Year: 2015

My Poem ‘Time to Remember’

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

We remember the heroes;
we remember the villains;
we remember the what,
the where, the when, and the why;
we remember the people who tried;
we remember the people who achieved;
we remember those who fought the good fight
but who died while doing what they loved
and what they believed in;
we remember the good times,
and we remember the bad;
we remember the times
that went by too quickly,
that we remember coming to an end
as we looked over our shoulder and cried.

As the weather turns colder,
as the leaves change colour
and then fall to the ground,
as people wrap up more
and wear more layers,
as we buy fireworks and light bonfires
and we gather together
and we start to think about the well-being
of our significant others,
a spirit of good-will and humanity
sweeps over the world.

We should all be thankful for what we have;
there will always be someone
who will look at you
and want what means the most to you;
we all make new footprints
while walking again down familiar paths;
sometimes, especially at this time of the year,
things of importance come to light
that before you always wondered about
but you never knew.

Gifts of sentiment,
things that still carry a shine of memory,
the unique and the different,
the people who matter to you dearly,
seem to glow brighter
at the coldest and the darkest time of the year-
and now is the perfect time
to tell someone or to remind someone
that as long as they are in your thoughts
and as long as they are a part of your life
that they need not fear.

Gather, surround,
think, thank, be grateful, wrap,
step closer, invite,
reconnect the ties
that were once believed severed forever;
forgive, but do not forget;
make the most of the present;
save all that you can,
because these are the times
of your life to remember.

Time-to-remember-poem-excerpt

My Poem ‘Embrace’

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

The caress of a face;
the holding of hands;
the hypnotism of a trance;
the perfect touch
of a beautiful embrace.

The spiritual, the emotional,
the physical, the transcendental,
the look, the love,
the feeling, the instinctual,
the rush, the spark,
the explosion,
the silence of light and dark
that makes real the impossible,
that is indescribable,
that is a miracle,
that is heaven on Earth,
that is as beautiful as a hummingbird,
that is the ultimate force in the universe,
that poet’s obsess over while putting into words,
that many crave, that we all know,
that can surround you and lead you
like the path of a maze,
that is exciting and phenomenal
in the way that it can make someone glow.

A wish and a prayer
can blossom like a flower;
a thought and a memory
can steal your time;
a source of happiness
can have infinite power;
a destiny can be a life-line.

Until you feel the raging fire of desire,
until you let yourself fall in love
like a crashing meteorite from above,
until you see with your own eyes
what grows and what sustains
and what reinvigorates,
and what goes on and never dies,
only when you let things happen
and you do not resist,
can you know what it is like to be a star,
or like a pacific beach near an ocean
that has been newly sun-kissed.

To have someone.
To hold someone.
To love someone.
To be as precious as gold to someone.
To accept, to support, to champion,
to be a devoted companion,
and to be the one who leaves an indelible mark
on the inside of someone
but who on the outside
only leaves an invisible trace,
is to be the beholder of light, love,
perfection like that of an angel’s face
that is as timeless and is as ever-present
even after the first embrace.

image

My Poem ‘The Zone’

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

The best days
have yet to be lived;
the best poems
have yet to be written;
the best of things
anybody is able to have
and are able to give;
the best way to learn
how to create
is to look, to listen,
to think, and to imagine.

Moving forwards;
stepping backwards;
looking left, looking right;
learning new words;
discovering new worlds;
saving the best for last;
constantly reaching towards the light.

What gives a writer such power,
what gives a warrior such strength,
what gives a cheetah such speed,
is the same heart that helped
build the tallest of towers,
is the same will that once made
knights of armour fight to the death,
and it is the same fire of inspiration
within me that can be found
emblazoned in every line
and verse of my poetry.

If you want to be strong
you have got to walk tall;
if you want to get through
to the other side of something
you have got to push;
if you want to savour the moment of something
be sure to remember not to rush;
if you want to know
the right way to go
then sometimes you have got to feel the path
before you see it
and make the final judgment call.

Everything is a resource;
every spark is a power source;
every idea is a leap into the unknown;
everyone has a secret place they can go to
when they need to truly focus on something
and get into the zone.

