writer

My Poem ‘Board Life’

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

Backpack on their back,
baseball cap on back-to-front,
wearing a black hooded-sweatshirt,
skating, standing, talking with one-another-
young, like-minded, boys and girls;
young, similarly-dressed, men and women-
weaving quickly and easily
through the city streets and paths,
getting from place to place,
enjoying themselves, laughing, joking,
smiling, having fun,
jumping, chasing, doing tricks,
doing whatever they want,
and going where they want to go,
by board and by foot,
nothing seems to slow them down-
they are all doing something that they genuinely love.

Seeing so many people with the same interest,
wearing nearly the same colour and design and style of clothing,
I have a momentary flashback to when I was a kid:
when I too had my own skateboard.
I didn’t take skateboarding as seriously as some of my friends did,
but I do remember loving the experience of learning to keep my balance,
changing direction, and when going fast
learning the art of knowing how not to fall.
I didn’t go far on my skateboard,
I probably only went up and down my road,
or maybe around the black;
I didn’t ride around with other skateboarders,
or do too many tricks, or flicks,
and I never felt the sensation of being weightless for a few seconds
after skating down a ramp and going ‘over the top’.

To be a skateboarder, you can be anybody, you can be from anywhere,
and you can speak with any accent,
and still share a common tongue,
with your fellow ‘boarders that doesn’t need to be explained;
to be a skateboarder,
there isn’t a particular code that you have to live by;
to be a skateboarder, you can be yourself,
as well as being a member of a club
in which everyone is one and the same;
to be a skateboarder, means never to have a day
when you think that you have a bored life,
because you are free to go anywhere –
because you live a ‘board life’.

My Poem ‘Dreams’

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

Dreams are where we live our second life,
and where we live out our thoughts and wishes;
dreams are the alternate reality
where anything you want to happen can happen
without consequence;
dreams are where we live out our fantasies,
and share hidden kisses;
dreams are where we can go anywhere we can imagine –
into a possible future that you hope will come true,
or the memory of a school trip that you had
to the south of France;
dreams can seem more real than reality,
and can feel like a more desirable place to live;
dreams can seem to last for days,
when you are deeply involved in the constantly changing
and evolving dream creation of another world;
dreams can seem like heaven,
depending on whom you are dreaming you are with;
dreams can seem strange, weird,
too good and fantastic to ever be true,
and wonderfully absurd-
however, dreams are as necessary to life
when we are asleep as oxygen is to us when we are awake;
dreams can be a cure, a therapy, what we need to stay alive,
but also a medicine that can be hard for us to take.

The dreams that we have when we are a child
are the best dreams that we will have in our lives-
especially the good ones;
the dreams that we have when we are an adult
are sometimes mostly filled with worry
and things that we constantly have
floating on the surface of our mind;
the dreams that we have when we are in another country,
or in a wonderful but unfamiliar place,
on holiday, are free of angst and expectation,
and are dreams of pure unbounded imagination;
the dreams that we have after meeting someone new
are as beautiful as what the world must be imagined like
to someone who has for their entire life been completely blind.

I have had hopeful dreams;
I have had beautiful dreams;
I have had dreams in which I have met people
I have wanted to meet since I was young.
I have had nightmares;
I have had bad dreams that have brought me face to face
with the source of all my fears.
I have had imaginary encounters that even to this day
I still remember having,
because they still continue to be more important to me
than to others they might seem.
In my mind, at night,
I have been able to rewrite the times when I was wrong;
I have dreamed of things that I do not clearly remember
in great detail the morning after,
but I have awoken in tears.
I have always been fascinated by the power of inspiration
and the infinite capacity of both the conscious mind,
and the unconscious mind, and I love remembering
and finding the answer to a riddle
played out before me in real life,
of something I once saw, felt, and did in my dreams.

My Poem ‘The Eternal Boy’

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

What I think is one of the most amazing things
about being a child, is that when you are a child
you have no filter;
I personally think that despite their lack of words
and vocabulary, a child is an incredible and terrific communicator.
A child is the perfect communicator,
because they never stop asking questions,
and they always have an answer or an expression for everything;
a child will say anything, cry, laugh, dance, and sing,
without any feeling of embarrassment
or thought of doing anything wrong;
a child acts and bounces around in every way
like a coiled spring;
a child feels their most joyous and free
when they are testing the limits of what they are told.

