universe

My Poem ‘The Light-years’

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

The sun is the herald
of light, energy,
awakening, and growth;
somewhere in the world
and high-above
the star at the heart of our sky
shines and effects all of our lives
more than any of us
could ever possibly know;
light can be a life-inducer;
there are some places on Earth
where because the light is different
time feels almost frozen –
a single day can feel like a year.

Nothing is ever truly stationary;
the universe, the galaxy, Earth,
our world is constantly on the move;
even seemingly empty space
is always full of something –
the mystery of the darkness
the surrounds our perfect jewel of life
too is full of shining clues;
something that happens,
even if it is light-years away,
creates ripples in space and time
that will eventually be there
at the dawn of a future brand new day.

Billions of light-years away,
billions of light-years ago,
the dark space that now exists
between the stars and the planets
was one bright beautiful light;
the universe was smaller,
life was just truly beginning;
anyone and everyone could see
the constant streams of celestial energy flow;
there was only day, there was no night;
every instant was like a constant roller-coaster
of emotions of our many senses,
and you would only have to look at a star
to hear it sing.

The bigger the universe has become,
the more that time and reality
has been pulled and stretched in every direction;
the more that life has splintered
into many from one,
everything has felt as if it were
on the verge of snapping back
because of the almighty galactic tension.

The universe has become infinite,
while life on every planet
has become finite;
as everything becomes a rush,
the more that the time we have
to truly take everything in
becomes even more precious;
there will always be love;
there will always be fear;
there will always be a reminder
that we are one of many
and yet always connected every day
and every night in the sky above;
there will always be something out there
calling to us all with a voice
powerful and capable of traversing
within the blink of an eye
the distance and the time
between every light-year.

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My Poem ‘Percussion’

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

The pitter-patter of raindrops
against a window early in the morning;
the foot-falls of steps
outside your door;
the dial-tone of a phone ringing;
the rumble of a crowd of people
reverberating over a floor.

The sound of drums;
the strike of lightning;
the impact of hand against instrument;
the synchronous movements
and almost-balletic arm accentuation
that make the musical performance of an artist
that much more exciting.

The voice of an instrument
that is brought to life by its player
as it was always meant
to be played and heard is magical –
the tone, the depth,
the range, the indistinguishable
call to rise of emotions
that only they can elicit
and evoke is phenomenal;
like the vocal-cords that vibrate
that allow someone to speak,
the unmistakable beat,
like that of a heart,
is its most effective
when it is allowed
to reach its natural peak.

No two ears hear the same;
no two players share the same gestures,
nor the same emotional connection
to a piece of music;
no two pieces of art
can coexist within the same frame;
every member of the same band
shares the same feeling
of being carried-away
and drifting like a flurry of snowflakes
on the wind.

The music of interaction;
the melody of harmony;
the natural cycle of repetition;
the actions of fluidity;
the language of notes;
the knowledge of keys;
the memory that never leaves;
the gift that comes with ease.

While there is still music playing,
while new songs are still being created,
while there is still the sound of waves crashing,
while new lovers of music are born
and want to become instrumentalists and percussionists,
the world will go on,
the Earth will play on and sing as-one,
the sources of all joy sadness
will continue to drum –
and those fluent in sharing
the music of the spheres of the universe
will want to continue to play
with all their heart the music
and the instruments of percussion.

My Poem ‘Paracosmic’

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

Within all of our minds
we all live in a paracosm of reality;
by mixing the real with the imaginary
we can all see sights beyond imagining;
with our eyes we see,
with our ears we hear,
with our insights and our intuition
we create a map of our universe
that is coloured by the memories
we have made that are all
the more beautiful and amazing
because they are too deep
and too perfect to be in any way
artificially designed.

We all hold the key
to the lock of a doorway
that leads far beyond the stars;
we all fly with a burning tail
that contains the fire of rebirth
like the feathers of a phoenix;
we all can watch people take giant leaps,
and then take epic leaps of our own
and imagine we are the first human on Mars;
we all like that moment in a story
when we reach the point
when the story becomes
about something unexpected entirely
with a wonderful dramatic twist.

