wild

My Poem “The Wildest of Dreams”

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

When I was young the world appeared to be
too big for my mind to comprehend…
when I was young I believed that if
I stayed in one place, doing the same thing,
then I could make something
last forever and never end…
when I was young I loved exploring
the world around me and drawing upon
the people around me for love and joy,
and when I needed my nearest and dearest
I was never left disappointed.

When I was young I read books,
I watched TV shows, I marveled at movies,
I listened to music that left such
an impression on me that to this day
every time I hear a certain song
I am instantly spellbound by its magic…
when I was young I imagined
what I would do and who I would become
when I was older, more experienced,
and hopefully a little wiser –
and now that I am older, after having seen
more of the world, and after having met people
from all walks of life all around the world,
on many occasions I have found myself
having moments of clarity, of inspiration
and insight into who each of us are,
how we should treat each other,
and how lucky we are to live
in the here and in the now –
rather than a hundred years before or after.

When I was young I could never
have imagined living in a world
surrounded by and connected to
an invisible web that can make
dreams come true and can be the place
where people go to find everything
and everyone – from a book to a film,
from a friend to a fiancé,
from a kitchen sink to a television,
from a celebrity to a spiritual guru…
when I was young the future seemed far away
and I did not have that much love
for patience, nor poetry –
however, now that I am older,
I realize that the one gift that has
kept me going, kept me dreaming,
and has kept me on the straight and narrow,
is the blessing of growing up with
the cherished abilty to be able
to instantly see the forest through the trees
and believe possibilities beyond
the wildest of all dreams.

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My Poem “The Wolf Moon”

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

As the Wolf Moon rose in the East
and immediately filled the dark night-sky –
just like a werewolf from a horror movie –
as soon as I looked up to the moonlight
I found myself unable to fight, nor deny,
that which I was feeling in that moment:
this instinctive urge
to howl like a wild animal
and let go of who I was, what I was,
where I was, and run off
into the woods and feel
the spirit that I knew was within me
drive me to a moment of transformation
from which there might be no coming back…
I could already perceive my senses
start to become more heightened,
and I swore that I could feel the sensation
of excess hair starting to grow upon my back;
however, then, in the same instant
that I was feeling almost overwhelmed
by my uncontrollable thoughts,
emotions, and racing heart,
as if planned from the start,
I heard in the distance the sound
of a Wolf’s howl and I knew immediately
that this cold January night was when
a fellow creature of the twilight
was calling out to anyone or anything
that had within them the heart,
the spirit, and the strength
that only a Wolf feels and knows
that they must express,
because of the explosion
of undeniable energy within them
that surges below their skin –
and that was what I felt
when the fuse inside me
was immediately ignited
by the sight of the glorious Wolf Moon.

My Poem “Wild at Heart”

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

Everyone is wild at heart…
everyone shows just how wild they are
every time their eyes grow wide, they cry,
and they open their mouth in a scream or in a laugh…
everyone is young at heart…
everyone shows just how youthful, rebellious,
and energetic they can still be –
even if most of the time they feel like
they have to “act their age” and stay in after dark…
everybody always has memories of times in their life
when they were able to act without any fear of boundaries
and allow their body and their mind to run free –
because nobody ever forgets that feeling of liberation,
that unbounded power that is at the centre
of the inner light of glee that rises
like the golden light of the sun
that glistens over the waves of a morning sea…
even within the most serene and tranquil of landscapes
there lies a wild spirit whose heart is always racing…
even within the quietest and the most remote places
of solitude there can be heard a call
that some find invigorating…
ever since I was a child, my mind, my eyes,
my emotions, my drive, the voice within me
that I have drawn my inspiration and my strength from,
has been that of the wolf within me –
however, it wasn’t until I found the soulmate of my dreams
that I realized that I have always been a part of a union
of two halves – one male, one female –
and two souls bound together
because they are one and the same: wild at heart.

My Poem ‘The Fighter’

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

It’s important to fight…
it’s important to never give up…
it’s important to open your eyes
and look towards the light…
it’s important to never forget
who and what has made you…
and, above all-else,
it is important to always have
something and someone within your mind
and in your heart that you love.

You may feel like you have reached
the end of the road…
you may feel like you have arrived
at the end of the world…
you may believe that there is
no longer anything more to be said or wrote –
and then a new day will begin,
the sun rises again,
and you can go from being lost for words
to overflowing with emotion…
and over time the hurt that you feel
from a painful experience that you have been through
you can learn to use as a form of protection
and defense… like a sword.