I sometimes feel like Peter Pan,
like the boy who never grew up;
I sometimes feel like I am fighting against those in life
whom do not understand me, and whom would choose
to silence me and subdue my creativity,
and keep me from flying among the clouds in my own world –
my own personal Captain Hook.
Imagination is the key,
and something that people as they grow older forget that they have;
imagination and freedom of expression
is what we are all born with.

Growing up doesn’t mean losing yourself;
growing older doesn’t mean changing your child-like disposition;
growing physically doesn’t mean forgetting the awe of magic
that you can have even as an adult;
growing emotionally doesn’t mean cutting short
your journey of wonder expedition.

There are things that not even what happens to us in life
can change or erase;
there are things that cannot be found unless you look;
there are things that are forever crystallized
on the expressions of everybody’s face;
there are things that you just can’t stop or stub;
there is a spark of life and pure happiness
that stays with you from when we are a child,
and a reminder to us all that we should
never completely grow up.

My Poem ‘The Muses’

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

The muses visit me early in the morning;
the muses tuck me in bed last thing at night;
the muses bring alive to me a painted drawing;
the muses make me smile after learning something
I never knew before with sheer delight;
the muses come to me when I am having a shower;
the muses sit next to me
when I am watching a film at the cinema;
the muses listen to my thoughts and talk back to me
through my imagination for hours;
the muses sit facing me
and whisper to me when I am having my dinner.

The muses sit around the table with me
when I am in Starbucks having a coffee;
the muses ride along with me on the train;
the muses are guiding me and picking out interesting finds
every time I walk and look around a bookstore,
and even before I read any of the books
they are already talking to me;
the muses are always a close fellow passenger
whenever I fly on a plane.

The muses helped write, helped produce,
and they also perform and they sing
on every one of my favourite songs;
the muses influenced the creation, the sculpture,
the inspiration of every piece of art;
the muses have kept people motivated
when they are on a journey that is sometimes confusing and long;
the muses will keep the stars in the sky shining
at the end of time, as they have done from the very start.

The muses introduce themselves to children from the day they are born;
the muses walk, talk, and show us things when we dream;
the muses can go anywhere they want
and do not believe in restrictions, borders, walls, or laws;
the muses are more ubiquitous than you would believe.

The muses see all of time and space
and they understand every bit of it;
the muses were the universe’s first poets;
the muses are known for their quick humour
and their lightning-fast and incredibly creative wit;
the muses sometimes even take the form of animals and pets.

The muses never sleep;
the muses are always on the move;
the muses never have to stop and eat;
the muses are always at the front of every line
and never have to cue.

The muses are whom everyone consciously or unconsciously daily uses;
the muses are why everyone closes their eyes and then chooses;
the muses are whom no one refuses;
the muses are all-powerful, all-knowledgeable,
all seeing, all doing –
so if you ever want to know something,
or if you ever want to ask something,
24 hours a day,
ask the muses.

My Poem ‘My Space’

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

Some people find it hard to find their place;
some people thrive and are their most happy
when they are in their own space;
some people need total quiet to concentrate
and to work efficiently;
some people can work anywhere,
no matter the noise they are surrounded by –
some writers and artists like creating
in the sanctuary of their office or studio,
while others can easily write a thousand words
while sitting at a table in the middle of a busy cafe.

Some people feel at home on a beach;
some people feel at their best
when they are with someone somewhere that they can teach;
some people feel alive when they are behind the wheel of car;
some people feel their most comfortable
when they are sitting on their sofa watching films in the dark.

My place, my space, varies from day to day;
my face, my tastes, change as frequently as the weather;
my thoughts, my interests,can seem as if
I am choosing from an inspiration buffet;
when my stories, my worries, are the furthest thing from my mind,
the ease that which I move through the world
can seem as light, and as unbounded,
as that of the flight of a feather.

My life has been shaken up so many times,
I would almost call the answers to the questions
that I pose to myself about life
as insightful and meaningful as that of a Magic 8-ball;
my observations about the world
often feel like I am either celebrating, critiquing,
admonishing, or marveling in wonder
at the state of the human race;
instincts can sometimes feel to me
like I am talking and listening in
on a seven billion person conference call.

My natural way of being, acting,
feeling, breathing, seeing, thinking,
and the place where I find the deepest of meaning
and inspiration, is when I know that I have arrived
where I always know that this is my base,
and the infinite frontier that is my space.

My Poem ‘Fortune Cookie’

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

It is amazing how motivating a single word can be;
it is phenomenal seeing how powerful a message can resonate;
it is a thing of beauty to see someone reciprocating
the meaning of a single line of poetry;
it is unbelievable how much love a single poem can create.

