writing

My Poem ‘Dreamcatcher’

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

Have you ever awoken in a dream one night,
only later to discover that the dream
that you had awoken from
was really a dream that you were dreaming
in a dream that you were having?
And really you have been asleep the entire time?
And at the moment that you wake up,
the day has already begun,
and you have no idea of what happened,
nor where you have been –
but you feel like you have emerged
and taken a deep breath
after coming to the surface of a vast ocean?

Some of our memories
can be like sandcastles on a beach;
some of our defining thoughts
can be like landmarks;
some of our experiences
can be like mountains that we climb,
and return from, that cannot be attained
nor ever topped again,
and for the rest of our lives
they may feel out of reach;
some of our happiest and joyous moments
can be like a shield and a defense
than can silently protect us from harm.

Dreams can be shared;
dreams can be a legacy;
dreams can be lived in the real world,
as well as while lying in bed;
dreams have a meaning and a language to them
and within them that not that many people
through history have ever been able to interpret
and understand fully –
because no matter how much a dream
can seem to make sense
during and after you are dreaming,
and have dreamed it,
that same dream, and every dream,
continues to live, play out,
and inform your world subtly and incredibly.

When we dream we see with different eyes;
when we do something or go somewhere
in a dream it can be both an echo, and also a prelude;
when we feel something in a dream
we are trying to tell ourselves
that our heart and our feelings
are more sensitive than we may sometimes realize;
when the cover of slumber pulls us under
and we fall under the spell of our own imagination,
we have no control of where we will go,
or what, or whom, will come to us –
and that is why sometimes our dreams
can feel like we have been dreaming for days and nights,
and some dreams can feel like
they should have gone on longer
because they were over too soon.

Our dream-selves can sometimes seem
to be having all the fun that we wish
when we are awake we could have;
our dreams keep imagining every kind of possibility –
which is why they matter;
our dream identities can be triggered
at any time of the day,
even when we are taking a long hot bath;
our dreams can be so amazing
and so fantastic, sometimes,
that they simply need to endure
and never be forgotten –
and that is why, over the centuries,
people have sought to preserve
and keep alive the dreams
that are meant to create ripple-effects
in the underlying life-connecting
consciousness of the world:
by turning them into tales, legends, stories,
and retelling them over and over again –
and the best way of allowing a dream to never die
is to seek out a kindred spirit
and to harness the amazing power of a dreamcatcher.

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My Poem ‘Imagine like Lennon’

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

Dreamers never stop dreaming,
dreamers take great comfort
and they feel great joy
in the knowledge
that they are not the only ones;
imagineers never stop imagining,
and because their thoughts,
dreams, and hopes never stop coming
and flowing, miraculous new discoveries
and ideas come to light
and are allowed to shine
all over the world on the eyes
and from the hearts of countless people,
as if they were new born stars and suns.

An artist in an artist from birth;
a storyteller is a reader of other stories
by other writers, who has always felt
compelled to create stories of their own
and take people on a journey;
many artists have sought inspiration from above,
like the first drop of rain
that began all the oceans of Earth;
to be who you are meant to be in all walks of life,
and in all stages of creativity and evolution,
everybody must be able to just be.

There is a moment, there is a spark,
there is a light, that brightens the dark,
there is an instant of change,
there is a time to step back
and rethink and reinvent,
there is sometimes one perfect expression
that is beyond any and all words
that could ever fill a single page;
there must be a world within you
where you can go to that is even more
limitless and boundless than the universe,
where your inner identity can run free;
there must be an outlet for you to do what you know;
there is always someone who has a great many things
in common with you, in any and every direction
to every degree;
there is always a side to you
that you cannot completely show.

Being a poet is like being a player
of an imaginary instrument
that only you have the knowledge
and the gift to be able to play
as exquisitely as it can possibly be played;
musicians of physical instruments
are able to play their music
and give rise to vibrations
that literally can touch and speak
to the blood, the heart-beats,
and the very core and source of who someone is;
if some things were tangible,
instead of being unbelievably fragile,
and if not everything that meant the most
was not sometimes a struggle,
then there would always be something missing –
however, that is often the case
when choosing a course that is the most
untroublesome and easy;
to dare to dream is to take a chance on a risk.