To surrender, to submit, to sit down motionless
and quiet can seem like the easiest thing to do…
to not make a fuss, to not fight back,
to not stand up from what you believe in,
because you know that your opinion
might be in the minority
can sometimes seem like the best way
most of the time to keep the peace –
however if everybody did that,
if everybody just took everything for granted
and they did not open their eyes fully
and truly saw all the people
and everything that is necessary
and important to know about our planet,
then none of us would ever truly
know ourselves… and we would give up
before we discover why we are all here on Earth,
and where we are supposed to be,
and what we are supposed to do.

In the wild… in the world of the wolverines,
the wolf, the natural predators of the animal-kingdom
of planet Earth that live in the woods,
in the forests, in the air, in the oceans,
in the deserts, in the places where
only the strongest is made, meant, able,
and accustomed to live and survive –
that is where the fittest, the biggest, the toughest,
walk, run, swim, feed, kill or be killed,
and who as a species have learned
over countless generations
that to be a true survivor
in this sometimes wild world
you have to be a fighter.

My Poem ‘Cosmos’

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

There are some absolutely
breathtaking sights…
the vivid, spectral,
ethereal, green, dancing
magnetic field of our planet
that comes alive and creates
the mesmerizing Aurora
of the Northern Lights
above the sea and the mountains
that touch an arctic sky…
there are some incredible
and stunning places that perfectly
exemplify how truly beautiful
the natural world is…
there are some unbelievably
heavenly spaces, and some
other-worldly lands
that still have yet to be
trekked upon by the foot of a human being –
places that encapsulate the meaning
of the word “wild”…
there are some amazing landmarks
of every country, continent, and island,
where people are drawn to
and they would sacrifice anything
to breathe in its air
and take in everything that makes
such a place so special and enthralling…
there are some things that need to be seen
to be believed that they actually exist.

There are places that need to be seen
in the right light so as to truly witness
their magic – at night, when the sky is dark
and the stars burn bright from so far away
all that can be seen from here on Earth
is a shimmering white…
there are songs sung and music to be heard
when we look up and a celestial voice
speaks to us and unlocks
the doors of our imagination…
there are other worlds out there
in the universe teaming with life
of unimaginable forms that dream
dreams of us at night…
there are things that are being born
every second, everywhere,
that are experiencing what it means
to be alive wherever they find themselves,
and they are discovering for the first time
the wonders that flicker in a person’s heart
and eventually become love.

There are moments when knowledge, intellect,
and words just become redundant
when compared to what we see before us…
there are feelings that overwhelm comprehension
and go beyond our instincts that we trust…
there are miracles and wishes
traveling at the speed of thought
to come and answer the calls
of those who feel lost…
there are galactic travelers
voyaging between the stars
that will one day enter our orbit
and who will reveal to us
things that we have never believed possible
but which are ubiquitous
all throughout the cosmos.

My Poem ‘The Wolf of Winter’

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

There is a bite in the air…
the cold wind touches my skin
and sends a shiver down my spine…
the Wolf of Winter is awakening
and leaving its lair…
the Summer months were long
and they were warm –
but, now the howl of the wild
is heralding the re-emergence
and the fresh hunt of what thrives
during the season of Winter-time.

I know this animal very well…
I have been pursued
by the beast of white many times…
I have learned to protect myself
from the force of nature
that can literally get beneath your skin
and chill you to the bone…
I know of people who did not fend-off
the big bad wolf as they were always taught to
and whose spirit unfortunately left their body
as it was overwhelmed and froze them to death
in the place where they lay –
the Wolf of Winter is unrelenting
and has taken many lives;
even as the sun rises on a beautiful golden morning,
the Wolf of Winter walks among us,
and sometimes follows us all the way home.

One of the ways to stave off an attack
from the Wolf of Winter is to keep moving
and to not stay in one place too long –
unless you have a house of thick walls to retreat to
and an unlimited resource of heat;
the Wolf of Winter is just finding their feet
after a period of prolonged slumber –
however, already the Wolf
has caught certain people’s scent
and they are like fresh meat;
the Wolf of Winter can be in many places at-once –
in a snow-covered forest in Switzerland,
on a freezing London street,
atop a mountain in New Zealand;
the Wolf of Winter, like every predator
is both a superior pack-animal
as well as an impressive lone-hunter –
which is why the Wolf of Winter
has lived and endured for as long as it has
and has capably stalked the vast terrain of many lands.

Many fear the Wolf of Winter;
many know the Wolf of Winter is close by
by something as seemingly commonplace as a sneeze;
nobody can truly escape the bitter Alpha -carnivore
who takes their time in deciding
who or what they want to have for dinner;
you can sense the mythical creature of ice
whenever you feel a chill on the Winter breeze;
in a confrontation that happens often
it is not always the same winner who prevails –
you can never truly get the better of a force of nature,
but in my experience if there is one creature
that you should never underestimate
it is the indomitable Wolf of Winter.