People are like an onion of infinite layers;
life is like a game with an infinite number of players;
people have a sometimes untapped infinite capacity for adaptability;
life is a balance of bliss and tragedy.

We are all fascinated by the future
and about what has not yet happened;
we are all hopeful that life will work out the way we want it to;
we are all an influence on a friend;
we are all in need of something or someone
to hint, guide, help, and give us a realization about something
that we might want to do.

It would be helpful to have a crystal ball
to gaze into every morning to see what the day has in store;
it would be brilliant if you could tune in to a channel
on your television or radio, and replay everything you saw,
said, and heard, from the day before;
it would be a dream come true to read your future in a newspaper,
and see all the things that you have to look forward to;
it would be god-like and something omniscient
to be able to look into someone’s eyes, and read their mind,
and know instantly what someone is thinking about you.

I believe that there are subtle, sometimes blatant,
signs and messages from the universe,
and from the future, flashing right in front of us,
saying: ‘look here’, or ‘this way’;
I believe that when you find your groove and your way
things will fall into place and make sense,
and you will be set for life,
if you are curious, attentive, and lucky;
I believe that something that feels natural can never go away;
I believe that everything is intentional,
and I also believe that you should take notice and think a lot
about what and who speaks to you –
even if that message comes in the form of a fortune
that you find when you break open a fortune cookie.

My Poem ‘The Light Fantastic’

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

The world is dark at night;
when there are clouds above
everything can seem grey;
within peoples’ heart’s
there is always light;
stars shining constantly
reveal more to life, more to us,
more than the sun of a spring day.

Every day I look far,
and hope appears;
every day I see patterns of stars,
and my imagination jumps light-years;
every day I look for a fire to sit in front of
and gaze longingly at,
and I witness the birth of a new spark;
every day I realize I have something
that some might say: ‘I would give anything for that’,
and for good, or ill, I get a sense
as to how I have lived, how I live, how I make my mark,
how I have given my heart right from the start.

Bridges are built every day;
most of us have the gift of choice;
technology has paved a new way;
everybody is now discovering that they have always had a voice;
people are learning more;
everybody is becoming savvy in multiple ways of interactivity;
people are talking to each other like never before;
we all feel, sometimes, as if we have backstage passes,
when we can see and reach out to people we idolize –
like a well-known artist or celebrity.

We can all literally find ourselves
with stars in our eyes anytime we want;
we can all take a trip to anywhere;
we can all feel triumphant
when we see the fruits of our commitment,
we can all go to the places where angels and demons
no longer fear to tread;
we can all make dreams real and tangible;
we can all be romantic, pragmatic,
dynamic, classic, terrific, or act wonderfully melodramatic;
we can all be radical, casual, natural, fanciful;
we can all be the one who searches for, lives for,
has, and is, what makes the light of life fantastic.

My Poem ‘Mixtape’

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

Your life is a mixtape;
what you hear from day to day
is mostly familiar, but not the same;
people become important to you,
things are necessary to you,
and like songs that you have brought together,
and have connected and made a part of you,
they are always on continuous-play
inside you and around you,
as a matter of fate and not by mistake.

People often ask why a particular song
is among your favourite songs,
and why you regularly play it over and over –
but, most of the time, at least for me,
the reason why I love a song so much,
is because the words and the music get inside me,
move me, make me smile, make me cry,
and are a reflection of my thoughts, feelings, and emotions,
that in relation to what I am thinking about
at a given moment lie far deeper.

I have been making and remaking,
recording and rerecording mixtapes since I was a kid.
Mixtapes are fun to make, because they can be made up of anything.
Having a wide and eclectic taste in songs, music,
artists, singers, and bands,
means having a mixtape that is better,
more magic, more engrossing, and more epic;
having many differing, special, varied,
voices, lyrics, sounds, and instruments, to listen to,
and fill your ears, your mind, your consciousness,
is like going on a journey every time
to a different time, to a different place,
to a different state of being,
that can be emotional, exciting, breathtaking, and amazing.

Pressing play on a playlist,
and listening whether in order or randomly to songs you know,
expect to find, anticipate, look forward to,
and some you may have forgotten about,
is like putting you own ear to your chest
and hearing your heart beating,
and every time reliving something you have always felt.

For some of us, that one collection of songs
is the only way we can get through
what we have to go though on any given day;
for some of us, we could not live without our favourite songs
that we constantly replay from our own mixtape.