Heroes are important;
music is a miracle;
every experience is a lesson;
you cannot always have, or get, what you want;
life is too phenomenal to shut yourself away from it –
to enjoy living to the fullest is essential;
greatness cannot be attained alone,
nor can you know or call yourself great –
those who truly know us are the only ones
who can describe us and tell us who we are;
to me, music is where inspiration lives
how we are all supposed to live;
to me, music is heaven, and anyone and everyone
who can feel the meaning of music
deep inside them knows how life-changing
and world-changing it is in all its infinite forms;
and that is why music is so important to me –
because it inspires me to dream like Dylan,
to think like Einstein,
and to imagine like Lennon.

My Poem ‘Onomatopoeia’

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

How does a ‘thing’
become a ‘something’?
When does a piece of art
come to life?
How does a person
become a someone?
When do words of a song
naturally find their own voice, and sing?
Could, and should, a child have a name
before its face first feels
the warmth of the sunlight?
Is a word and a name given to something
and someone accidental?
Or, perhaps, is a name
part of a more interconnected and greater plan?

A word can have many meanings
in different languages;
a name can symbolize and capture
the character and the disposition of someone
miraculously, and each person with the same name
can share things in common;
a word can have many different faces;
a name can be very important
and influential in the life of someone.

Some names are past down through families
and through traditions,
and they are in themselves ‘calling cards’
and snap-shots that tell a long story;
place names carry the history
and the original intent of the place in question
long after that same place has become
a place of so much more;
surnames and family names have evolved
from the profession and the job
that someone was known for,
to a connection of lineage and bloodline,
and is now a means for people
to trace their families’ origins
and reveal traces of hidden memory;
just as everything has a reason for being,
so does the choice of a name
have a reason and a meaning
running throughout a thing
or a person’s life
that was there before someone was even born.

Names have always fascinated me;
the why of a word and where it comes from
has always taken me on an exciting
and an inspiring journey;
the power of a word
and the significance of a name
is something that you can see,
use, and understand
if you use words in your life,
and if you see particular words
as a form of magic:
and there is no one who knows
how to use words in the way
that they are intended to be used
more than a magician –
and a magician will tell you
that the power of incantation and suggestion
has a fascination to it
that is too hypnotic to explain.
If I could be anyone,
if I could create a role for myself,
I would be someone who has the gift,
the privilege, and the power
to be able to give a person, or a thing,
its identity based on who, or what,
I see before me when I look at them –
it would be unlike anything else
to be the ‘coiner of a name’.

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Coming soon…

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

TDATD-SQUARE

Coming soon… my new book, ‘The Dreamer and The Dream‘! 🙂

My Poem ‘Short but Sweet’

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

All moments are precious;
first thing in the morning
every second rushes by like a train;
no matter what it is,
everybody remembers their first;
in the fresh and bright new morning light
the energy in the air is amazing
and addictive and always goes
straight to your head.

I like to start every day
by listening to a song or two;
some people like to wake up
and immediately connect
and engage with the world
that never sleeps and is always up and ready;
I like to begin my day with a poem of my own,
writing for a small few;
some people like to go for an early morning run,
a walk, a coffee from their favourite coffee shop,
to make sure that their day begins with a tone
that makes them extremely happy.

Morning time can feel like you are a skier
on a snowy slope heading down a mountain
faster than you can think or perceive clearly;
in the middle of the day,
some people have time to take a break
and enjoy a brief siesta of mind and body;
in the afternoon, time seems to move much slower
and can at times feels as if
the hands of the clock are standing still;
in the evening, at the twilight of the day,
is when you truly have the time
to make things happen –
and if you are not doing anything in particular,
before the end of the night and the day,
you soon will.

One day is always different from the previous,
and the day that will follow will also be
its own day with things occurring in it
that will always be synonymous with that day’s date;
every opportunity that presents itself
is almost over as soon as it begins;
there is never any limit to how much happiness
you can generate;
no two experiences has a true identical twin.

Life can seem long when you are living it,
but short and brief when recalled and remembered,
and what is said can sometimes have a half-life
comparable to that of a birds tweet;
life is meant to be made the most of…
so dive below, and reach high and above!
You can do so much in such a short space of time –
so don’t forget to cherish
every unforgettable moment,
especially those that are short and sweet.