My Poem ‘Mr. Traveler’

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

Being above the clouds
is like being a part
of something magical;
seeing the blue above
and the light below,
to me will never stop being
a dream come true;
being bound for somewhere
on the other side of an ocean
is something truly wonderful;
seeing the world from up high
to me is breathtaking –
and when I look out into the distance,
and when I look down to the Earth,
a shape, a face, a thought,
a memory comes to me out of the thin air,
and I feel blessed by the touch of the divine,
and I feel drawn to the destination
I will arrive at soon.

We all travel and we all leave a slip-stream;
those who travel by plane know
that the fastest way to travel
is by catching a ride on a jet-stream;
we all know that thrill that we feel
when we go to somewhere we have never been;
those who have chosen to journey
to the other of a rainbow know
that if you choose to take a leap into the unknown
you may see things that no one but you
will ever get the chance to see.

Astronauts rocket to space every day…
passengers travel to countries every hour…
those blessed with vivid imaginations
dive and fly to and through new worlds of creation
every minute in a infinite number of ways…
every second when every heart of ever human being beats
it is like the constant opening and closing
of the petals of the universe’s most beautiful flower.

I have been flying since I was a child;
I have been to magical lands,
and I have always come afterwards
with an further understanding of the allure
of the call of the wild;
since I was a kid I have been dreaming
about being a space-traveler;
I do not travel far that often –
however, whenever I get the chance to defy gravity
by any means I always jump to it
and I always embrace what it means
and I never take for granted how lucky I am
to be a Traveler.

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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 ‘Heart of a Mustang’

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

When my pen drops to the page
there are times when I have no idea
what I am going to write;
when we take the first steps of many
we often do not know
where the path we will walk will lead,
but we know that what we are doing feels right;
when a moment of spontaneous inspiration hits me
it is often by surprise;
when something is worth doing
it is always worth opening your eyes to do it,
even if the time is a long time before sunrise.

Some things come naturally;
some things come over time;
some things appear as if magically;
some things roll off the tongue
like a memorable riddle or rhyme.

Life is mostly organized these days –
however, there are times
when the world is as wild
as the wild-west of America ever was,
perhaps now even more so;
people are mostly civilized these days –
however, there are times
when there is an imbalance in a society
that shows itself in everything that you see
no matter where you go;
life on our planet
is for the first time in human history
in the hands of those who hold the keys
to the tumblers of wealth and power
that control our destiny;
everyone alive today is spoiled in so many ways –
some people look, but do not see;
some people in need
need only to put their hands together and believe.

Some people strive all their lives
to stand out from the crowd;
some people find it hard to be confined
because their heart was born to beat and stay wild;
some people have the greatest gift –
and that, to me, is their way of being heard by many
without having to be loud;
some people have the remarkable ability
to stay calm and make sense in a split-second
what even the most-learned of person
cannot at first understand;
some people have been hoping and praying
and have never given up on the reality
of having the same thing
that has filled their imagination
since they were a child;
some people who wear the expression
of the quiet and the innocent,
in my experience, are keeping hidden
and tamed deep-inside
the feral heart of a mustang.

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My Poem ‘The Wolverine’

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

They call me ‘The Wolverine’;
as wild on the inside
as I am on the outside;
I am both the dreamer
and the dream;
as strong in body
as I am in mind,
and just like an animal
who lives by their instincts
I live a life pushed to its limits.

I may heal fast, but I never forget;
I may remember the past,
but I am not bound by it;
the world may get dark,
but I can always see a light;
I may not be like a dog with a bark,
but I do have a bite.

I can be both the leader and the follower;
I can be both alone and in a crowd;
I can be both a wanderer and a watcher;
I can be both at home surrounded by nature,
or in the sky far above the clouds.

All wild things have claws;
all fighters sometimes are called to war;
all survivors sometimes have to dig deep;
all who eventually learn how to swim
sometimes have to sink beneath.

Confidence without arrogance;
wise, but still able to listen;
strength without losing breath;
having vision,
but still able to adapt and act
after being struck by inspiration.

The wild one can also be the quiet one;
the person can sometimes be
more dangerous than the weapon;
the vivid can also be the invisible;
the real can sometimes be the most impossible;
the protected can also be the free;
the most extraordinary can accomplish
all that they can imagine,
and there is no one who will ever stop
being who they were meant to be
more so than The Wolverine.