writer

My Poem ‘The Traveler’

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

Rising with the sun
to feel the cold morning air;
opening wide
to see the clear brand new day;
traveling like a bullet
on a train without a care,
I want to go everywhere and see everything,
and nothing can stop me or get in my way.

I have always been a traveler;
I have always been on the move;
I have always loved traveling far –
overground, underground,
or almost touching the atmosphere;
I have always rode the roller coaster of youth.

The unknown has never scared me;
outer-space has always been a draw;
where I have never been before
is where I have written my most meaningful poetry;
seeing as much of our beautiful Earth as I can
and being inspired by life is my call.

Every day is a new day;
every life is beautiful in its own way;
every time I embark on a new adventure,
I want all my senses to rocket away;
every moment that eclipses everything from before
are the moments that matter the most,
and it is within those moments that you always want to stay.

Traveling is in my blood;
pilgrimages are a daily ritual that I always entertain and enjoy;
seeing something new, and wanting to go that one step beyond,
is something I would do for a living, if I could;
methods of transportation take me to places
where my dreams can become reality.
Like a man transitioning from a boy,
and an airplane flight growing out of a life-long fascination
with flying toys.

Giving someone, especially a child,
a compass, a path, a hunger, an enthusiasm,
to get out there and to see what is out there,
is something that they will never forget,
and will always compel and never deter.
There is always a reason to be a risk taker, an adventurer –
because everyone can be a traveler.

My Poem ‘A World of Difference’

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

Today I gave money to a homeless person;
today I gave a smile to someone
who really looked like they needed it;
today I offered to help someone;
today I bought a gift for someone, and it felt good;
today I thought about a friend,
and I silently gave them my love;
today I wrote a poem;
today I hoped that one day no one
would ever have to want for anything,
and that we all would honestly be able to say
that we have enough;
today I marveled at the spirit of generosity
that I felt in the air;
today I watched the sunrise,
and I am about to watch the sunset;
today I had a conversation with a random stranger
in a music store about vinyl albums,
and about how music sounds better
when it is played on a record player;
today I am thankful for what I have,
and not for what I don’t have –
because it is important to remember
sometimes that we are one person,
of one life, on one planet,
and one act of thanks and gratitude
can make a world of difference.

My Poem ‘Lucky to be here’

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

Miracles are real.
Survivors are meant to survive.
Some people are strong enough
to withstand the grumbling of a world
without a scratch to feel.

Accidents happen every day in which someone dies;
however, when the same kind of accident reoccurs,
to someone else, they may unbelievably walk away without a scar,
and are able to tell others the tale
of how lucky they are to be alive.

The world can be a dangerous place,
there is no more chaotic and destructive force on Earth
than the Human race;
no one knows why or how long ago
the first domino of serendipity fell,
but the bones, cards, tiles, tickets, and stones,
that connect everything to everything,
still continue to fall,
and who will win at the end of existence’s game
no one can tell.

The reason our solar system formed and emerged
from the gaseous, rocky, and chaotic, cloud,
that orbited around our sun when it was yellow and young,
was not by chance;
the reason that Earth bloomed and became the flower of the planets,
and even gave birth to its own offspring, the moon,
is because the universe itself is in the middle
of a very fast, beautiful, and energetic, dance.

The reason human beings emerged from the ocean,
evolved, multiplied substantially,
and spread themselves around the world,
was because they had to diversify, learn, think, discover, dream,
and want to explore everywhere in order to discover
their defining nature and destiny,
and one day look and travel to the stars above
in order to forge a new link with their celestial cousins;
the reason why we are still here,
the reason why I am writing this,
and the reason you are reading this,
is because it was meant to happen –
and even now, from our actions and choices,
there will be repercussions.

I look up at the duck egg coloured blue sky sometimes,
and I think to myself ‘I have never seen anything more amazing’;
I look out at a sunset at the end of a day,
and I think, sometimes out-loud,
that I have never seen anything more breathtaking and beautiful,
and a sight that is truly worthy of a tear;
I look around at the people in my life,
and I see what connect me and keeps me alive
to enjoy the wonders of everything;
I look at myself, from time to time,
and I remember, as I look into my own eyes,
that I and countless people all around
are here for a reason –
because each of us is incredibly blessed and lucky to be here.

