writing

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 ‘Nomad’

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

You may see me passing by…
you may see me sitting at a table,
looking out of a window…
you may see me writing away
into a notebook with a smile on my face…
you may see me stop what I am doing,
look up, and make a sigh…
you may see me and mistakenly think
that I am alone…
you may see me, you may think you know me –
however, while you are looking at me,
I am somewhere else:
I could be imagining that I am a gunslinger
in the old-west of America,
or an astronaut on a star-ship
travelling and on my way
to exploring the wonders
that I imagine there is to be found
in the outer-reaches of deep-space.

I love to wander…
I love to go somewhere I have never been…
I love to explore…
I love to see things I have never seen…
you can’t beat family,
familiarity, and being home –
but, there is so much to be found
when you venture into the unknown.

By now, traveling is in my blood…
having lived a life since I was born
of unbounded-freedom,
it is natural for me to want to leap
into whatever sky I see when I look above…
every road you travel down
as a traveler is different –
some are smooth, some can be rough…
imagining the infinite possibilities of existence
has always been an exciting past-time of mine
that I will always love.

Some might say I am brave…
some might say I am crazy…
some might say I am mad –
however, I don’t think I am brave,
and I don’t think I am crazy…
but, if I was asked to describe myself in words,
I guess I would have to describe myself
as an always inspired nomadic writer.

My Poem ‘The Rogue One’

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They walk alone…
they walk a line…
it has never interested them
to be one of a crowd…
it has never been a dream of theirs
to be like everybody else…
they don’t need much in their life,
except their family and their loves-ones…
they don’t think like everyone else
around them – they never have, they never will –
because they are not supposed to…
like most people, they are content
doing what they love to do
in the place where they always feel
the most comfortable and content…
they don’t need to be constantly moving on
to the thing that is the most new…
they learn from the events of the past…
they have hope for the future –
but, more than anything,
they try to live and breath,
to embrace and to be inspired
by everything and every moment
that is their present…
most of the time they swim alone
through the ocean of life,
like a Great White…
everyday they are like a ghost-writer
writing a silent story…
every time they see people
wearing clothes and walking around
to the same beat, and just swimming along
with other people who all look exactly alike,
they sometimes feel like they are surrounded
by an army of clones…
when they see people taking advantage
of other people, they feel like
they want to explode…
they, like many others, have never believed
in the idea of an undefeatable-enemy…
the force of life teaches us all
that sometimes things change –
and when they do, after which,
nothing will ever be the same…
life is like a song, a story, a play,
a movie, a poem – it has a beginning,
it has a middle, it has an end…
however, unlike a story
with a deliberate structure of acts,
life and plans can change
their form by the second…
life is a cycle –
and it begins and it ends at the same place,
and in that way we are all characters
and pieces on the board
of the most epic of all board-games…
they are a patient person…
they have seen what happens to those
who do not listen to their instincts
before they leap into something
without even a thought –
but, they know that
there are times when you have to
let your heart be your guide,
and you need to close your eyes,
and take a running-jump…
because life is about finding balance –
most of the time it is not about
being the best at something,
or being the one with the loudest voice,
or the biggest gun –
to them, we are all a part of this world
to be our parents’ daughter or son…
to be uniquely ourselves…
to be one of the “rogue ones”.

My Poem ‘The Passion of The Poet’

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Love… blood… passion…
an explosion, an eruption…
an over-flow of emotion…
the feeling, the energy… the electricity…
the fast-breathing, the heart-beating…
the unstoppable flow of rejuvenation…
lovers tap into it… writers write with it…
musicians use it… artists create with it…
we were all made from birth in its image…
an excitement… an enlightenment…
a wish-fulfillment…
an enjoyment and a freeing of spirit…
a belief… a faith…
a way to feel as if you are both flying
at the same time that you are sinking
beneath an ocean of crashing waves –
a timeless moment… a connection beyond touch…
a vibration like the strings
of some kind of cosmic-instrument…
an addictive rush… an unquestionable
recognizable look in the eye…
the expression on the face…
the language of the body –
the unbounded physicality…
the spark… the fire…
the unquestionable desire…
when I am writing, when I am composing a new poem –
I know it straight away,
and I know where it comes from,
because I have seen its face so many times,
but some days it is like
the kiss of an angel on my cheek
and others it is like I have been hit
squarely between the eyes by a bull…
it’s like jumping into the sea off of a pier…
it feels magical, incredible –
and just trying to describe
what I am feeling in my heart
just makes me feel it more and more…
a true expression of your heart’s desire,
when done without hesitation,
can only lead you in one direction…
when you just stop,
and listen, and you hear
that voice of inspiration,
there is only one thing
that can possibly follow:
love… blood… passion.

