Year: 2016

My Poem ‘Morningstar’

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

To me, writing is like driving;
to me, writing is like flying;
to me, writing is like diving;
to me, writing is like searching;
to me, writing is like remembering;
to me, writing is like imagining;
to me, writing is like smiling;
to me, writing is like crying;
to me, writing is like sharing;
to me, writing is like exorcising;
to me, writing is like star-gazing;
to me, writing is like trying
to capture something breathtaking
that almost defies explaining.

When the morning-star rises
it calls to all of us;
when the morning light shines
life below the surface of the Earth
is tempted to break-through the dust;
when the morning air is inhaled
into a near-infinite number of lungs
every-thing breathes in each-other;
when the morning colours reveal themselves
is when something amazing
and unexpected always occurs.

When I write
I look out,
I see things,
I feel something
and then I think…
when I write
sights and sounds become emotions
and meaning is transformed into words
that feel like they are
ready to be spoken on the tip of my tongue…
when I write
an entire new world of wonder
is built with every blink…
when I write
my imagination and my thoughts
race, explode, and flash brightly
like the lightning of a thunder-storm…
to me, writing is akin to watching
and experiencing in all its epic-magnificence
the great gift of seeing the sun rising.

The planet Venus is so far away
but shines so bright in the sky
that it is often mistaken for a star;
it isn’t until you see something up-close
that you can know if it is truly
all that you wished for it to be
when it was far-reaching and yet fascinating;
it isn’t every-one and every-thing
who gets to inspire and change the course of a life,
when in perspective to most things
they are but a dot in the dark;
I have been inspired by many things
since I first began writing,
but to me nothing and no-one
could ever compare to the beautiful shining face
of my angel who I see each and every morning.

My Poem ‘Morphine’

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

Everybody would do anything
for the one they love;
anybody would do everything
to take away their loved-one’s pain –
even get down on their knees
and plead for relief
from God above;
there is nothing worse
than not being able
to help someone in need
who means the world to you;
there is nothing more harrowing
than having to see your loved-one
wince in pain and then cry out
for someone to give them something
to take away the agony
that shoots through their entire body
when they move.

Some fights cannot be won alone;
every battle leaves scars;
some people go through things
that hurt them more than anyone else
could ever possibly know;
everybody sometimes needs a hand to hold
to guide them through the dark.

Every day is a test;
there is no one
who has all the answers to every-thing;
nobody knows what day will be someone’s last;
when things become so tormenting that we start crying,
we all start to ask to the question: why me?
and we just crave for a long and peaceful rest.

Sickness is hard on all those
who are effected by it –
family, friends, and especially
on the one who is sick;
to me, there is nothing
that is as infuriating
as seeing someone taking their life
and the life of someone else for granted;
there are times when we all wish
that we could just let go, drift off, and dream;
there are times when we all find
the pain that we are feeling too hard to bear,
and we all need to be given a dose of morphine.

My Poem ‘The Mermaid’

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

Before writers started looking
above the clouds and imagining
the wonders of creation
that may live on other worlds,
orbiting around other stars…
before philosophers started dwelling
on the burning questions of human existence…
before any child ever dreamed
about setting foot on another planet…
before rockets, before planes,
before trains, before cars…
before there were countries with governments
led by the will of presidents…
the ancient seven seas of Earth
were believed by many to be
where the most amazing and fantastic,
supernatural and magical,
being and life resided –
and there must have been many
a sea-faring captain of a ship
who must have stayed up all night long
dreaming about capturing
a mythical creature from the ocean depths.

Epic and gigantic monsters…
tentacled behemoths…
giant and colossus monstrosities…
the nightmare characters of those who spent days,
months, even years, battling the forces of nature
over vast expanses of the oceans of the world
hoping to come face to face
with the unseen and the undiscovered…
in the days when and where dragons were thought
to live on the literal edge of the Earth…
gods of all names, sizes and colours, were worshiped
and had monuments erected in their honour…
when the possibility of traveling to another country
on the other side of the world
was so incredible to think of
it could only be the stuff of fantasy…
it was in the days before
the world fought itself in war after war
that everybody believed there was more to be found
than anybody had ever seen before.