Stories have a structure,
life is naturally more organic;
stories have characters
that have defining characteristics,
intentions and motivations,
that tie the beginning and the end together;
life is like an untamed animal,
and like any wild creature –
when you come face to face with it
it never pays to run, blink, or panic.

I can return to my dream-scape, my paracosm,
my imagination mansion of infinite rooms
whenever I close my eyes
or whenever I look at the world
and I see rhyme and reason happening
and dancing with one-another in-tandem;
everybody has a world within themselves
where they can be the monarch of their own kingdom;
to me, fantasy is just reality re-imagined
and transformed as if with the dust of Morpheus
into a dream, a wish, or a prayer;
with our mind we can all envision
a way to solve every and any problem of the world –
and sometimes what starts within us
can manifest and be seen and heard
like a dragon awakening from their lair.

People dive deep below
the surface of reality
into the sea of a story
when something tells them
that there is something about it
that they need to know;
books are self-contained galaxies
that have hidden bridges within them
that link them to each other,
as well as to the future and the past;
the times when the more that we blink,
the more that we think,
and the more that we want to make a moment last –
that is when we run, we fly, we dive, we fall,
and take with us our memories of a time
so that they can live forever within our paracosm,
and always have the power of them
to make us feel paracosmic.

My Poem ‘Celestial’

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

We all wonder
when we look up to the sky
what the veil of black or blue
obscures from view –
whether it is in fact above
that we all go to when we die,
and why it is that a burst of light
and energy from the sun
can have the effect that it does
of making us all feel brand new.

If music is the heart-beat
of everything in the universe,
then poetry in the genetic code
that binds all life together;
if light is the way
that the true beauty of the universe
comes to life,
then love is the dream come true
that we all want to live in a state of forever;
if memory is the way that we can all
travel through time,
then the future is a present
that we haven’t yet unwrapped;
if life is about sharing everything
and is about understanding one-another,
then we can all learn again
to live in harmony with every-thing and everybody –
just as all life once did when the things we did,
the things we said, and the things we built
were made to last.

Every sense, every sensation,
every lens, every emotion
of every miracle of creation,
is more detailed and deeper,
and is yet to be fully revealed
and realized by the celestial secrets’ keeper –
however, even though I believe
that humanity is not yet ready
to know all that there is to know,
I believe that there is life out there
who realized and who discovered
the reason for all things to be
as they are and what they are
not long after the universe was born –
before humanity,
or the sun in the sky, for that matter,
were even the twinkle of a star
in any constellation of light in the dark.

Travelers and explorers of space,
singers and players of an opus,
emissaries and examples of an entire race –
each and every one of us
is meant to be different from one-another;
both drivers and passengers of our own destiny,
each and every individual with a consciousness
and a face that has ever expressed
a feeling from within
that there was more to be found
beyond the four walls of their day-to-day world;
everyone who has ever believed
that they have seen, met, and have been touched
by the divine whom they might think of as an angel,
knows more than they might realize –
and no matter where they come from,
and around what star they start out orbiting…
everyone is a child of life,
and just like a light of heaven,
timeless, unique, and celestial.

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 ‘Music-verse’

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

Before the download,
before the CD,
before the cassette tape,
before the vinyl;
before we were telling
the time of the day by sundial;
before the flute, before the drum;
before anyone ever had any thought
to what music of any kind was,
the music of nature has been playing on repeat –
lyrics, melodies, fast, slow,
deep, epic, uplifting, inspiring,
mystifying, electrifying,
amazing, permeating beats.

Before the first sunrise,
before the first drop of rain,
before the first primordial noise,
before the first feeling of pain,
before the first rumble of thunder,
before the first flash of lightning,
before the first father and mother,
there has been a song being sung
that the universe and all life within
will never stop singing.