My Poem ‘Warmth’

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

This time of the year
you feel glad for what you have;
this time of the year
the little things mean the most;
this time of the year
some people feel happy,
and some people feel sad;
this time of the year,
for just being still here,
you should pick up a cup or a glass
and make a silent toast.

This time of the year
everyone thinks more;
this time of the year
everyone does more;
this time of the year
some people ask for less,
but give more;
this time of the year
we all need to wrap up more.

This time of the year
you can see smoke rising from country-cottage chimney’s,
and smell burning fires;
this time of the year, in some countries,
they augment their cars with winter tires;
this time of the year
it is wet, cold, and in some places in the world
they are already covered in winter snow;
this time of the year
everyone needs to have conviction and patience wherever they go.

This time of the year
we become more insulated;
this time of the year
we are infinitely more creative;
this time of the year
we write, message people,
and remember family and friends spontaneously;
this time of the year,
if sharing is your favourite art,
then you can give as much as you can shamelessly.

This time of the year
is to each of us what life to us is all about;
this time of the year
is when the days spiral away from us
and seem as if they are a few hours short;
this time of the year
is about realizing life’s wealth;
this time of the year
is about feeling, and giving someone something
to keep them going, hopeful, and warm.

My Poem ‘Eye-Catching’

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

City lights at night;
shining multi-coloured baubles on a Christmas tree;
the sparkle in someone’s look that catches your eye;
flashing billboards and illuminated signs
that are like special-effect explosions from a movie.

Things designed to stand-out;
colours that always elicit an effect;
emotions that flood all your senses
from the instant that they are first felt;
beautiful creations that are perfect.

Birds, animals, insects, fish,
dolphins, mammals, humans,
all have a sense of beauty and attraction
and that can be explicitly seen
when they are attempting to attract the attention of a mate;
everyone and every thing uses a combination of many things –
sound, colour, movement, interest, smell, intuition –
to drive the sense of their opposite sex wild,
like opening up an overwhelming emotional floodgate.

Nature teaches us that nothing happens by accident;
instinct shows us that no matter how strong we are,
or how much we resist,
we can be captured and compelled to do things out of the ordinary;
the shining white moon above teaches us
that depending on the time of the month
even the way we think can be altered,
and in turn certain things can even affect the way we act;
love teaches us that there is nothing else like it
in the entire universe, and its intensity,
depth, feeling, and complexity,
is beyond any psychology or scientific theory.

Emotional attachment is a great and wonderful thing;
a persons reaction to even the sound of music playing
can tell you so many things;
our visual perception reaches into our soul sometimes
and creates a reaction deep within us
that can explode out of us like lava from a volcano,
and it can feel truly amazing.
The way are brains are wired, and what we think,
and what we do with what we see,
all depends on what we find fascinating,
exciting, mesmerizing, and eye-catching.

My Poem ‘Smile’

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

There are smiles to be found,
there are smiles to be seen,
there are smiles of all kinds and all sizes –
a silent smirk, a confident grin,
the exaggerated joy of that of a clown;
there are smiles that gleam,
there are smiles that are among the greatest of life’s prizes.

Many things can make a smile;
many things can be read from a single expression;
many things are a matter of style;
many things matter, however the simplest of things
sometimes leaves the most lasting of impressions.

Many things can make you smile;
many things can amuse us and delight us;
many things can fill us with so many feelings,
and there importance can be as special,
beautiful, and life-changing,
as a journey along the river Nile;
many things that seemingly happen by accident
are those that are the most precious.

Seeing someone smile is a joy in itself;
seeing a smile is good for your health;
seeing a smile is like seeing a ray of sunshine;
seeing a smile is a way to stop time.