My Poem ‘All Halloween’

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

Almost everyone loves the season of Halloween;
all through October to November,
everywhere you look Pumpkins, skeletons,
and images of apparitions
adorn the fronts of houses on every street;
children get excited to dress up
and go trick-or-treating,
adults of all ages watch scary movies on TV
about ghosts, demons, Vampires, werewolves,
and stories about places and creatures
to be feared as if they were real,
because they almost defy imagining.

I do not think
that there is another country on Earth
who celebrates Halloween
better than North America;
I don’t think that there are no other people
other than Americans
who understand that Halloween
is meant to be a season of celebration;
I do not think
that there is anywhere else in the world,
besides perhaps Transylvania,
where stories of the world beyond this one
inspire daydreams around a campfire
that set alight the feverish
dark creations of the human imagination.

The dead are remembered;
the saints are worshiped;
the living are cherished;
the costumes that people choose
to dress up in are always wonderfully
and darkly embellished;
the night of Halloween
is anticipated by some
with as much joy as Christmas;
some people give generously
to their young sweet-toothed
trick-or-treaters that come a-calling,
while some people just do not
understand the reason for all the fuss.

For some people,
Halloween is the favourite time of the year;
for some people,
every day is Halloween –
and to them it is not just once a year;
for some people,
Halloween feels like reality is reflecting
their inner-most thoughts and dreams;
for some people,
enjoying tales of witches, spectres,
magic, and the emotions and the feelings
that bubble-up to the surface,
that make the hairs on the back of your neck stand on-end,
and the stories that make you jump with fright,
is what Halloween is all about.

My Poem ‘Boo’

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

There once was a dog called ‘Boo’,
whose fur was as black as night
and as white as that of snow,
who when they heard the call of their name
they would run to you
and then follow you there afterwards
wherever you would go.

Boo loved to jump;
Boo loved to run;
Boo loved to bark, but never bite;
Boo loved to wag their tail
to show that they were happy and having fun.
Boo was smart;
Boo loved learning and performing new tricks;
if Boo saw another dog
they were off like a shot;
Boo’s favourite thing in the entire world
was their well-chewed green tennis-ball,
and Boo also loved giving “face-sugars”
to their owners’ mouths
with wet tongue licks.

One day, Boo saw that the front-door
of his home was slightly ajar
and that the light from outside
was shining on the floor –
Boo loved being outside
and Boo loved rolling around
on the front garden’s green lawn –
so Boo decided to take this golden opportunity
to discover what they could see, hear,
smell, and taste outside,
and embrace their gifted chance.
Boo opened the front-door more with their nose
just enough for them to fit through;
Boo jumped out into the light of the day
on to the garden path,
and then Boo saw that the gate of the garden
that lead to the road was open…
Boo saw no danger…
Boo wanted nothing more than to have fun…
Boo ran to the gate and jumped out into the road,
and then…

All dogs can go to heaven;
all animals can find peace when they pass on –
but, sometimes, the bond that an animal has
with their owner is so strong,
and they are so much a part of a family
that they love and who loves them,
that they are given a choice,
just as I believe we are all given
when it is our time:
to remain here on Earth
and continue to be near and dear
to those who bless us
with the name that we are given.
Boo saw the light,
but Boo chose to run back
into the arms of their master;
Boo’s owners cried many tears
when they discovered that Boo had left them –
however they knew that Boo
was still with them some-how,
and they also knew that the memory
of what they meant to Boo
and what Boo meant to them
was all that mattered.

Boo lived on;
Boo still loved to run and jump,
and sit comfortably in their owners’ lap;
Boo still enjoyed laying down in the grass
and sun-bathing on a sunny afternoon;
Boo still felt an unbreakable bond of love;
Boo still came running when they heard
the sound of the mail coming through the letter-box.
Although they could no longer be seen,
although their bark was now slightly more muted
than it used to be,
whenever they heard their name
there came a-running the dog that was,
the dog that is,
and the dog that will always be,
‘Boo’.