Even in this day and age,
even in this decade and century,
we are still discovering life on our planet
that for some reason or another
had remained hidden and secret in seclusion
and were only the spoken or written word
of a story told and retold
by people who claimed to have had
a first-hand close-encounter;
every day something extraordinary
has a light shined upon it
and the knowledge of it actually being
a living-thing is so miraculous
it creates shock-waves;
there is no more powerful reminder
of the infinite possibilities of life
than nature – and there are countless times
when that fact has been abundantly clear;
everywhere you look,
every day around the world,
even today in the 21st century,
we are all surrounded by images
and iconography of myths that still live on –
be they leprechauns, dragons, epic crusades,
or a beautiful green and white mermaid.

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My Poem ‘Too Close To The Sun’

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

Just like Icarus’ wings of wax,
everybody has something precious
that keeps them flying;
just like Achilles,
nobody is completely invulnerable –
even if they believe themselves
to be blessed by immortality;
just like Adam and Eve in the Bible,
there is nobody who has not looked
at something and has not been tempted
by the prospect of tasting and trying;
just as our eyes can only see
the light reflected back at us,
nobody should ever mistakenly believe
that they know or may have seen
everything that there is –
because just one step beyond the horizon,
above the clouds,
past the silver crescent of the moon,
there lies knowledge and wonders
that number into the realm of infinity,
improbability, and endless possibility.

There are times when our minds
can feel like a cave of echoes;
there are times when our memories
flash-back to life
like the lightning of a thunder-storm;
there are times when a brand new song
can be composed and heard
as the leaves of trees rustle
and as every-day objects
become instruments as the wind blows;
there are times when a heart
can be broken and then remade again
in an instant –
it is a moment that many mothers and fathers
have felt simultaneously
when they heard the first out-cry of life
from their newborn.

It is better to risk and fail
than to fail by not ever taking a risk;
it is better to take a chance
than to have your chance
at something taken away;
it is better to see what happens
than to live a life
as if ticking off things
on a check-list;
it is better to grasp
and fill a moment of time,
even if with a world of silence,
or music, than to watch a clock
tick down to the last second of the day.

Most great discoveries
are those that you have to dig for;
most great adventures began
by taking a running-jump;
most great relationships came to be
because the feelings and the connection
that you instantly felt
eclipsed all those that had come before;
most great myths were written,
and most great stories were inspired,
by those who chose to throw caution to the wing
and consciously flew too close to the sun.

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My Poem ‘The Green Day’

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

Today is the day
that we celebrate
the man, the legend,
and Ireland’s favourite saint…
today is the day
when we all want to be Irish,
even if it is just for 24-hours,
and when we all have an excuse,
if we need one,
to wear something green…
today is the day
when I am sure that even from space
the entire planet glows with an emerald light…
today is the day
that may only be remembered by some
through a haze of memory
as if it were just all a part of a dream.

Shamrocks are on show;
Irish beer flows;
everywhere you look green is all that see;
everybody from morning ’til night
raises their glasses
and feels their spirits rise
and fly free.

Green, to me, has always represented life,
abundance, growth, and energy;
today on Saint Patrick’s day
we can all know and see the face divinity;
green, to me, has always felt ethereal
and magical in some way;
today on Saint Patrick’s day
we can all be filled with a strength
to get through anything in life,
come what may.

God has always had his messengers on Earth,
and for centuries they have spread
the meaning of life throughout the world
through his teachings;
the meaning of life is to love and be loved,
however learning how to do so
comes in a variety of different ways;
living your life to its fullest is important
because life is precious
and the time that we have to live is fleeting;
it is a great thing
to be able to share the joy of life,
and there is no better time or way
to be our most human of selves
than on the day of green
that is Saint Patrick’s day.

The Green Day-poem

My Poem ‘My Loving Parents’

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

My Mum and Dad’s love for each-other
is the most beautiful sight I have ever seen;
my Mum and Dad’s bond is the strongest
that has ever been;
my Mum and Dad would do anything for each other,
no matter what;
my Mum and Dad were always meant to be together,
and you can tell that fact
any time that you are with them
and you see them together –
they are not only each-other’s soulmates,
they are each other’s best friends,
who have both been through a lot.