My Poem ‘Click’

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

You know that moment
when you have got so much to say,
but you don’t know how to say it;
you know that time
when it feels like your mind and your body
feel like they are stuck in cement;
you know that instant
when your mind goes blank
and you just forget something you knew
only a day or so ago,
but now it has seemingly disappeared into the ether;
you know that sensation of déjà vu
that comes over you
that completely convinces you
that you are reliving something over;
you know that story that you hear about
that you read that accurately
which completely describes you and your life,
as if you were the one who wrote it for you to read;
you know how magical it is to see something grow
into something big and amazing
that once started out as a small and simple seed.

Some “thank yous” don’t follow
immediately after a favourable deed has taken place –
it can take some time, and a flash of realisation,
to understand what a moment truly means and what it meant;
some people are truly unforgettable
and you constantly see echoes of their face;
some people mean more than other people,
and that is why they can come to mean to you
as if they were more like family than friends.

What makes something “great”,
what makes something “the best”,
what makes something “special”,
what makes something stand out,
is indefinable –
however it is individualistically natural;
when something goes and “feels right”
it feels like nothing else of Earth
and like you have been blessed.

It feels great when you find your rhythm;
it feels fantastic when you find your number one;
it feels awe-inspiring to come face to face
with a real-life legend that has an air
and a mystery to them like a myth;
it feels like a true miracle
when everything goes as it supposed to
and you see, hear, and feel
that undeniable ‘click’.

My Poem ‘Fallen Friend’

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

A fallen friend, a fallen star,
a friendship that will never end,
a familiar face to be remembered
always as if they were still by your side
as well as always in your heart.

We meet so many people in our lives,
but the special ones we remember forever;
we make so many friends,
but there are only a small group
to whom our fate and their fate
will always be tied together.

It’s hard to say goodbye to a friend –
especially when their spirit
can still be felt, heard,
and seen where we always remember them being;
it means everything to never forget someone,
and it is comforting to always believe
that one day you will see them again;
it’s hard to put into words
what someone truly means to us
and what about them we always found amazing;
it always hurts to think that a friend of yours
had to endure a time in their life
that caused them such pain.

To recall a shared memory,
to say a silent prayer,
to light a candle,
to say goodbye,
to never forget,
to believe that they who we have lost
we be looking over us
as long we continue to remember them.
Earth angels and heroes never die,
nor do great fighters who keep fighting
until the bitter end…
so, to all the dearly departed,
this poem is for you,
this poem is for all of our
indomitable and special
never to be forgotten
fallen friends.

My Poem ‘A Study in Starlight’

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

Everybody knows what it is like
to stay up all night;
everybody knows that experience
of looking out of the window
and watching the stars in the sky
arch through the dark
and mesmerize with their light;
everybody knows what it is like
to stay wide awake
with something, or perhaps someone,
on their mind;
everybody knows that you cannot tell
what will come from what you see around you
and from what you may find inside you
when it is just you
and your future in front of you,
and when what you choose to do next
may be the most defining moment
of your entire life.

Countless writers, artists,
deep-thinkers, and students
who every day attend the university of life,
and its many campuses,
have been driven by the need
to stay in the groove that they feel comfortable in
and create and generate a work by their own hand;
a lorry driver knows what it is like
to drive all through the night
getting to where they need to get to;
a true detective knows what it is like
to have a tantalizing mystery
and a question in front of them
that they believe if anyone can solve it they can;
everyone alive who has ever been told “no”
knows that the harder you work at something,
and the more you believe in yourself,
you can inspire all kinds of energy
and strength to rise from out of the blue.

There is an infinite story being written
in the sky above and all throughout life;
there are infinite characters
with a distinctive voice
making themselves be heard –
even those who communicate with the language of silence;
even someone who is skeptical of the supernatural
knows that there are many forms of astonishing miracles
that some people witness every day
that in themselves are “magic”;
there is no greater push to do something,
or think in a certain way,
than the motivation of fright;
everyone has, at some point in their life,
had an instinct of a not-so-secret sixth sense;
when something looks, reads, or sounds
like it is missing that indefinable “something” –
that is because sometimes some things
need a fresh breath, shot, and spark,
to be infused into them before they are done,
to make something that is great truly epic.