The universe itself
and every star of every galaxy
are notes and vibrations
and echoes of light
of a vast and endless symphony;
the universe is like a turntable
and it is always spinning –
however, no matter how fast it is moving
and how fast life is rising and dying,
we all go with the revolution
of the cycle of life,
and we do not ever stop to think
that we should be in any way dizzy.

Humanity has known
that it has been making its own music
from the second that the first man and woman
put their hands up to each others chests
and felt each others hearts beating
and drumming like an earthquake;
humanity has been hearing music
ever since they heard
the first distant roar of a wild animal;
life has been sending out waves
since the creation of the universe,
and Earth is one world of many
where things happen every second
that we would call miracles;
dreams, art, birth, creation,
death by supernova –
the microscopic and the macroscopic events
that have shaped everything,
and which continue to reshape
the observable and the unseen universe,
is the music of all life
of our music-verse.

My Poem ‘My Rock, My Star’

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

You think that I am brilliant;
I think that you are amazing;
you tell me that I am the one that you want;
I tell you that to me you are will always be beautiful,
and every day I cannot get enough
of looking at your gorgeous face
and staring at your dazzling eyes
that to me are constantly sparkling.

I want you to know
that you are my only one;
you want me to know
that you will always love me beyond words;
I need you to know that you are my sun;
you need me to know that I am the only man
in the entire world who you love.

We talk all the time;
we see each other every day;
we think about each other morning, noon, and night;
we are meant to be together
and what we both mean to each other we can only say.

I tell you that I will love you forever;
you tell me that you will always be there for me
and you will never leave me no matter what;
I tell you that we will always be together;
you tell me that there is nothing
that you would not do for me,
and you have always said to me
that you would love me
even if either of us had no money
and if we both had to sleep every night
in a blue and green painted cardboard box.

We two are music lovers;
we two love each other;
we two have never been happier than when we are together;
we two are each others life-saver.

My moon, my gravity,
my fortune, my destiny,
my heart, my soul,
my first, my last,
my universe, my heavenly angel,
my diamond, my gold,
my train of thought,
my eternal compass to know who I am,
my inspiration and muse
who believes in me so much
and who wants me to never give up
or ever stop writing
and leaving my poetic marks;
my breathtaking and life-defining rock,
who rocks my world…
my sunshine, my beautiful star.

My Poem ‘From the top’

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

My time, my days,
often see me surrounded by people
on an infinite, overwhelming,
incalculable, unfathomable scale;
there are days when the thought
of how many billions of people
there are in the world
literally boggles my mind;
the obsessive observer in me
wants to see everything,
and wants to meet everyone,
and sit down with them,
so that they can tell me their tale;
the dominant writer in me
wants to discover and convey
the meaning of the entire universe
and the meaning of life
and wrap it all up in a story,
or a poem, and leave a message
to live and to love life by
for all of mankind.

I cannot help but look out and see more;
I cannot help but listen and hear
a symphonic opus;
I cannot help by feel drawn
in multiple directions,
while still keeping my feet
firmly on the ground –
like a rocket of potential
waiting to launch;
I cannot tell you how much love means to me,
and to me the meaning and the feeling of love
is the most important thing in and of my heart
that I wholly trust.

Most things occur and are where they are
according to a plan;
everyone is defined by their own unique chemistry
that, to some degree, dictate the things in life
they can’t have and the things that,
if they want to, they can have;
knowing what to do and when
is one of the key indefinable instincts
in attaining your dreams;
some things, no matter how simple
they are on the outside,
are not what they seem.

Trillions of stars,
billions of planets,
millions of galaxies,
thousands of possibilities,
hundreds of variations,
tens of directions –
but only one of each of us;
each of us bound,
each of us free,
each of us still connected
genetically to ancestors
and to distant family members
who once spent a great deal of time
thinking, adapting, understanding,
and swinging from the branches of trees.