Someone beautiful, someone you love,
someone with their own gravitational pull,
someone who shapes your thoughts and expressions-
like the most phenomenally written character of fiction
from your favourite story in your favourite book;
something that even an animal can do;
something that is magical, meaningful, lasting, and versatile;
something that a child doesn’t take long to learn how to do;
something that every day we would all never stop doing,
and if we had to do so it would be a trial –
so make it your mission daily to look for, see,
give yourself, and give another,
a reason to smile.

My Poem ‘World Wide Watcher’

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

The preoccupation of the poet;
the articulation of the artist;
the wonder of the writer;
the drive of authenticity of a director on a movie set;
the character in the cuisine of a chef in their signature dish;
the seascape, the solitude, the sense of serenity,
the smell of salt from the sea water all around,
that you live to inhale every day if you live the life of a sailor.

A poet looks at the world and sees infinite depth,
and the connections that bind everything with everyone
that are always there and have been sustaining nature,
the planets, the stars, the universe,
since the beginning of time;
an artist captures a moment in time and preserves it,
and imbues emotion and feeling into it,
and captures a piece of themselves in their painting,
sketch, sculpture, monument;
a photographer use their camera as if it were a macro-scope,
and they show just how fleeting and precious every moment is,
and that life is like the arc of a rocket –
that twists and turns, before finally leaving the atmosphere –
and is not just a straight-line;
a normal person, living their life from day to day,
who has no philosophical or artistic leaning or orientation,
knows that there are things in life that are important.

Everyone who has sight, feeling –
a sense of change going on around them,
passed them, inside them,
that is a continuum and a state of energy
that could be conceptualized as a constantly-flowing river –
sees, but cannot understand the answer to why life is the way it is,
but who will always be like everybody else:
a fully-fledged, world wide watcher.

My Poem ‘The Lost Notebook’

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

Something just doesn’t feel right;
something about me feels missing;
I have an idea for a poem that I want to write,
but something strange and unlike me has happened:
I don’t have my poetry notebook,
I do not have my pen –
I can feel the creation and formation of a piece of art
beginning to play, inspired by the world around me,
to which I am listening,
but I have no way to make my thoughts real
so that that can be written and read on a page.
I feel like I am in a daze, and I cannot concentrate, or settle down;
I feel like I am without my heart and soul –
a blank page and a lost poet,
wishing more than anything
that he had a blank page in front of him to write upon,
as is always, usually, the way.

I feel like a conductor without an orchestra;
I feel like a driver trying to drive a car
without a steering-wheel;
I feel like a soldier trying to climb an insurmountable wall;
I feel like the landlord of an empty bar;
I feel like the world is a dream and cannot be real;
I feel like I can hear a phone ringing loudly,
but I cannot reach for it to answer its call.

My notebook is special to me.
My notebook is my silent microphone, my inner-megaphone –
the closest thing that I have to a diary;
my notebook is one of many, but it is unique;
my notebook, and my notebooks, have been with me,
and I have lived and experienced things in life,
and I have written on every page of every one
of them every day of every week.

Fear strikes me deep:
‘where is my notebook?’,
‘what has happened to it?’, I ask;
‘did I leave it somewhere?,
‘did someone take it?’ –
I’m sure I brought it with me in my bag?
However, then it hits me,
then I realize and I remember what I did,
what has happened, and where my notebook is:
my notebook is sitting on my bed, in my bedroom,
with my pen on top of it,
waiting for me to open it up to the next blank page
and write some new poetry.

I feel stupid;
I feel foolish;
I feel like an idiot;
I feel like a gasping fish.
I feel like I am in a boat, on a river,
without a paddle, because I left it on the shore behind me;
I feel like I am showing how different I am to everyone
for the first time, and everybody knows that I am not myself,
and as if everyone is all at-once looking at me.

When I finally returned home,
and I opened the door of my bedroom,
I immediately caught a glimpse of my notebook,
and I saw that a ray of light from the sun
was shining through my bedroom window
directly on to the cover;
as soon as I saw it, the frown that I had been wearing
immediately turned into a smile,
and I picked up my notebook with both hands
and I held it as if I were holding in my hands
the face of a lover.

