them everlasting life.

Artists are the most amazing,
phenomenal, sensitive, wonderful
and expressive people you will ever meet,
and every time I make a connection
with a fellow artist I become inspired
just by seeing, sensing,
and touching their spirit;
some people understand art,
and some people don’t –
but one of the most incredible gifts
of an artist is their exceptional power
to distinctively emote;
there are artists living
on every continent on Earth,
and every one has their own
unique style and way
of expressing themselves through their art,
and every artist’s art is always influenced
and infused by what surrounds them
and the studio that is also their home.

You can watch an artist
make art wherever you are;
you can see the passion, the love,
the heart of an artist who creates
masterpieces one after another,
like the awesome LA artist Amanda Oleander,
thousands of miles away
thanks to the instantaneous technology
of the 21st century;
you can be witness to an immersive,
profound and defining moment for you
and for an artist and give them a part of you
and be with them in spirit
every second of every day of the week –
from Monday to Sunday.

Art is not bound by time,
nor are it’s artists;
art is happening 24-hours a day,
7 days a week, 365 days a year,
and art in so many of its forms
can make you smile, inspire your dreams,
make you feel something you have never felt,
and it can bring you to tears.
I feel blessed to have known
and to have met artists from all walks of life,
from all around the world,
who truly inspire me every day
with the amazing things that they were born to do;
I look to my fellow artists
when I want to see and feel empowered with hope;
art can and will always change the world,
and if you are not an artist
and you want to bring the most spectacular
rainbow of colour into your life
seek out an artist and prepare to be amazed
and awestruck by what you see
when you look through their artistic periscope.

My Poem ‘Energy’

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

The life-giving light
and heat of the sun
that fills us all with energy,
zest, and drive –
like a solar-powered battery;
the rush of adrenaline
that courses through our veins
and gives us the stamina
and the vigor to keep going;
the inspiration that writes itself
in verses of poetry;
the motivation that keeps
the constant creation of new ideas flowing.

Energy can be felt;
energy can be sensed;
energy can be our richest source of wealth;
energy cannot be fenced;
energy has a spirit;
energy never dies;
energy has no true limit;
energy is everywhere –
it is abundant first thing in the morning at sunrise,
it can be seen when snow is falling silently at night;
energy can turn into tears
and can be tasted when someone cries.

Love is the energy of the gods and the heavens;
light is the energy of the stars;
memory and magic is the energy that enchants
an entire life and gives nature
and the universe its essence;
imagination is the energy that allows us
to travel to different worlds
and imagine the human race one day
living on another planet,
perhaps even Mars.

Our thoughts create waves
in the ocean of energy
that connects every shore on Earth;
our emotions can change
our entire perspective of life;
our relationships with people and things
are constantly changing, evolving,
and are in different stages of rebirth –
even when the sun is in the sky,
it can sometimes be hard to realize
if it is in fact day or whether it is night.

Energy comes in many forms;
hope is the energy
that is always ringing my doorbell,
and knocking at my front-door;
the energy of purpose,
the feeling of belonging,
the source and the muse of the artist,
can grow to become as important
as the blood being pumped
by your heart around your body;
wherever you go, wherever you look,
whatever you instantly ‘just know’,
whatever you touch,
is a fountain, a volcano,
and is like a magnet
that is constantly drawing people and life to it,
that is like a lightning-rod
and a furnace of unbelievable
and incredible energy.

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