thought

My Poem “Pool of Contemplation”

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

As I sit looking at the ripples
upon this pool that I have been
familiar with since I was a child,
I contemplate so much about what I know,
about what I don’t know,
about what has happened, about life,
and about what will happen
when all is said and done
and when the world feels like it has been
put back together after such a long
period of feeling as is if
the seams that held everything together
were beginning to become undone.

I know this place…
I have stared into this water
more times than I can remember…
I have a connection to this place…
I once sat down and painted this very pond
long ago when I was a child –
and then, just as now, I felt compelled
to see and to find shimmering
sources of inspiration, of connection,
of that something about nature
that feels indefinable, magical,
wonderful, and phenomenal.

There has always been something
calming to me about staring
into a pool of water…
there has always been something
ethereal about the thought of
what may be found within the depths
a puddle, a pool, a pond, a river,
a sea, an ocean –
beyond the surface, below the waves –
where nobody can venture to
without external oxygen
or without an imagination,
to explore things that have
a life of their own,
where things remain unseen
until they are explored,
and where things which always
spark into life
the fire of inspiration:
things that I always find
whenever I look
into a pool of reflection
and contemplation.

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My Poem “Be Thrifty”

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

There are times of the year,
especially around Christmas time,
when you have got to think about
the likes, the needs, the wishes,
and the feelings of
more than one person simultaneously,
when you have to think about
what would be the perfect gift
to buy somebody in order to demonstrate
how much someone means to you,
when you have got to take advantage
of every given situation and offer
in order to be shrewd with what you
have to spend –
which is why so many people
flock out the door on days
like “Black Friday” and they go
from store to store in order
to find something that is being
advertised at being sold
at a fraction of the price
that they normally are.

The stores around Christmas time
are always full of people trying
to see, to pick up, and to purchase
what they have in mind,
what is on the list that they may have made,
or what they subliminally feel
compelled to buy in some way.

Christmas shopping is never easy –
in fact it gets harder to do every year;
however, I personally have always
enjoyed the process of putting
a great deal of thought
into who I am going to buy a gift for,
but sometimes I find new things
that I have not seen before
and when I do I have learned
the hard way that if you see something
that you have never seen before
which fits perfectly into
the mold in your mind
that pertains to someone that you know
you need to get it while you can
because their is always someone
right behind you who will
not hesitate to make the most
of the opportunity to walk away
with your original find and thought.

When Christmas shopping
you really do need to start early,
you need to take your time,
and you steadily need to
build up an instinct and a biography
about what a particular person
whom you know may have mentioned
in passing, subconsciously hoping
that someone would take note –
so my advice for anybody like me
who is currently in the process
of buying presents for family members,
less than a month before Christmas,
is to start now, to make a physical
or a mental lists before hand
that you can refer back to,
and of course to be quick,
to be thoughtful, to be calm,
and when possible to be thrifty.

My Poem ‘A Novel Idea’

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

The search for new ideas,
for an artist, is a life-long thing…
the journey towards creating something
new and one of a kind
is like living a dream…
my own personal search and journey
started deep within my soul,
and my heart, my gift,
and my love of inspiration and writing
has taken me high and it has taken me far…
a phrase, a name, a thought, an emotion,
a smile, can be the beginning
and all the spark I need
to start the flames of a fire
that may lead to a picture I draw,
or a poem, or a short-story,
that I may write –
and then it is in the hands
of a force of nature
as to where I will go and what I will say,
and to what heights and depths
I will climb and explore.

Writing a poem, to me, is like
walking in the English countryside
on a sunny Summer afternoon –
inspiration and words flow easily
and unobstructed, and my thoughts
feel energized and wild…
I could write an entire poem
about how the clouds
move against the blue-sky, and how I feel –
or, perhaps, a musing about life,
the world, people, and why we all choose
in life what we choose;
but, when it comes to writing a story –
that is where the true challenge lies,
and where the true inspiration fulfillment awaits…
writing a short-story, to me,
is a true adventure that I never plan
or know too much about at the beginning –
which grows and constantly reshapes itself,
and can sometimes find
a new identity for itself day-by-day.