Throughout my entire life,
I have been a witness to magic;
since I was a child,
every day I have seen my Mum and my Dad
go above and beyond for their children;
in my opinion, no other two people
who have ever been in love with each other
have given as much for one-another
as my parents have –
it is in both of their DNA to give;
to have parents who are as amazing
and as incredible in every way as mine are,
I know with all that I am
that there has never been a more blessed
or a more fortunate son.

I am the best of two hearts
eternally bound to each-other;
I am the art of two artists
whose life and love still lives
and will forever continue
to course through my veins;
I am in constant awe
at what my mother would do for my father,
and what my father would do for my mother;
I am sometimes lost for words
when trying to describe
the truly wonderful and heroic two people
who I am proud and so lucky
to be able to call my loving parents.

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My Poem ‘The Angel’s Wings’

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

‘Where do you keep your wings?’
Asked the Blessed to the Angel;
‘I don’t see any wings on your back?’

‘Well, I keep mine in my wallet,
or sometimes folded up in my back-pack –
but not all angel’s have wings,
as a matter of fact:
some are artists, some are teachers,
some are hair-stylists, some are preachers,’
said the Angel with a smile
as they sat down next to the Blessed
on the park bench.

‘Oh, really?’ Replied the Blessed with a grin,
as they slowly opened the fingers of their hands
from how they had been clenched.

‘Really!’ Replied the Angel
as they looked at the Blessed
and could see that they were now feeling
and appearing as if they now were more relaxed.
A few minutes before, however,
the Blessed had collapsed to the ground
as if they had suffered a heart-attack.

‘Why don’t angel’s just walk around
with their wings on-show?’
Asked the Blessed, ‘Or turn on the light
above their head to tell everybody who they are?
Why don’t they illuminate their halo?’

‘Because, in this day-and-age,
if they did that then everyone would want a ‘selfie’
with them, wouldn’t they?’ Said the angel with a smile
and a chuckled laugh.
‘Most Angel’s keep a low-profile until they are needed.
That didn’t used to be the case a long time ago,
a couple of thousand years ago in the past.
Most of us Angel’s only truly stretch out our wings
when we are trying to get them dry
after we have taken a bath.’

‘Angel’s take baths?’ Asked the Blessed,
‘why don’t you just go for a fly?
I’m sure that a quick flap
would get in no time get them dry?’

‘Good point!’ Replied the Angel
with a sparkle in their eyes;
‘thing is though, the feathers of our wings
‘poof-up’ so badly after they get wet –
or maybe that could just be mine?’

‘Wow!’ Exclaimed the Blessed with a laugh,
‘I had no idea that angel’s could be so funny?’

‘You would be amazed at how many Angel’s
were also comedians when they are on Earth.
Me? I learned all my best one-liners
from Bill Murray on the set of Groundhog Day!
You know, considering that it is a movie
about a man repeating himself over-and-over again,
until he discovers that being a selfless person
is the only way break the endless-cycle,
it wasn’t as boring as you may think in any way.’

‘That is one of my favourite films, actually!
I must have seen it a million times.’

‘Mine too!’ Said the Angel;
‘that film is a classic!
And it is also a wonderful
modern-day parable, in my opinion.
To me, like all great art,
it is one of a kind.’

‘I feel so much better now!’ Said the Blessed.
‘I still can’t remember a thing
about what happened,
but thanks again for helping me!’

‘My pleasure!’ Replied the Angel
as he stood up from his seat
and helped steady the Blessed to their feet.

‘I better be going now.
Thank you so much!
You are my hero! You are my angel!’
Said the Blessed with a smile
before walking away, and looking around
at the beauty of their surroundings,
and taking in every chirp and tweet
of the birds that they heard singing.

And as the Angel watched the Blessed walk away,
they sat down again on the bench,
they crossed their legs,
they closed their eyes,
and they smiled…
and as the sun shone brightly on them
they unfurled their hidden wings of pure-white –
and then with the grace of God
they returned to heaven
in a flash of golden sunlight.

