writing

My Poem ‘The World of My Stories’

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

A person’s life is filled with different characters;
a person’s world is filled with many horizons;
a person’s life can be organized and thought of
as like a book of interconnected chapters;
a person’s view of the world changes over time
as they live, experience, and grow older –
and, from my perspective, I am so glad
for the life that I have had and still have,
because my life is a trove of golden-moments
and a limitless garden of inspirational memories
and musings that thrive and infuse
the palette of my writing,
because there is so much in abundance.

Just as every solar-system has a star at its centre,
the world of my poetry and stories too has a sun
that it revolves around and gives it gravity
and keeps it spinning;
just as every planet has a combination of gases
that make up its atmosphere,
the world where my ideas are born from
has all that is needed to keep my internal world
alive and its creations breathing, living, and evolving.

Worlds are built over time
and of many components and ingredients;
over a life-time, and while writing a story,
there is a constant preoccupation
to find truth, sense, and balance;
some worlds can be vast, and some worlds can be small –
expanding and contracting, depending on a person’s
state of mind and their environment;
over time we all collect many things in many ways –
however, it isn’t until you start thinking about
writing a story of your own that you realize
that even the smallest of things
can be among that which is the most important.

Usually, the idea for a new story comes to me like a dream;
for the most part, what a story will be about
when I am writing one all depends and is centered upon
something I have felt or something I have seen;
when I first begin writing a story
it is like I am learning to walk again
and not worrying too much about or counting my steps;
when I get into a story and I have fully found my footing
and I know where my story is going
it is then that I race towards its ending
without fear of losing my breath.

I love writing stories –
however, to me, writing a story
is like running a marathon;
to me writing poetry is like going on a sprint
through the green and blue world of my head –
and it is while writing poetry
that I get to let my imagination go wild,
and I get to sometimes write what I see;
writing a story is like creating and making
something that to you is a labour of time and love;
I am a writer, and more than anything I love to write –
however, I sometimes feel like to describe
what I see when I look within
there could never be enough words,
and it is then that I wish I could find a way
to show people what lies within me
and take them on a tour
around the world of my stories.

My Poem ‘As it comes’

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

Every day when the sun rises,
every day when we greet
the brand new day in our own way,
every day when the thought of something
in particular hypnotizes –
every day, no matter what dark clouds
may hover above our heads,
it is important for each and every one of us
to hold our heads up-high
and say to ourselves that we will get through
whatever we face and make the best of our lives,
come what may.

If there were no mysteries
then there would be no questions;
if there were no questions
then there would be no potential for adventure;
if there were no adventure
then there would be no wonderful
experiences and life-lessons;
if there were no new experiences to be had
and new lessons to be learned
then our lives would not be as they are –
our lives would be a life in a day,
and there would not be a constant time-machine
that allows us all for limited times a day
to jump from the present to the past
and from the past to the future, et cetera…

Everything changes in life –
it should, and it must;
everything came from something –
we, the Earth, the stars, the galaxy,
all came from the stuff of stars and cosmic dust;
everything and everybody starts small
and then grows towards the light of their potential;
everything only happens once –
the universe does not repeat itself often,
and no matter the similarities that can be found,
even throughout nature,
one thing I know for sure
is that the world we know
and the world behind the invisible curtain
that surrounds us all can only be the way it is
because of those who are exceptional
but who do not realize that they are special.

Begin and end your day with a smile;
try not to worry too much about what you can’t control;
if and when you can be yourself and show your inner-love;
life is a test filled with many trials;
do what you do best with all your heart and all your soul;
keep going, keep positive, keep smiling,
keep living your life –
and no matter what happens,
don’t be afraid to take a running-jump
and don’t just take life as it comes.

My Poem ‘Limited Edition’

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

Everything ends; seasons change;
wounds need time so that they can mend;
the sun is always shining –
whether it is day or night,
whether there is Summer heat or April rain.

Life is a precious treasure not to be wasted;
you can live the happiest of lives
without having all of your five senses;
making the most of what you have while you have it
is at the heart of every ancient or modern myth;
when you look around… when you look back…
when you look forward… there is a fundamental reason
why all that we see and all that we imagine
is a mixture of the familiar and the different –
and when you put all the pieces of life together in your head
it is then that so much starts to make sense.