It might sound irrational;
it might sound strange to miss, and to fear losing,
something that to a lot of other people
is just a replaceable book –
but, to me, losing something that is connected to me,
and which I feel like is a part of me, I take incredibly personal.
To me, my poetry is like my child –
and that is why I never want to lose any notebook;
but this is the story of how and when,
I, one day, for a short time, had to live the life of a poet,
with a lost notebook, and no pen.

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My Poem ‘Take Away’

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

Sometimes you just want things fast and quick;
sometimes you can’t wait for what you desire;
sometimes you wonder of yourself:
if you rely so much on something,
does that make you an addict?;
sometimes you just have to have something,
to feel the rush that it gives you –
like passing your hand through the flame of a fire.

Waiting is a test of patience;
deciding on something is usually rudimentary;
anticipation can only fuel
what will be your final pleasurable response;
the arrival of what you crave
is one of the most satisfying sensations there could ever be.

We all know that we should savour every moment;
we all know that a special time cannot ever be repeated;
we all feel a tinge of sadness when an experience is over,
because we know deeply what it meant;
we all miss the years, summers, Christmases,
dreams, friendships, kisses,
and care-free laughs that we had when we were a kid.

Things come, things go;
we all need to be recharged in some way sometimes,
like a solar-powered invention that needs the light of the sun;
we all need to see what nature is always happy to show.
We all need a wave of momentum to carry us through every day;
we all need an idea in our minds to change the way we think,
in even the smallest of ways;
we all need to remold ourselves sometimes,
as if we were made out of clay;
we all sometimes need the instant emotional
and physical take-off that can only be had
from a take away.

My Poem ‘As the song says’

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

I am only ‘Human’;
I live to ‘Imagine’;
In my ‘Imagination’
I have been ‘To the Moon And Back’;
I love intensely, endlessly,
‘Truly, Madly, Deeply’;
I have seen the face of ‘Heaven’;
when I was younger, I used to wish
that I had been ‘Born In The U.S.A.’;
I have stood high above the world
and have been captivated by the awe-inspiring
height I am standing at ‘All Along The Watchtower’;
I would give ‘Anything’ to look at my own reflection
and be the ‘Man In The Mirror’;
I would love it if I could make some moments
last forever, and ‘Stay Another Day’.

My ‘Burning Heart’ has never burned hotter or brighter;
my taste for life is as sweet as ‘Chocolate’;
my best has never been ‘Closer’;
my ‘Human Nature’, my inside-out emotions,
let me feel, see, and allow me to ‘Dance In The Dark’;
my new day feels ‘(Just Like) Starting Over’;
my hope has the power of a ‘Kiss from a Rose’;
my smile lingers;
I love my angel of inspiration,
and I could never ‘Let Her Go’.

The world and I play ‘Mind Games’;
the soundtrack around me makes me ‘Move Like Jagger’;
the world is able, this day and age, to bestow instant ‘Fame’;
nature is able to show you the truth of things,
daily from its ‘Little Black Book’,
and give everyone a dose of ‘Instant Karma’.

I am not just a ‘One Trick Pony’.
I embrace all things with ‘Open Arms’.
I sometimes feel ‘Out of Touch’,
but I always come ‘Back to Life’
when I feel ‘The Power of Love –
and I daily feel like I could run a marathon,
and climb to the top of high steps,
and raise my arms, as if I am ‘Gonna Fly Now’
like ‘Rocky’.
I feel like I know ‘Salvation’ when I ‘Say Something’,
and I sing to the one I love ‘Everything I do, I do it for you’;
as astronauts have silently said while ‘Walking On The Moon’,
as friends have felt ‘Always’, ‘Together’ –
especially those who were alive in the ‘Summer of ’69’;
and I never forget that ‘Life is a highway’,
that ‘True Love Never Dies’,
and that ‘The Best is yet to come’,
while we are all ‘Surrounded’ by the wonder
of a ‘Sky Full of Stars’, like the song says.