20160411_074019

My Poem ‘My Chikadee’

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

You save me every day,
my beautiful angel;
you make me feel
like I have never felt;
you give me everything
and if I could
I would give you anything,
because you are my world;
you and I share the same heart and soul,
and every time I tell that I love you
and you tell me that you love me
I feel so happy beyond content,
and I honestly believe
that at any moment
I am literally going to melt.

From sunrise to sunset,
from moon-climb and moonlight
until the sun shines again
in the blue sky above,
I promise to be there
for you whenever you need me –
because you are and you always will be
the angel of my life
who I will never stop thinking about –
and over and over again,
every second of every day,
I fall even deeper in love.

What we have is love never-ending;
what we give to one another
to me is more important
than the air that I am breathing;
what we have both found in each other
is dazzling and will forever be amazing;
what we both know is eternal
within each of us
is the music that comes out
from all of our hearts
that plays only for the one
we are meant to be with,
and every second that my heart sings out to you
I constantly never stop hearing
the beautiful voice of your heart’s calling.

No matter what happens around us,
I promise, my love, that our path is clear;
no matter what other people choose to obsess about,
I want you to always know that to me
you always will be the life and soul of my heart,
and since you first walked into my life
I have never been happier.

Nothing is more important than you and me;
I am yours, and you are my destiny;
no matter where we both are with each other,
as long as we are together
you and I will always be happy;
our bond is infinite;
our love is deep;
we are meant to be,
and I will always love you,
my beautiful Chikadee.

image

My Poem ‘Where we’re going’

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

Imagine if McCartney had never met Lennon;
imagine if Neil Armstrong
had never set foot on the Moon;
imagine if The Beatles
had never left their home city of Liverpool;
imagine if the things that have happened
had not happened –
where would any of us be right now?
Imagine if no one fell in love;
imagine if we knew everything;
imagine if we were unable to feel
the heat and the light of the sun on our skin;
imagine if we could learn all the secrets
and the truths of the universe from a single book.

Imagine if music were not also magic;
imagine if anything that we wished for
or dreamed about came true;
imagine if you had everything
you could ever need or want
and you knew that you did not ever again
need to worry or panic;
imagine if your life were the same
as a slow-burning fuse.

We have no control of where things begin;
we can only navigate the best that we can
through life by using the knowledge
and the instincts that we have at our disposal;
we can both lose and at the same time win;
we can make our world
and the world of someone else wonderful.

We can share our love;
we can share our gifts;
we can share the same light of the same sun;
we can share our life and be happy to share all
with whom that we crave to share with;
we can help; we can carry;
we can hold and be held;
we can marry;
we can run’ we can walk,;
we can remember the place
where we have come from,
but the place where we are meant to be
is already, and always has been,
the place where we are all going.

My Poem ‘The Confidence of Man’

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

Everything needs a centre;
everyone needs a soul;
every world revolves around
a deep and distant light
that calls towards
what lies at their core;
everything in life
plays its essential role.

Having faith and holding-on to faith,
especially in people,
can be testing sometimes
on so many levels;
even God once questioned his own actions
in creating humanity,
according to Genesis in The Bible,
and sort to start anew
with a world-wide flood
after he was disappointed
that Adam and Eve disobeyed him
and listened instead to the words
of a serpent devil.

The entire history of Earth,
and the history of the human race,
is filled with tests of character,
spirit, and heart;
since the beginning of time,
life and light,
the entire universe has been a balance
of the Alpha and the Omega –
the first and the last;
even if your first attempt at something
is a failure and it does not resemble
the original blue-print that you had in mind,
it does not mean that the next time you try
to capture the lightning of an idea again
and bring it to life
it will not be better than you imagined,
and perhaps was always meant
to have not worked out the first time around
because it needed an additional surge
of energy and determination
so as to give it a new lease of life.

There is no such thing as failure,
there are only stepping stones
to the other side of a river;
there is no such thing as the wrong way to walk,
there is only going forwards or going backwards;
there is no such thing as bad timing,
because all that is meant to happen and when
will happen no matter what –
and whether you stand still, or not,
the Earth will keep spinning.