Books sometimes go out of print;
a song, just like a person, has a life-span;
a story can help us and give us strength to never give in;
the best that anybody can find
will always be that which is one of a kind –
just like the one whom we love more than anything,
there is no better than to have of something
that is a Limited Edition of one.

Too Close To The Sun…

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

 

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 life of an idea’

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

Sometimes it comes like water-drops;
sometimes it comes like a flood;
sometimes the idea is born
from that instant when the words
just don’t want to stop;
sometimes creativity takes time
to grow from the seed
that you planted or sowed
before it can be something
that you, or anyone else,
may someday choose to look with love,
and go with it on its journey
wherever it goes.

A writer waits… a writer looks…
a writer listens… a writer finds things
in the outside world
and then takes them inside their mind
and then generates and regenerates
all that they have seen, heard, and know,
and creates something brand new –
they write a story, they make connections…
they assume and they presume,
and then they fill their time
with the fruits of their imagination,
and they give their creations
a piece of their spirit,
and in doing so they give their idea a life.

Some ideas only have the life of an instant of time;
some ideas, no matter how hard you try,
you can’t let go of;
some ideas come into being from a single sign;
some ideas look up at us from below,
and some ideas look down at us
and are just waiting for us to notice them –
like the stars that can only be seen
when the sky is black above.

Ideas are like children –
sometimes you have to keep them
behind a boundary so that they don’t run away;
ideas can sometimes be like rockets –
they take off, but they do not know where they are going;
an idea can be like a loyal dog –
if you feed them, if you give them attention
and if you show them love,
every day they will always come to you when you call them,
and when you tell them to stay they will stay;
to an artist there is no such thing as too many ideas,
because to an artist no matter how many ideas there are
there is never enough.

There are Ideas that evoke and differing and varied reactions
depending on the person who is exposed to them;
for some people, their idea’s come more during the day
than they do at night;
there are ideas that come, and then they go in a flash,
and they are never seen or thought of again;
some people always have ideas every how of the day,
and there are some people who struggle
to come up with anything creative –
however, in my opinion, though at times
for an inspiration-starving artist
it might be hard to pull anything out of the fire,
no artist should ever feel discouraged…
because just as a new days
brings a brand new sunrise,
so does a new moment bring new ideas –
though each and every idea
may have a different time of life.

My poem ‘A world of poetry’

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

People sitting in the sun;
people on the phone;
people having some time alone;
people, a family sitting down
and having a picnic for their lunch…
Birmingham, Victoria Square –
June 9th, 2016, 12.04pm…
I am sitting here
basking in sunlight
with my notebook and pen
capturing a moment of time
with words that are inspired
from this moment of inspiration…
I am looking out and seeing
every kind of person –
tourists, friends, business people,
artists, sun-worshippers, and many more –
and at every instant
I am almost blinded by fascination.

A sudden breeze decreases the temperature,
the sun becomes less intense
because of a momentary overhead cloud-cover…
a sudden realisation of time
motivates everyone to move again with a purpose…
and then another sudden burst of energy
gives everybody a gift of focus.

A falling white feather,
as if an angel had left behind a token of heaven…
I sit, I watch, I see, I feel
a wave of something indescribable engulf me…
I see, I watch, a world of poetry…
I feel connected to everything…
I feel the world moving…
I feel like I have just taken
a bite from the fruit of the first tree…
I have always known
that poetry is the world,
and the world is poetry.

My Poem ‘The Blender Analogy’

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

Reality is fiction…
fiction is reality,
after it has been ingested,
digested, and blended-together
with the thoughts, the feelings,
and the memories that a writer
has been storing away for a rainy day…
when the clouds come together,
and when thunder starts to rumble,
and when lightning starts flashing and striking,
and when there is the most
almighty down-pour of creativity
that rains down upon a once blank page…
that feeling, that moment,
that perforation that happens
when you rip out a page from the book of reality
and you change a word here and a name there,
and you make it your own
and something completely brand new…
it’s intoxicating, in all honesty…
it’s poetry… it’s a thing of beauty…
it’s life in a nutshell… it’s wonderful…
and as the artist, it is an amazing thing to look at
and to marvel at when all is said an done,
and when it is now yours
as well as someone else’s…
I would think that it must be a similar feeling
to that one might have after they have
sampled a part of a song that already exists
and they have repackaged it as a purported “new song” –
people have been doing it for years, right?
It can’t possibly be wrong?
Call it a stew… call it a pie…
call it a soup… and see all the similarities
to all the things that contributed into making
or influencing something –
but also remember that every-thing in life
that happens, and everything that everybody does,
is inspiring – even the seemingly accidental mistakes
that happen can, and mostly are,
just the fertile ground from which
new things may grow out of…
just recently, I heard an author
recount something that his rock-star wife
had said about the creative-process of making art,
and what they essentially said was:
that creating something, artistically or otherwise,
is like throwing seemingly different
and unconnected things into a sort-of “imagination-blender”
and turning it up to full-speed –
and I love this explanation and description so much,
because – speaking as someone who has written
one or two short-stories in my time,
and more than one verses of poetry –
I can honestly tell you
that there is no better way
to describe the creative-process
that I have ever heard
than that of “the blender analogy”.