A word, a title – to me they could be a poem,
to me they could be a short-story…
and then, when it starts to find its feet more,
so to speak, and it begins to run-away with itself,
it can start to become something else –
and when that happens, as a writer and as an artist,
you have to keep going, you have to keep writing,
and do not stop and do not feel any trepidation, or fear…
because, everything that happens,
and everything that inspires every writer,
happens and inspires us for a reason…
there is no way of knowing where to go,
what to do, or if what you are writing is any good
or could be enjoyable to another person’s eyes,
imagination, sensibilities, or taste,
until you sit down, and you write,
and you embrace all that follows you
in the wake of you having
your novel idea.

My Poem ‘Survivor Instinct’

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

Once the mist has lifted,
once the dust has settled,
once a new day begins
and the dark clouds have drifted,
and the frozen time has melted,
once the sunlight breaks through
and showers to the ground,
once people find a way to say something
to fill the void of silence
once again with sound,
once everybody no longer feels guilty
for showing a smile –
everybody can learn to accept and to move on
without constantly living every hour in denial.

Some people do not blink,
some people do not know,
some people do not think,
some people care so much
that even the thought
of something tragic
happening to someone else
anywhere in the world
feels like they are
carrying a heavy load.

There are people
who would do anything
and would give anything
to someone who was in need
more than them;
there are people
who get up out of bed
hoping to help someone in some way;
there are people
who feel a need to give to charity
in the form of a donation;
there are people
who live their life
with a constant open hand
to anyone and everyone every day.

Heroes are all around us;
angels walk among us;
where there is dark you can find light;
you never know when someone
is going to safe your life.

When something is happening far away from you
it is easy to convince yourself
that it isn’t happening;
when someone is hurting
and you don’t know them
it is easy to switch off
from the image of them
as if the memory of them
was a creation of your imagining;
when you see something happening
and you know that you can do something to help,
when you believe that you can be a light
to guide someone out of a living hell,
when you see a chain
and you would give anything
to be that necessary missing link,
then do what feels the most natural to you
and use all that you feel
when you turn on your survivor instinct.

My Poem ‘Inter-dimensional’

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

The fast moving clouds above my head
remind me yet again
that the world is constantly in motion;
the slowly decreasing volume of coffee
in my coffee cup reminds me perfectly
that everything has an end;
hearing and seeing people
conversing with others
reminds me every time
that language is like
an audibly addictive stimulus
for communicating stories,
memories, and emotions;
reading the last words of an author
is like celebrating and saying goodbye
to an old friend.

Life goes on;
heaven exists;
everybody is someone;
sometimes life is like walking through a mist;
there are worlds beyond the horizon;
there are universes where everything
and anything is possible;
there are dimensions
that stretch to infinity beyond this one;
there is life elsewhere
that is as abundant and beautiful
and as magical to behold as sea-coral.

When you are staring at a painting
you can feel like you are being drawn into it;
when you are reading a story
you can imagine yourself
as the character that you are reading about;
when you are listening to your favourite songs
you can feel every note and every word
as if there a part of you,
and you understand all that they mean
and all that they meant;
when you are watching life unfold
and real-life events take place right in front of you,
sometimes reality can be more real
than any version of anything
that our minds would ever be capable of constructing.

Some people never leave the city, the country,
the mindset of the place where they are born –
while others take flight at the first opportunity
to follow their dreams;
some people miss their calling to great things –
while others are just great at everything
and in anything that they do in life,
however some people sometimes need
to be shown what a miracle they are
and what acts of magic
they are daily witnessed performing;
some people find peace and solace
when traveling inwards;
some people find release
the more that they explore outwards;
some people go far
without having to physically travel;
some people are capable of so much
and they are so gifted in so many ways
that when they do travel to when and to where
it is always inter-dimensional.

My Poem ‘The Thinker’

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

I am often observed
“lost in thought”,
and staring into space;
if you were to follow my eye-line
and believe that I were looking at nothing,
I am afraid that you would be wrong –
because, secretly, quietly, tantalizingly,
I am looking at the world,
and seeing everything:
the nature of life,
the order in the chaos;
and, as always,
what I see is constantly changing,
and the universe is always inspiring.

I sometimes forget where I am;
I sometimes lose all track of time;
I sometimes can be so enraptured
in the writing of a new poem,
that my heart-heat slows –
however I feel completely fine,
because I am in a maelstrom of fascination,
and I know that I could not stop writing
even if I wanted to,
because I am surfing like a pro
on a wave of inspiration.