My Poem ‘The Afternoon Moon’

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The ghostly image of the moon
still hangs in the sky
when the clock strikes noon –
and even two hours later
the moon is still there
in a cloudless sky
as blue, as beautiful, and as clear
as the world as seen through a tear…
the moon is on my left,
the sun is on my right…
the country air smells fresh…
the green fields below me
glow so bright under the sunlight,
and just being where I am
and seeing what I do feels so nice…
for the next three days,
at the same time of the day,
the moon lingered in the daylight sky –
one side covered in shadow,
and the other side a misty-white –
and every time I see it
I smile and I wonder
why I could see it so clearly,
even though it wasn’t night…
being an eternal-optimist
and a hopeful-romantic,
I saw the appearance of the moon
in the afternoon
as a sign of dreams coming true
and of good things on the horizon…
only time will tell what the moon
being out so early, or so late, means –
perhaps it does not mean
anything of importance at all…
however, I believe that things happen for a reason…
I believe that the universe gives us what we ask for…
I do not need to see the Earth spinning in space
to know that the world is always on the move…
I believe new things reveal themselves
during the changing of the seasons…
I believe every new day is a new door…
I believe there is a purpose
for every-thing and every-one…
just as I believe that I have been seeing
a sign of something every day
that I have looked up at the sky
in the afternoon and I have seen the moon.

My Poem ‘Radio’

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

Sometimes, some days,
I feel like a radio…
sometimes, some days,
inspiration is ready and waiting
for me to wake up –
even first thing in the morning
when I look out my bedroom window
and I see the light of the sun…
sometimes, some days, it takes me a minute
to receive and to re-tune to the right frequency –
to the universal station of inspiration
that I always listen to…
sometimes, some days, I need to download
an update to my internal, poetic,
biological operating-system,
and think in a way that I have never thought before,
and seek-out a higher-power with a question
of something that I do not yet know.

Sometimes I need to be in the right place…
sometimes I need to be in the right mood…
sometimes I need to be thinking the right thoughts,
or seeing the right face…
sometimes, to get the best and the strongest
inspiration-signal, I need to focus…
I need to close my eyes…
I need to go within myself
and touch the source of my soul…
I need to let my daydreams free
and use my gifts to turn them into words…
sometimes, when I am writing,
it is like I am solving a mystery
by following and piecing-together
a string of clues.

I write, and I express myself, noticeably differently
depending on the time of the year, the time of the day,
and the time that I spend somewhere…
sometimes what I write, and where it comes from,
is just as much of a surprise to me
as it is to those who read what I write –
sometimes I can honestly say
where a piece of inspiration comes from,
and sometimes I just don’t know…
the art of writing is first learning how to listen –
and, to me, music is a vital source of inspiration
that is beyond-compare…
sometimes, before you can give,
you first need to receive –
and sometimes the best way to do that
is to do what I do,
and to think like a radio.

My Poem ‘The Lightning Conductor’

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Life is an epic symphony…
life has a melody and a rhythm,
and a reason to be…
life is a series of rises and falls…
life has an air to it –
sometimes there is blue-sky and sunshine,
sometimes there are clouds, rain, thunder-storms…
life, in all its forms, is a work-in-progress
masterpiece, written, imagined, interpreted,
and conducted by a thunderous
and powerful conductor.

All things were created to work
in-concert with one-another –
but sometimes what that means
and how to put that message into practice
is interpreted in many different ways,
by many different people all over the world,
and it has been for all the centuries
of human existence;
everybody and every-one
are all individual players
of the same orchestra –
each playing their individual instruments
that they are gifted to play
and are destined to use
to both speak and listen;
all music has a composer –
it is not accidental that a musician
comes up with a sound, brings it to life,
and then they play it for all the world to hear;
every artist gifted in imagining inspiration,
visually or in an auditory-form,
is doing something that when it reaches
its true-potential can leave somebody
breathless, speechless,
captivated, and in-awe.

It was once thought that only the gods
of myth and legend could call-upon
and harness the forces of nature
and bend them to their will –
however, in my experience,
there are more forces of nature
than most people can name,
because in times gone by
“magic” was the word used
to describe some of these forces,
because they do not conform
with nature’s laws;
I am here to set the record straight,
and to say that lightning, energy,
sunlight, electricity, inspiration,
is not just a gift sent to us from the heavens –
I know this, because I feel, I touch, I live,
I interpret, I thrive, and I am kept alive
by a life-force that instantly strikes me
over and over again,
and every time it changes me a little,
and when it does I conduct my own movements
and I give others a reason to go on a journey
that they may never have thought to take before…
as I compose my own music,
while playing the music of the divine maestro,
and while being conducted
by life’s lightning conductor.

