writing

My Poem ‘You’re going to need a bigger bookcase’

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

It all starts when you are a kid:
a book here, a book there…
a book for Christmas?
a book for your birthday?
a book that you borrow
from your local library?
and then, before you know it
you are reading a book a week,
you are day-dreaming
and imagining stories of your own…
and then every afternoon
after you get home from school
you are writing short-stories
inspired by who and what you have read…
and every night you embark
on new adventures of every kind
from the comfort of your bed.

When you first fall in love with stories,
literature, tales, myths, books,
characters and journeys…
when you first fall down the rabbit-hole
with Alice all the way to Wonderland,
or when you first get carried away
by the tornado with Dorothy all the way to Oz,
or perhaps when you first follow
the adventures of Frodo and the Fellowship of the Ring
and you feel with each and every-one of them
and you come to understand what it is like
to carry a heavy burden,
or perhaps when you travel
to a magical-land and you encounter
heroes, lords, witches, and a beautiful girl
who is also a fallen-star
which you find in the Neil Gaiman’s world of Stardust…
there is no telling what will happen to you,
what you will imagine, and where you will go next –
going on a roller-coaster of emotions while reading a book
that you just can’t put down is the best!

Some people simply do not have the time
or the inclination to pick up a book
and let it begin to build bridges
within their mind and imagination
to places that are simply inaccessible
unless you follow the words,
the sentences, the chapters,
the pages, and the characters of a book
from one cover to another…
some people read fast, some people read slow –
however, I have always thought
that the best kind of books
require time and patience to be given to them
so that they can truly reveal their secrets.

Some people are just not ‘book-people’,
and then again their are some people
who truly marvel at everything about books:
the way their printed,
the language that they are written in,
and even the beautiful artwork of the cover…
some people only own one book…
some people own physical books,
some people own ebooks –
I might be biased, but I don’t think anything
could ever compare to the feeling,
the pages, and even the smell
of a real and physical book.

I would advise anyone to start with one book
and to fall in love with it slowly –
because reading should always be
a pleasure and not a race;
however, in no time at all,
that one book may turn into one of many…
and then you may be enviably forced
to consider an apparent and glaring possibility:
you’re going to need a bigger bookcase.

My Poem ‘Poet’s Fire’

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

There have always been poets…
there has always been poetry…
there have always been optimists…
there has always been a fire
of inspiration and curiosity,
even before the first apple
was picked from the tree of knowledge…
there will always be mysteries…
there will always be love…
there have always been those
who have sought out answers to questions
from one kind of divine being
or another over the many centuries…
there has always been sources of light –
both internal and external,
both within a person’s heart
or in the sky above.

A poet is like a mirror,
poetry is like a reflection…
a poet is who brings out
the emotions from within,
poetry is the spell
of a linguistic-magician.

Children paint poetic pictures
with their fingertips…
adults can emote poetry
with their eyes…
children read poetry
in the actions of their friends
and they hear poetry
from the lips of their parents…
both adults and children
inspire poetry all the time –
enough to make someone smile,
or enough to make someone cry.

Many flames make a burning furnace…
many words make a world…
many memories make a life…
many things make us feel inspired…
many experiences only poetry can make sense…
many forms of literature
can also be a life-saving cure…
many poetic dreams are born
under starlit night-skies…
many every-day influences
keep alive the light, the heat,
the flames, the energy,
and the poetry of a poet’s fire.

My Poem ‘Recreation’

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

The morning sun feels good…
the morning coffee is just what I need…
the mornings that I get to sit,
to look, to listen, to breath,
and to enjoy every moment of being alive
are the ones that I love…
the mornings that start a day
of reading, of writing, of watching,
and of inspiration, make me happy –
especially when the days preceding
have been cloudy, grey, and wet –
and when you have that freedom
to do what you want to do,
it is like inhaling a invigorating
lung-full of fresh-air
that makes your heart beat fast
and your thoughts optimistic,
beautiful, and clear.

Those with commitments
seldom have the time, or the opportunity,
to do things for themselves, alone…
those who live the most hectic
and chaotic of lives
dream in their spare-time
of something simple,
but yet amazing and special:
like reading a book…
driving in their car…
playing a musical instrument…
singing, as if they are in the shower…
or taking the time to walk through a garden
and smelling the intoxicating perfume of a rose.

No matter what you do, no matter who you are,
it is very important to sometimes
do something just for you –
sometimes it is good for you
to go somewhere new
that you have never been before…
sometimes you don’t have to travel a long way
to find what you are looking for,
because every place that is within our grasp
can contain the magical light of a million stars.

Recreation – any time that we spend
doing something that gives us a feeling
of contentment and satisfaction
is a wonderful gateway, and getaway destination –
like a welcome oasis that you find
in the middle of an arid desert…
what we do for relaxation –
what we do that doesn’t take much effort,
but which has the power to transport us
in our mind to a perfect, idyllic,
blissful-setting that we usually
only imagine seeing in the environments
that we visit in our dreams –
is the potent cure for any kind
of stress that we may feel…
and that is why we should all
make the time to truly do something
for nothing and no one else
other than for pleasure and recreation.

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’

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

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’

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

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’

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

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’

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

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.