Life is about lying down
and then getting back up stronger than ever;
weaved into the very fabric
of the reality of the world,
there is a beginning, an end,
a meaning, and a plan;
life is meant to be shared
and lived together;
though we all may be imperfect
when we compare ourselves to other people,
the majority of humanity is,
in my humble opinion,
perfect in their imperfectness –
and just as no two people
were ever born to be exactly the same as each other,
to me it would be a failure in and of itself
to ever doubt or lose any kind of confidence
in any woman or any man.

My Poem ‘Her Magical Powers’

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

I was listening to Johnny Cash,
“The Man in Black”,
when a shiver of cold ran down my back;
it was night time and the stars were out,
and I had no idea what the shiver was about –
but as I looked out my window
and I saw the streak of a shooting star
in the sky above;
I make a wish to the one I love,
and I saw her face as clear as day –
and as soon as I did a song began to play;
and as I listened I heard a voice:
three words spoken with no background noise,
and I heard everything
that I have ever wanted to hear…
I closed my eyes, as I shed a tear,
and into the air I said a prayer
to the one I love
that for her I would always be there;
I said to her that I loved her too,
I heard her say my name and my eyes flashed blue,
and all I wanted was to have her near –
so I let go of all my fear…
and I wrote a poem for her to read,
one that would tell her
that she is the only one that I need –
and I typed it up with my own two hands,
and I sent it to her with my heart
beating as if I were in the middle of a dance;
I waiting out of breath for a whole two seconds,
and then my love replied to the message
in which I had beckoned:
she said that she always wanted us to be together…
I jumped for joy and I told her that she was my heaven!
And later that night, I went to sleep,
I dreamed that I was with the woman
who I wanted to keep:
we hugged and kissed,
we laughed and promised;
and the next morning when I woke up
I picked up the phone
and I called my love…
I told her that she was my world,
that no matter what happens
I would do anything for her;
and then we spoke for hours upon hours,
until I had to say goodnight to her…
and I told her again that I loved her
and that I always and forever wanted to be
under the spell of her magic powers.

My Poem ‘Back to the Future’

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

Wednesday,
October 21,
2015

There are things that silently inspire us;
there are things that we can call back to
that can have the effect of being
a time-travel flux-capacitor;
there are things that truly have a hand
in making us;
there are things from all of our pasts
that we constantly strive to bring back
and make them a part of our future.

For everybody,
every day of our childhood
is a playground that we always want
to make the most of;
when we are children
we all look up and are absolutely captivated
and hypnotized by the sight
of an airplane flying through the sky above;
everybody uses their imagination
and the memories of the things
that they have seen and heard
to build dream-landscapes and new worlds
of all hues and colours within their mind;
we all have a date that we always say
that if we could go anywhere
at any specific moment from our lives
that we would always choose to go to
and to go back to, if at any instance
it were possible to travel through time.

The idea of time-travel –
just as with the possibilities of space-travel –
is a wondrous fantasy that we have all
entertained more than once;
the amazing prospect of being able to go back
and come face to face with a direct relative
or ancestor of ours,
who we share a miraculous similarity to,
is one that we would all embrace with both hands
if we were given the chance;
some people would rather live in the future,
while others would prefer to know the future –
especially their own personal future;
I, personally, would love
to be able to flash back
and see myself, and perhaps introduce myself
to myself at a young age,
and reassure my adolescent self
that if you/I believe in yourself/myself,
and if you/I continue to be
who you/I know you are/I am,
and as long as you are happy,
every day of your life will contain within it
a glistening and shining jewel
like the pearl within an oyster.

Everybody wishes
that they could meet their parents
when they were younger;
everybody watches movies
that depict a potential future
and they hope that that imagined world
would come true sooner rather than later;
everybody wishes that they had a time-machine
to use at their leisure;
everybody sees things
or witnesses something
that they wish hadn’t happened
that they would definitely
change the outcome of,
or stop from happening entirely,
if they had the means
and the time to do over.

We are all time-travelers;
we are all traveling every second
into an unknown future
that we have next-to-no power over
to control beyond the actions
that we choose to make;
we are all effecting the world around us
with every step that we take;
we are all able to travel
without the need for roads
and discover our reason to be:
where we are going and why –
just like Doc. Brown and Marty McFly did
in one of my favourite films from my childhood…
Back to the Future.

image