The farther back in time we go
into the history of Earth,
and the more we read of humanities
relationship with the planet
we are blessed to live on,
we can tell and we can see
the direct effect that we as a species
have had on our environment,
on life, on ourselves,
and the most fundamental fingerprint
of humanity is the ability
to deliver change globally –
both quickly, and slowly,
quietly, and sometimes boldly –
and because change is in our nature,
we sometimes do not know when
or how to stop.

One thing that I have learned about life
is that nothing is predetermined in stone –
but a prosperous and a hopeful future for all
can happen if people work together,
and if hope can be promised, assured,
and delivered every time it is spoken,
or shown by those who in the pyramid of the world
lead from the front as well as from the top.

My Poem ‘Neo’

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

A new day;
a bright blue new sky;
a new breath of fresh air;
a new moment to take in
the exquisiteness of a familiar place;
a bright light;
a time to let the world slow down,
as if you don’t have a care,
and be re-energized
and feel phenomenal
at all the emotions that you go through
when you feel a gust of wind
blow through your hair.

Life is constantly rejuvenating itself;
people are always looking to better themselves;
life is growing; people are becoming;
life is mystifying; people are fascinating.

New music, new art,
new motivations, new starts,
new meals, new deals,
new mirrors, new reflections;
new journeys, new travels,
new energy, new directions;
new expectations, new idols,
new ideas, new styles,
new happy tears.

New life is abundant on Earth every minute,
just as it is every second in the big wide universe;
there is more happening,
and more parts moving into place,
than anyone could ever comprehend;
the unspoken truth is that
for all the grains of sand on a beach,
and all the stars of the night sky,
we know nothing about how everything truly works –
even a theory that could combine
biology, physics, chemistry, and spirituality
could only ever scratch the surface
of the great meaning of the life, the death,
and the rebirth that is happening:
stars and life are being born,
dying, and coming back to life
in new, wonderful and spectacular forms –
some of which are beyond imagining.

New inspiration, new enthusiasm,
new sights, new vision;
the world made anew because of you,
because of life’s constant state
of reconfiguration, disposition,
and re-fusion.
Somethings will new change,
and some things always do;
some people age before their time,
and some people cannot believe
how fast the days and the years
of their life have flew.

Every new day is a new page;
as the world turns,
life and people from any point of view
can see and be given insights of the universe
that will never be old –
because the universe is constantly
remaking itself every second…
just like new.

My Poem ‘Civus mondus’

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

Every country,
every city, every town,
everywhere where people look,
see, listen, hear, sit, stand,
and walk around,
every member of every society
is a part of the whole
as well as an individual;
no matter where on Earth a place is,
it is the people who populate it
and who make somewhere
the place it is known for –
and with those people
there are rituals and archetypes of behavior
that distinguish someone
as a piece of a mosaic of a regional picture.

The place someone chooses to live
is telling of who they are;
the speed at which time and life goes by
is different all over the world;
there is always someone
who stands out from the crowd
of a connected group of people
for a reason, because in some way
they shine like a star;
there is always someone
who at alternating times of the day
leaves you both vocal and lost for words.

Order always rises from chaos;
differences of opinion
always generate a wave of change;
language, fashion, normality,
evolves and shifts and can cause
ground-shaking disturbances
like the Earths moving
and colliding tectonic plates;
peace can follow a prolonged period of rage;
sometimes modern life can feel like a race.

Just as you can’t stop a flood completely,
you cannot ever stop the world from spinning;
just as you can’t stop the rain from falling,
you can’t silence a people and species
who were born and are meant
to use their gifted, miraculous talent
to never stop talking and communicating;
just as long as the sun continues to shine
there will always be blue skies,
the world will never be truly predictable
or ever boring – because
as long as there is a world, a galaxy,
a universe, there will always be for everyone
the gift of something.

Choice is both the problem
and the solution to everything,
as the world continues its conversation
and delegation with itself
to find a mutual and universal understanding;
there will always be cycles of parallels
and juxtapositions;
as long as each and every one of us has a voice
and that voice can have an and every accent,
and can be expressed in any way,
we will all always be worldly
and universal citizen.