Scott Hastie Featured Poet

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Scott Hastie: Featured Poet


About the poet:

Scott Hastie Poems
Scott Hastie

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


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visual and internationally popular new web site, which freely displays samples of both his already published and latest unpublished work.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,


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


Between my toes.


Sense how

Even the smooth stones


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.

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