My Poem ‘Somnabulists’

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

Sometimes when we fall asleep,
as we cross the threshold into dreams,
we instantly wake up…
most of the time,
when we recall what ran through our mind
over the course of the night before
we remember the middle and the end of a dream,
but not the start…
some people live out their hopes
and some people live out their fears
when they walk the streets
of the world of forty-winks…
for some people dreaming of another place
and another time is a welcome escape…
some dreams dreamed are a nightmare
from beginning to end,
while others you want to continue having
for the rest of your life
because they are filled
with so much that you love…
dreamers draw on so much when they dream –
from their life, from their soul,
from their senses, from the joys, and from the sadness
that everybody has within their heart…
learning how to dream
and learning how to live
and breath within a dream
is harder to achieve than some might think…
when we dream, we submit…
when we dream, we let go…
when we dream we all become
a part of the universes oldest myth…
when we dream we give up our control
over our own mind and our own
imagination-engine and we allow
our thoughts and our secrets
to merge into one and just flow –
like a waterfall, like a river,
adding to the infinite depth that has no end,
that often spills out into the waking-world
and is sometimes caught by a camera-lens…
everybody dreams differently, at different times,
and sometimes in different colours…
everybody sees the physical world
and the dream-world from a different perspective,
and their dreams reflect that…
every animal, every bird,
every angel, every man, woman, boy, and girl,
learn vital lessons and they confront
internal manifestations
of real-world obstacles and desires –
and that is at the centre
of dreaming and dreams,
and it is what gives dreams their power…
our dreams are our place
to filter through our thoughts and our memories,
and sometimes the steps that we take
within a dream our physical body
re-enacts in the real-world –
and when that happens,
in both dreams and in life,
we all become sleepwalkers.

My Poem ‘Poetic Mead’

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

Poetry…
the sun is shining,
I am waiting for the world to inspire to me…
there is a fire burning inside me…
the air outside is cold,
but it doesn’t bother me…
I am like a bird flying high and free…
I am finding truth in every mythology…
I write what comes to me…
when I write I sometimes like
to go to places I have never been
and live dangerously…
to me, possibility is the lock
and imagination is the key…
I rise my pen to the sky
and I wait for the lightning to strike
like Thor’s hammer and empower me…
what I do was once hard,
but now it comes naturally…
every day is a chapter in my life-long story…
I will be writing and dreaming
until the end of my life and until my last heart-beat…
I am constantly creating new tales in my mind
even when I am sound asleep…
when I can walk the Earth and see its true beauty
I see and I feel things that to others
might seem small and insignificant –
but it is the briefest of moments in a given day
that mean the most to me…
giving people hope in any way
is somewhat of an obsession for me…
I get great joy from creating
and from leaving a legacy of words
for others to follow behind me…
actions and thoughts creates ripples in reality…
believe in whatever makes you happy…
follow my lead and make an offering
to the gods whose tales live on
and have traveled to the sky above,
over land, and even below the sea…
make a toast to the Norse god Odin,
the god of poetry…
take a seat, and help yourself to some poetic mead.

My Poem ‘Background Artist’

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I am in the foreground of every landscape…
I am in the background of every picture…
I am in the orchestra that plays
the music of the spheres throughout interstellar-space…
I am interwoven into the language of the universe –
and yet too few ever see me…
not everyone knows how to look me in the eye…
not everyone can read the true meaning of my poetry…
no one knows what I have seen,
where I have been,
and what I have done already in my life.

There is only so much you can say with words…
there is only so many colours of a palette to paint with…
there is only so many moments in this world…
there is only so much you can give –
unless you know what to say and how to say it,
and you are in one of the places in the world
where language becomes as transformative as magic…
timing is everything – however,
if you know what, where, and how to say,
see, hear, and feel everything,
then you can realize anything into being.

A thing’s most defining feature lies just out of sight…
life’s most hidden mysteries
are only a blink away from being seen…
the content of a person’s heart and their soul
echoes around them and casts a shadow behind them
when they are standing in front of a bright light…
a dream can be a reality, just as reality can be a dream.

Doors rarely open for long…
opportunities sometimes only knock once…
bursts of inspiration can be so short…
time does not wait for us to catch up to it…
the world turns without pause –
but if we can find a place of peace and belonging
wherever we are, then we can never be lost…
there is something to be found, even in an empty room…
if we just learn to hold on to hope
and use what power and energy is has
then things have a way of jumping out at us,
like a baby deer running through a forest…
what you see is just one dimension of the whole…
just behind who and what you see,
I am standing there, looking, smiling,
imagining, writing, inspiring from afar…
I am constantly seen, and then missed –
but I am always where I am supposed to be,
doing what I was born to do:
an optimistic, poetic, omnipresent,
background artist.