Scott Hastie: Featured Poet
About the poet:
Scott Hastie is a successful British born poet and writer, who has been has been commercially published in the UK for over twenty years now. He currently has ten titles in print, including a novel and four collections of poetry. In recent years, the spiritual tone in his unique poetic voice is starting to draw increasing attention from a worldwide audience, especially in the U.S. India & the Middle East.
Published in both print & e editions in 2014, Angel Voices was then his most substantial publication to date, featuring over 40 new poems never before seen, either in print or on the net. This title building much more on the mature poetic voice that first began to emerge in Scott’s previous title Meditations and featuring ALL readers’ favourites, as showcased on his popular website. For much more info and some spectacular reviews for Angel Voices (as well as direct non-trade order options and deals…) go to www.scotthastie.com
What’s more, with interest continuing to build fast, plans are now already afoot for the release of a sparkling new collection of Scott’s poetry: Threads – currently in production and scheduled for release in this Spring! This already considered being his landmark achievement to date, looking as it does to further develop the spiritual themes in his work and with key feature pieces already widely translated and published to worldwide acclaim.
Fortunately, it is still very easy to dip into Scott’s poetry at his highly visual and internationally popular new web site, which freely displays samples of both his already published and latest unpublished work. As a writer, Scott is very open and likes to encourage maximum participation and feedback from his readers.
The Day is done
The day is done
And no one is immune,
It’s true.
That sense of a voyage
Slips seamlessly past,
Though there is a beginning;
An end to everything.
And yet a sense of connection,
Some bejewelled purpose too.
Like the child
Whose way ahead
You’ve already lit,
Or the lover you’ve yet to meet.
Many such moments
Come and go, as they must,
Melting away
Into the space we are given.
But what endures for me
Is a persistent resonance,
Some heady wish
For access again
To a sense of wonder
In the stream of things,
That, this time round,
It might just be possible
To keep in my heart
A little longer.
So tarry with me awhile
And we will see
What we can do
To tenderly explore
Beneath the frail shell
Of all we’ve since become.
Trusting that,
Maybe within
Such smoothly sculpted casing,
And still delicately enclosed,
Might just lie the silky lustre
Of some lavish
And joyful communion,
Waiting for its chance
To grip
And catch the light again.
Despite what we imagine
Despite what we imagine
In our sometime pain,
Beset
Either by aching anticipation
Or subsequent loss,
Lovers are never found by chance.
So tell that to the trees,
Who’ve seen it all
Countless times before
And can only stand apart
In the meadow of life
And wait
For us to dream again,
Like some broken hearted waif
On a grimy street,
For whom only the predatory
Are likely to stop.
For not even fool’s comfort
Can cling on there
To inhibit notes of caution
That would otherwise
Trim our wings,
Spoil any such dividend.
And so much more too!
Seems like
We always had this coming.
Our needs, till met,
Like rising sap,
Like clotted pollen in the air.
As it always is
In beauty’s sweet surrender,
Desire is the irresistible pull
That draws us steadily
Onto one another
And then fruits.
You were in me all along.
As we toil and spin
As we toil and spin,
Pause and gather in
The stillness,
Whenever you are able.
Trusting that,
Time after time,
This might bind
Ever deeper
In your soul
And, one day,
Come gloriously to bear.
Otherwise how vain
A deceit is distraction,
Leaking into everything
To spoil our chances.
And, in so doing,
Look how we fashion
Instead a raw
And unnecessarily restless
Sadness in our hearts.
For it is what it is,
This life,
No more and no less…
And everyday
It shines upon us
With a patience
That is inestimable.
So take heart from this
And simply surrender
In moments,
As best you can,
Even if only in modest ripples
That gently caress
The shore of your dreams.
Life collects
Life collects,
Pools around you.
It paints its highlights.
Nothing there
You can destroy
Or begin again.
Calm in aquamarine beauty,
Barely a hint
Of surf’s snowy trim.
Today the sea is out
But will come again.
For the moment,
On the beach,
My love and I,
Naked and blissful
As can be.
In the soft,
Sun baked sand
History
Between my toes.
Sense how
Even the smooth stones
Ache
With stories of their own
In the shuddering
Light of day.
Whenever you can
Whenever you can conjure
The stillness to notice,
There is
A sense of the ancient
Hanging in the air.
A lingering spiritual fragrance,
Full of knowing,
That dresses
Contemporary journeys
Like ours.
And always set against
Such a broad tapestry,
Long woven too
With telling details
That confirm who we are,
Albeit still as raw
And naive as any infant.
All the more so
When stood, toe to toe,
With the luminosity
Of days gone by.
And embarking, as best we can,
On the benevolent opportunity
Of one thin slice
Of a chosen life,
However glorious,
Or loaded with pathos
This eventually becomes.
No chance of tragedy
Here though!
For we truly are,
As we come to recognise
Ourselves to be,
Mere receptacles.
Gilded chariots
That our spirits ride out,
But for a hallowed moment in time.
The merest splash of presence
In the serried halls of wonder.