Life is a constant study of seeing,
learning, and understanding,
that doesn’t end until it ends;
in my own personal philosophy,
if you feel like there is more to see or more to do
you are always correct and absolutely right;
if you have the choice to be yourself,
why for a second would you choose to pretend;
the clues and the curiosities
that many people find as they live their lives,
to those of us who embrace a question
as if it were a bona fide religion,
are what keep us up all night
looking through a window
studying the starlight.

My Poem ‘Countryside’

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

As I dream about a city across the sea,
there is someone over the ocean
wishing that they were walking
the fields of the English countryside;
as I sit and hear the sounds
and the accents that I remember so well,
there is someone in the very country
where I wish I was now
thinking about what it would be like
to be where I am, doing what I am doing,
completely untroubled and free.

As I write I think about that friend of mine
telling me about their wish,
and I wish that they and I could trade places,
even if it were only for a few minutes,
and even if it was only a momentary
swapping of minds and lives,
so that we two could for moments
walk in each others shoes
and know the taste and the smell of each others air…
if they were here and if I were there.

If my friend were here at this moment
they would cry at the beauty of the sight of my home;
if my friend could see with my eyes,
their entire vision would be met by
all the colours of the rainbow
represented by the colours of the surrounding
and blooming flowers;
if my friend were able to take in the perfection
that I have known my entire life
which never gets old,
they would never be able to describe verbally
what their eyes cannot look away from –
even if they were describing the landscape
to someone on the phone;
if my friend could follow in my footsteps,
they could and they would never stop exploring
and seeing something new and beautiful
everywhere they looked,
even if they kept walking for 24-hours.

Even when it rains,
and the leaves of the trees are speckled
with droplets of cleansing water from above,
the green that is England through and through
only becomes even more striking,
and when the clouds part
and the sunlight comes blazing through
there is no view anywhere
that is more amazing, nor breathtaking,
than the sudden explosion of colour
that is nature accentuated by the golden rays
of the most important star in the sky
that always makes my home
look like a real life landscape of art
that could never be fully explained,
because it is what it is:
a true, heart-breaking, paradise,
that is so beautiful
it will never stop bringing tears to my eyes.

There are people who I have not yet met face to face,
but who I want to meet;
there are places where I have been
that I want to return to some day,
where when I left them I cried;
there are friends of mine in other countries
who I can’t wait to fully introduce myself to
in the flesh when we first meet and greet;
there are places that I see every day
that the sight of makes me smile,
that if I could I would share with the entire world –
where I have done my fair share of walking,
thinking, contemplating and imagining,
in the most heavenly place on Earth
that is the great, glorious, gorgeous
and beautiful English countryside.

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My Poem ‘Civus mondus’

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

Every country,
every city, every town,
everywhere where people look,
see, listen, hear, sit, stand,
and walk around,
every member of every society
is a part of the whole
as well as an individual;
no matter where on Earth a place is,
it is the people who populate it
and who make somewhere
the place it is known for –
and with those people
there are rituals and archetypes of behavior
that distinguish someone
as a piece of a mosaic of a regional picture.

The place someone chooses to live
is telling of who they are;
the speed at which time and life goes by
is different all over the world;
there is always someone
who stands out from the crowd
of a connected group of people
for a reason, because in some way
they shine like a star;
there is always someone
who at alternating times of the day
leaves you both vocal and lost for words.

Order always rises from chaos;
differences of opinion
always generate a wave of change;
language, fashion, normality,
evolves and shifts and can cause
ground-shaking disturbances
like the Earths moving
and colliding tectonic plates;
peace can follow a prolonged period of rage;
sometimes modern life can feel like a race.

Just as you can’t stop a flood completely,
you cannot ever stop the world from spinning;
just as you can’t stop the rain from falling,
you can’t silence a people and species
who were born and are meant
to use their gifted, miraculous talent
to never stop talking and communicating;
just as long as the sun continues to shine
there will always be blue skies,
the world will never be truly predictable
or ever boring – because
as long as there is a world, a galaxy,
a universe, there will always be for everyone
the gift of something.

Choice is both the problem
and the solution to everything,
as the world continues its conversation
and delegation with itself
to find a mutual and universal understanding;
there will always be cycles of parallels
and juxtapositions;
as long as each and every one of us has a voice
and that voice can have an and every accent,
and can be expressed in any way,
we will all always be worldly
and universal citizen.