My Poem ‘In and Out’

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

Art is in my blood…
I have been making art
since before I knew that I could;
inspiration has been flooding my brain
since before I knew that I had
such a magical world within me
called “imagination”;
art is a part of everybody’s day,
but sometimes to find art’s true meaning
you have to stop looking
and allow yourself to embrace
the gift of pure-procrastination.

I believe in destiny –
which means that I believe
that everything that we all do
we do because we are meant to;
I believe in karma –
which means that I believe
that actions and intentions
have consequences,
and we should all try to focus
on the light in our life
and not the shadows
that want to pull us into the dark;
I believe in true love –
which means that I believe
that no matter who you meet and when
there is a heart out there
that you are meant to
give your all to,
that belongs to someone
who has always been meant to be with you
and has always been meant to love you;
I believe in humanity –
which means that I believe
that no matter how many differences exist right now
there will one day come a time
when we will see ourselves
in all our forms as what we are:
a masterpiece of form, function, and art.

Hope has taught me to stay optimistic,
even when I am surrounded by impossibilities;
poetry has taught me how to ride out a storm,
and to survive and understand life
through the magic of language and words;
imagination has taught me
that the number of worlds and realities out there
yet to be discovered totals in the realms of infinity;
love has taught me that the most incredible
and breath-taking adventure of a life-time
awaits everybody who has yet to be intoxicated
by the timeless obsession and addiction that has no cure.

We all breathe in,
and we all breathe out…
we all have things that we need,
and we all have people whom we could never live without…
we all feel inspired,
and we all sometimes feel pains of doubt…
but the most important thing to remember
and to act-out is to not stop feeling
and expressing ourselves,
because that is the reason that we are all born
with the senses that we are born with –
learning how to use those senses
to their fullest is what life is all about.

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My Poem ‘Morningstar’

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

To me, writing is like driving;
to me, writing is like flying;
to me, writing is like diving;
to me, writing is like searching;
to me, writing is like remembering;
to me, writing is like imagining;
to me, writing is like smiling;
to me, writing is like crying;
to me, writing is like sharing;
to me, writing is like exorcising;
to me, writing is like star-gazing;
to me, writing is like trying
to capture something breathtaking
that almost defies explaining.

When the morning-star rises
it calls to all of us;
when the morning light shines
life below the surface of the Earth
is tempted to break-through the dust;
when the morning air is inhaled
into a near-infinite number of lungs
every-thing breathes in each-other;
when the morning colours reveal themselves
is when something amazing
and unexpected always occurs.

When I write
I look out,
I see things,
I feel something
and then I think…
when I write
sights and sounds become emotions
and meaning is transformed into words
that feel like they are
ready to be spoken on the tip of my tongue…
when I write
an entire new world of wonder
is built with every blink…
when I write
my imagination and my thoughts
race, explode, and flash brightly
like the lightning of a thunder-storm…
to me, writing is akin to watching
and experiencing in all its epic-magnificence
the great gift of seeing the sun rising.

The planet Venus is so far away
but shines so bright in the sky
that it is often mistaken for a star;
it isn’t until you see something up-close
that you can know if it is truly
all that you wished for it to be
when it was far-reaching and yet fascinating;
it isn’t every-one and every-thing
who gets to inspire and change the course of a life,
when in perspective to most things
they are but a dot in the dark;
I have been inspired by many things
since I first began writing,
but to me nothing and no-one
could ever compare to the beautiful shining face
of my angel who I see each and every morning.