Mark Hastings

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Hi there! I’m Mark Hastings! I’m afraid I am not someone who plays an instrument, or sings; however, what I am, what I love, and what I one day hope to be, is a poet and dreamer who can move the world with his poetry. I haven’t always been a poet, and while growing up I was not much of a writer; however, I was always a boy that saw the world to be that much brighter; I always looked upon friends more optimistically than they saw themselves; and when I dreamed I dreamed of starships, far-off worlds, and elves; I watched TV, listened to music, and read the great works of the best- Star Trek, John Lennon, Shakespeare, Tolkien- with enraptured interest. While growing up I loved to draw, paint, and I loved to use vibrant colours; I loved works of art that resonanted and harmonized with what naturally occurs; however, when it came to rhymes, poets, poems, and poetry, I always fell-short- I suppose, in retropsect, it was a fear of misunderstanding that I could not thwart. However, cometh the muse, cometh the inspiration, cometh the poetry, cometh the poet- and when you are blessed with a such a gift you never fail to feel, love, and know it.

Check out my poetry blog 'Poeta universalis' on Wordpress; follow me on Twitter; Like me on Facebook; watch and listen to me on You Tube and Vimeo:

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My Poem: ‘The Mystery Box’

The mystery box of my life
would contain everything of magic on Earth that means something to me;
even if it were only a memento,
I feel confident that even the smallest of hints as to why I love them,
and why they inspire and mean so much to me,
would tell you everything about them, and me-
while still preserving a sense of mystery.

The first thing in my mystery box,
and the most important thing in my life, is my family:
my Mum, my Dad, my little sister Clare;
because they are why I am, who I am-
the structure and the foundation of me and my identity.

If I had a mystery box,
the next thing that I would place within would be my poetry,
my inspiration, my muse, every poem that I have ever written,
and every poem I will ever write:
a picture of my muse, smiling the most beautiful smile in all of creation,
with eyes as amazing as diamonds sparkling infinitely
a flash of unbelievable light.

Inside my mystery box
I would put in something that reminds me,
and the thing above all else that I cherish
more than anything about my friends:
their songs, their journey’s, their friendship, their stories-
everything that makes me smile whenever I think of them,
and the times we had together that felt like they would
never come to an end.

If I could put only one more thing in my mystery box,
no matter the size, what would it be?
The only thing in my life that is ever-present,
but always remains unseen;
a secret that no one on Earth, nor I, know about me;
an answer to a question, posed long ago;
the most simple, and yet the most complicated question ever spoken:
why?
Why was I born? Why did I live?
Why did I do what I did? Why do I have to die?
And the answer to be found within the mystery box would be:
that is why.

Everyone has their own mystery box;
everyone holds onto and holds dear
things about them that define their place in the world,
that ground their feet firmly to our planet of simplicity,
complexity, and infinite possibility-
everyone is a box of impossible to define dimensions of memory,
space, and time-
everyone is a mystery.

(Source: poetauniversalis.wordpress.com)

  1. markhastings posted this