Human consciousness, Human thought,
Human focus, Human art,
is our greatest gift
and our most wonderful achievement,
as a race and as a species:
we are thinkers, and believers of things;
in our own unique way, in my opinion,
no two people could ever think exactly the same –
even if they shared a link
that was telepathic, or empathic –
because we all live in different existences of degrees;
I do, however, believe that,
no matter how different we are from each other,
we are all bound together in infinite ways –
every action, every thought, every emotion,
creates it’s own interactive and universal tidal-wave.

Thinking as deeply and intensely as I do
is a wonderful gift to be able to unfurl
and wrap myself up in;
and, in turn, I do see some things
as questions that needs answers –
however, I would rather be who I am,
than someone who does not realize
the power that they have between their ears –
and that is why I am glad,
and that is why I am content,
to continue to be thought of as a writer,
and most importantly as a thinker.

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My Poem ‘Voilà!’

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

Have you ever thought about something,
and then there it was?
Have you ever thought about someone,
and then there they were?
Have you ever asked a question,
and then got an answer?
Have you ever seen something,
and thought to yourself:
“nothing could ever be better than this”?

I have always liked
the magic of the “spur of the moment”;
I have always loved
the illusionist’s favourite trick
of “now you see me, now you don’t”;
I have always longed
to be a man of surprise;
I have always made the most of every moment
that has filled my eyes.

The gift to spontaneously create something
is unbelievably amazing, to me;
the ability to be able
to make something out of practically nothing,
is like a verse right out of nature’s
magic book of poetry;
the imagination that shows itself in a piece of art,
is as phenomenal to see and to witness
as the expression of a random thought.

A magician would not be as entrancing
if he did not have the most amazing sense of timing;
a chef would not be the best they could be
if they did not know, and have an instinct,
about what ingredients go with what;
a musician with a natural talent
might need to the learn the art of refinement,
however they do not need to go through
too much intense training;
a true creative person
can do anything with whatever they have got.

I have seen the most amazing sights
when I had no expectation of seeing anything exciting;
I have heard a piece of music that has moved me –
from the strings being played by a stranger,
who plays as if they were born
holding and plucking the cords of a guitar;
I have felt enlightenment
that felt like being struck by lightning;
I have had my own moments of reveal;
and I love being there whenever there is an instance
when someone can show their magic,
and have their moment of voilà!

My Poem ‘Bless You’

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

Saying “bless you” when someone sneezes;
holding a door open for someone;
saying “thank you”, saying please;
doing and making simple acts of kindness
and thoughtfulness that do not cost a thing
are wonderful things,
and to someone in need of a smile,
or of a bit of happiness,
you can make a person’s day that much more positive
and not as bad – especially if they are having a day
in which they are feeling down and glum.
Giving a stranger a song that you love to listen to;
giving a friend an idea they have been looking for for days;
giving a few minutes of you time to talk to someone,
and to listen to someone;
giving a couple of pounds to someone who asks you for it,
and who looks like they need it,
and not asking why they need it,
but giving what you have so that they can use it
to have what they want.
A thought, a touch, a smile, a look,
a light, a shade, a promise,
assistance in finding a way;
giving advice, giving someone tips,
saving a life, telling someone that you give a spit;
saying “I’m sorry”;
opening up about your own worries and troubles;
being there for someone when everything that could happen
has happened and seems to have all come
at once for someone, like a funnel;
telling someone that you love them;
doing something for someone out of the blue;
lending someone a pen;
giving someone a glance in their direction,
and a second thought of their health and happiness,
by saying when they sneeze “bless you”.

My Poem ‘The Volunteer’

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

Giving blood; giving life;
giving food; giving time;
giving heart; giving insight;
giving a smile that makes someone laugh;
giving someone something
that you know they will like.

Making an effort; creating an effect;
making people look; creating a self-sustaining project;
making a plan; creating a solution;
making someone a fan; creating a revolution.

Believing in a cause; taking the initiative;
saying just what someone needs to hear
to find a hidden and important door;
seeing the truth of the world:
that everything is relative.

Acting for the benefit of others;
thinking first about the future;
treating a stranger like a sister or a brother;
being the one who will do what needs to be done
to keep things going and people together.

A true volunteer has a heart the size of the Grand Canyon;
a true volunteer is someone who instantly replies to a request
and an S.O.S. for help with a loud and resounding YES!;
a true volunteer does not think too much
about what will happen to themselves,
because they are too busy thinking about others
and about quieting the tears of fears;
a true volunteer is a person who wants what is best
for all of humanity-
and that is what makes them the great, amazing, true,
wonderful, world-changing, indispensable,
and vital, volunteer.