My Poem ‘The Dissimulation of Birds’

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

Have you ever walked past a hedge,
or a bush, a nest, or a tree,
and heard the tweets, the chirping,
the calls, the teachering of birds
being all that you can hear;
have you ever had a bird come up close to you,
and not for a second show and signs
of agitation, or fear;
have you ever seen a murmuration of starlings at dusk,
and been awestruck by the immense number, speed,
and constantly changing shapes it makes;
have you ever come face to beak
with a raven from the Tower of London,
and been so astonished by it and its interest in you
that you can’t and don’t want to look away.

The life of birds happens right along-side
the life of everything else on Earth,
independently, but occasionally overlaps;
the life of birds, the society of birds,
is self-sustaining, and it is an existence
that is at-one with nature and the seasons of Earth;
the life of birds requires impeccable memory,
instincts, and spatial orientation,
and a geographical blue-print in the form
of an incredible, second to none, internal map;
the life of birds is knowing
not just the distinct language of your own species
and recognizing it at a moments call,
but also knowing the voice of another class of bird,
and their potential intentions from a single chirp.

At dawn is when you will hear,
but not necessarily see, the majority of songbirds
that sing in chorus with one-another,
to make the most of the magical and beautiful sounds –
hearing the natural and amazing voice and melody,
while seeing the spectacular phenomena of a sunrise,
is a divine and wonderful experience that always astounds.

Different birds have different nests,
and every birds learns in time how to build a home
and a bed for themselves and for their mate and offspring;
different birds live different lives –
some regularly migrate to different
and recurring places and countries,
some stay the whole time in the country they first fledged,
and return to the same nests where they hatched, time after time.

Birds, as a collective species,
are one of the most intelligent and highly-evolved
forms of life on our planet;
birds have so many gifts to be envied –
I have always been fascinated by their freedom to go anywhere
with the miracle that they have of instantaneous flight;
I am convinced that birds convey more between themselves
than anybody in any language of humanity could ever convey in words.
If you ever want to see an incredible and beautiful thing
that speaks to our own need for independence
and interdependence you will see, hear, feel,
experience something special in a flock, a murder, a cloud,
a flight, a convocation, a charm, a congregation,
a watch, a dissimulation of birds.

My Poem ‘The Shard of Hope’

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

London called, and I replied;
London is like a beautiful city from another world,
and the whole time I am there
I feel like I am on a magical ride.

I have always been drawn to inspiring places –
that is why I love going to cities,
because they are filled with so much energy, life,
and a myriad of interesting, fascinating,
fascinated, voices and faces.

London is something else, though,
and like another unbelievable city, New York City,
London is a hive of intense and magnetic activity.

Riding the Underground,
feeling the beating vibe,
while walking and traveling overground –
whether on the tube,
or going from place to place on the city streets –
London takes you and shows you things
you have been imagining and have seen in your mind
in all there grand and epic scales,
and around every corner, or on the skyline,
there is a constant gallery of treats.

Standing outside the gates of Buckingham Palace;
being next to the Houses of Parliament
when Big Ben struck two;
bowing my head while facing the Poppy-wreath flooded Cenotaph,
and remembering the fallen in silence,
as countless people walk past;
crossing Tower Bridge, and marveling at everything about it –
from the sandy colour of it’s castle-like towers,
to its suspensions of white and blue.

The biggest thrill,
and the sudden appearance that wowed me and struck me the most,
was the towering and phenomenal sight of The Shard
shooting up to the sky,
as I was standing outside the London Bridge tube station –
I truly could not believe my eyes;
when I saw it, and every time I could,
I took a chance to look at it,
and be completely lost in instances of fixation,
adoration, and gravitation.

When I reached the Tower of London,
and when I walked around its high walls,
and finally reached the place where the final pieces
of a memorial of red ceramic poppies remained to be seen
and marveled at,
I felt that I had reached the end
of my amazing London journey of discovery;
however, I also knew in my heart that that wasn’t just that.

I came to a realization, as I was looking at the sun setting
behind the city skyscrapers on the other side of the River Thames;
and as I looked at the majestic Shard against the blue and golden sky,
I knew that this time was both a beginning and end:
I realized that London, Great Britain, my home,
was, is, has been, will always be,
one of the most beautiful, gleaming, and timeless, jewels of Earth,
and one of the most important beacons of acceptance
and greatness on the globe;
I realized that London, and our world itself,
is a constant spark in the dark of the universe,
and a powerful shard of hope.

IMG_20141125_173344