My Poem ‘The Crimson Cardinal’

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

The bold red Cardinal;
the striking male;
the vibrant and the wonderful;
the one who does not shy away
and who knows that they are something special
from their beak to their tail.

Naturally energetic;
a lover of life;
happy to help others
if and when they can…
someone capable of generating
great vibrancy, warmth,
fire and passion.

Colour in nature is deliberate;
why things are coloured the way that they are
has a deeper meaning than some may think;
some colours are subtle;
some colours are loud;
some colours are unmistakable;
some colours are meant to stand out from the crowd;
some colours are spiritual;
some colours are essential signs
for the lost and for the found.

No matter who you are,
no matter what you do,
no matter where you go,
no matter if and when
the world feels calm and still…
there is more to what you feel,
there is more to what you see,
there is more to life
than even the beautiful sunlight can show us,
and sometimes the only way to know something
for sure is to use your heart and call out…
and then, perhaps, the answer
may reveal itself to you,
just as I believe that my path, my faith,
and my destiny became clear to me once again
when I looked out into the world
and I was visited by the vision
and the living manifestation
of my internal passion…
that came one morning, in Tennessee,
in the unforgettable form
of the Crimson Cardinal.

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My Poem ‘Scream!’

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

Silence is broken…
the quiet is no more…
sound is made to say
what cannot be spoken…
a child that has not yet learned
how to talk is thinking, feeling,
and wanting something so much
that they are throwing everything
that they can reach to the floor.

Why do we scream?
Where does all that energy,
and where does all that deafening noise come from?
To me, there is something primal in a shriek;
to me, there is nothing like a noise
that seems to come out of nowhere
to attract your attention
and implode your concentration.

There are people who openly seek to be
scared out of their skin;
there are some people whose heart’s
race when they are on a beach
and they see in the distance
the unmistakable shape of a shark’s dorsal-fin;
there are some people who love
to take their senses to their outer-limits;
there are some people
who at the prospect of there being a ghost
in a house they are staying in
would be so petrified
that they would be scared beyond their wits.

Ghost-stories; camp-fire tales;
first-hand experiences recanted in great detail;
scary movies; myths of spectres
dressed in period-clothing
whose faces are so devoid of life they are pale;
to some people, to be shown something dark
and other-worldly horrific
is the greatest and the most visceral of thrills.

When the adrenaline surges through your body…
when your appendages spasm
and you literally jump out of your seat…
when you smile and perhaps even laugh out-loud
out of complete and utter shock and surprise,
brought on by the fear brought to life
by the images that you see…
that is when, even as a full-grown adult,
you can become like a child again
who is unsteady on their feet.

It’s cathartic to face your fears;
it’s good to let out what you are feeling
from time to time;
it’s incredible to see things you have never seen;
it’s amazing how a slight scare
can make your thoughts clear;
it’s phenomenal to see evil be defeated
when it crosses the line;
it’s exhilarating, sometimes,
to find yourself lost in a moment of comfort
and then have all that taken away
when something gives rise
to an almighty scream!

My Poem ‘We are all one’

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

Joy may come in the morning for you
in more ways than you might expect –
someone with a passion
and a drive and a love for what they do
cannot wait to jump out of bed,
while someone who feels like
they do not have a purpose in life
might open their eyes
and then close them again quickly
and cover themselves up again
below the covers
like a bird putting their wing
over them as they rest
comfortably in their nest –
however, the truth is
that everybody has a role in life,
everybody is meant to be alive,
and everybody is born to be
just as they are –
everybody is a necessary source of experience,
knowledge, instinct, inspiration,
heat and light, like a candle burning in the dark.

We all go through a metamorphosis;
we all go through an identity-crisis;
we all go through doors to places
we do not always know where;
we all go through stages of re-evaluating
what our priorities in life are,
just as we all sometimes struggle
to pick-out what we want to wear;
we are all a creation
and made in the same guise as the divine;
we are all here to be something to someone;
we are all blessed from birth
with the gift of infinite possibilities,
even if we are not given an endless life of time;
we are all of our time
and no matter how you see yourself,
or how somebody else sees you,
never forget that we are all reflections,
we are all human, we are all
resonators of change and emotion;
life is a lesson in accepting the undeniable fact
that we are all one.