yourself

My Poem ‘Be Poetic’

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

Write what you see…
write what you feel…
write what you believe…
write about your dreams…
write about what is real…
wake up early,
walk towards the eastern horizon
and watch the sun rising every morning…
stay up late at night
until the hours of twilight
and watch the stars shine brightly
and feel their light get inside you…
and what you see… and what you feel…
and what you believe, and what you dream
will fill your mind with wonder
and spark your imagination
when you put pen to paper, or finger to key,
and will become a part of your art
and your writing, and it will change you
and bring into your heart a muse of inspiration
that is amazing and beautiful.

Poetry is not just words…
poetry is not just something that can be written…
if you really want to write or make anything poetic
then all you have to do is open your eyes,
open your heart, look around yourself,
look within yourself, and draw on everything
that your instincts and your senses cannot deny,
and then pick up whatever you use to express yourself
and share what it is that you feel and care about.

Write about anything –
no matter if it’s light, or dark, funny, or sad,
whether it makes you cry, or if it makes you laugh…
write today… write right now…
look around you… look inside you…
think… feel… don’t be afraid… don’t hesitate…
close your eyes… breath in, breath out…
open your eyes, and write like there is no tomorrow…
because today is the day for all poets
to show what they are made of…
be poetic, because today is World Poetry Day!

Happy World Poetry Day! 🙂

Advertisement

My poem ‘The Drummer’

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

It was all he heard…
it was all he felt…
it was all he wanted to do…
every morning, every night,
the drummer felt a longing,
and the beat was the only cure…
over and over again,
the drummer played the rhythm
of his favourite beat in his mind,
with the fingers of his hands,
and every time that he tapped his feet…
it was as if it was his own heart beating…
it was as if it was his own pulse racing…
it was the most epic sound
he had ever heard in his life,
since he was a baby
and he used to look out his bedroom window
and listen to the thundering sound
of the pita-patter on the window-pane
when it was raining…
it was more powerful
than any kind of hunger or craving…
to Mark, the music was like the heart-beat of God…
to Mark, the music that came from his soul
was something that was transcendental…
to Mark, the music was what kept him
from becoming among humanities lost…
to Mark, the music he heard was what he loved…
and to him it was beautiful.

Becoming a member of a marching-band
had been a dream of Mark’s since he was a child –
Mark had everything that any band
would ever want, or ever need: Mark loved music,
and he loved his favourite instrument…
even as a child Mark would turn his parents’
pots and pans into home-made drums,
and he used to play them,
and his parents let him be free
and express himself, and go wild –
and if anybody came around to visit
Mark and his parents
they would see and hear
Mark playing the most phenomenal of beats,
and every day of his life
music, especially his music,
has become more and more important.

Mark tried-out to be in his high-school band…
Mark had dreams of one day playing
in the marching-band of his favourite
college football team…
Mark played and practiced every minute
he was awake or asleep,
and he knew that it he just played
with all his heart
that everything in his life
would happen as he always dreamed it would,
as if it were all a part of a plan –
however, all Mark could play,
all Mark wanted to play,
all Mark loved to play
was the beat that he heard within…
and when his moment came
to show just how incredible a player
and a drummer he was Mark froze…
and then he did what he always did –
he played the music that he knew and loved.

Mark never made it into the marching-band…
Mark was disappointed to not be able to play
and march in front of his favourite football team –
but he wasn’t sad…
to lift his spirits, Mark’s parents ordered him
a band-uniform all of his own and they told him to
“never stop playing” the music that made him
the most happy and the music he had always known…
Mark’s parents told him to go out in his uniform,
with his drum, and “fill the world” with his music
that to them was like no other –
and that is exactly what Mark did:
he went out…
he walked down the main street
of his home town’s most busiest road…
he stopped people and traffic
to a stand-still everywhere he went…
and as he played he knew
that because of his music
he would always be remembered
as the boy, and later the man,
who would always be known as
“The Drummer”.

TheDrummer-sketch-sq

My Poem ‘Let me go, and I will run’

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

It’s fun to let your thoughts drift away from you;
it’s good to let your thoughts run away from you;
it’s exciting to experience your thoughts changing;
it’s incredible to have an idea
that spontaneously pops into your head,
as if from out of nowhere,
which just takes over every other thought of your mind
and function of your body –
and which also becomes all that you can talk about,
and to you it is all that is worth saying.

I have a brand new idea for something,
usually for the title of a new poem,
every hour of every day;
however, of the sixty ideas that I have,
by the end of every hour, they have become one idea,
and by the end of every day –
usually just before I fall asleep –
the first words of a perfect thought,
and the first verse of poetry of my own imagining,
has been ingrained in my consciousness,
and is just waiting to be written,
in my own unique way.

Ideas are important;
every idea that I have ever had
has set my imagination on fire;
ideas are building blocks, as well as foundations;
of all the ideas that I have had,
deciding one day to write down
what was on my mind at the time
was the one muse that is still a constant;
ideas are the offspring of desire;
every idea I have had has enlightened me in some way;
and following the path of an idea,
and taking the journey of the eternal dreamer,
is my way of reaching a higher state of consciousness,
and in a way it is my own form of meditation.

Ever since I was a kid,
I have been used to exerting my body
and using every physical muscle at my disposal
to achieve feats of strength and speed;
as a child, as an adult,
I was off like a shot,
running my heart out to somewhere I needed to get to,
and perhaps to someone in need;
ever since writing has become my passion, my devotion,
my love, and one of the defining parts of my heart, my soul,
my identity, there has not been a day that has gone by
when the question ‘what am I going to write about next?’
has not been uttered by me –
and even now I am asking that question, and answering it also,
and to me there is no more perfect
and beautiful form of writing than poetry.

When I can be myself;
when I am not constrained by glass, brick, wood, metal,
windows, doors, walls, and locks;
when I can step out into the daylight
and feel the beating warmth of the sun;
when I am unaware of time, and I can move with stealth;
when I am thinking wholly, completely,
and tantalizingly, out of the box;
when I can cut the strings and the ties
of anything that might be holding me, my mind,
my imagination, back in any way –
I promise you, world: let me go, and I will run.

My Poem ‘Mark The Poet’

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

Mark, the Poet-
make sure this time you don’t blow it.
You are starting again-
new page, same pen.
Everything before was just preparation-
you went along for the ride,
because you were in need of love and connection.
You already had everything you needed,
you were just trying to be all things to all people-
but guess what? You found out you weren’t perfect.
It’s not a problem to be knocked down,
as long as you get back up;
it’s human to cry when something and someone
hits you by surprise and knocks you on your butt.
You are a lover, not a fighter-
but, at your heart,
you don’t want to just play your part;
you want to be happy-
that is your life-long wish;
you want to take your time and go gently,
but you also want to do everything right this second-
however, everything you want to do,
no one would ever be able to fit
on any bucket list.
That is your gift, that is your problem;
your intensity has inadvertently opened up rifts,
your overwhelming passion has blown up in your face
like a bomb.
You need to learn to listen to the right people
at the right time;
you need to stop worrying
about what you are going to write on the next line;
you need to go with the flow,
and trust who and what you know;
you need to keep being yourself;
you need to stop wanting to impress somebody else;
you need to keep things simple in your head,
because you know that you are not stupid;
you know who you are,
so don’t for a second forget it.
Be the Mark with the biggest heart;
be the Mark who you’ve been from the start;
be the Mark you’ve been destined to be
since you first breathed in the air,
and looked up at the sky of this planet;
be the Mark of music;
be Mark the favourite;
be the Mark of magic;
write a sonnet,
and be Mark The Poet.