My Poem ‘The Gunslinger’

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

Waking up even before the sun has risen,
getting up and putting on his jeans and his boots,
the Gunslinger always goes to the open window
and stares at the horizon…
watching the sky start to slowly
look like the burning ember
of a timeless celestial fire,
the Gunslinger’s heart overflows
with an intense desire –
because he knows that he is getting ever-closer
to the centre of the universe
that lies where The Dark Tower of reality
stands and casts a shadow in his direction
for the Gunslinger to follow.

The Gunslinger carries many scars…
the Gunslinger has had more than one tussles
in more than one towns and bars…
the Gunslinger does what he does
because he is being guided by
the hands of fate upon his shoulders…
the Gunslinger knew, even as a child,
that he was meant to do something
monumentally important,
and that belief and that feeling
grew steadily stronger
the more the years flew by
and the Gunslinger got older.

He was a keen student of the past…
he was a man who had learned the hard way
that if you want to survive
what life sometimes throws at you
you have got to think, learn, and act fast…
he was someone who had been taught
that respect was one of the greatest virtues
that anyone could remember and put into practice…
he was already some-what of a legend in his own right,
and he was almost as elusive
as that of the sunken island that was Atlantis.

The Gunslinger drunk life as if it were whiskey…
the Gunslinger embraced change
as if he were holding the body of a woman…
the Gunslinger was a poet
but he never in his life
wrote a single word of poetry…
the Gunslinger had been waking up
for as long as he could remember
knowing that he had a destiny to fulfil
that he could not yet fully-understand.

The Gunslinger was real,
and yet the stuff of dreams;
the Gunslinger loved a good meal,
but he hungered more to see
something of the world
but which felt not-of-his-world
that he had imagined
but had not yet seen;
the Gunslinger knew that where he was
was but a way-station to where he was going;
the Gunslinger was inspiring others,
and he was being followed wherever he went
without his knowing.

He had always thought of his weapon
as but an extension of his own arm…
he had always considered his lightning-fast draw
as his greatest gift…
he had always used his finely-honed instincts
to keep himself and those he loved
from coming to harm…
finding the one place in the entire world
where he could take off his hat
and unbuckle his gun-holster
and lay-down his revolver
is what he had always wished.

And as the rose before him,
and as the dawn-chorus called to him,
and as his trigger-finger started to quiver,
and as the heat began to darken his skin,
he knew that he was reason
for all things and for everything…
and without even blinking an eye
he smiled and then prepared to head-out,
saddle-up, and race towards
that which would give him
the reason he was seeking
why for his entire life
he had always been “The Gunslinger”.

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Inspired by ‘The Dark Tower – The Gunslinger’ by Stephen King

My Poem ‘Masterpiece’

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

To me you are a masterpiece;
I was meant for you
and you are meant for me;
when I met you
an unstoppable flood was released;
the stars aligned so that we
could come to be.

I found all that I had ever wished for
and all that I had ever desired…
when I first started to get to know you
you became the first letter and the full-stop
that began and ended every sentence and every word.

When I first met you
I knew that you were the missing piece of my heart
that I had been looking for all my life;
when I first looked into your eyes
I felt like someone divine and angelic
was staring back at me;
when I first took you in my arms
it felt like day had finally begun,
where for so long before
it had felt like an endless night;
when I first kissed your lips
time stopped completely,
and those seconds of intimacy
to me felt like an infinity.

Inspiration had been the only drug
I had ever been intoxicated by
before you came into my life
and revived my failing motivation;
I remember waiting to receive
a message back from you
with overwhelming anticipation;
for the longest time
I had only one picture of you in my mind,
and even now when I look back
on that photo of you
I see the reason for my salvation;
whenever I travel, wherever I go,
it is you who is always with me
and to you is my constant destination.

Every up, every down,
everything that has happened
had a constant silver-lining
shining behind those sometimes dark clouds…
every sunrise, every sunset,
every time I would look west,
I knew that you were there –
but I didn’t know who you were yet…
however, knowing you now
and loving you more than anything,
I know that it has always been you…
I know that we are
and we always have been meant to be…
I know that you eclipse everybody else in the world,
because you are the universe’s most beautiful…
I know, and I will always know, that you are perfect –
because to me you are a masterpiece.

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My Poem ‘Head-phones to the soul’

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

On a long journey somewhere,
or while simply sitting on your bed…
on a road-trip to another country
or to another state…
while looking at and listening live
to a band on a stage…
or while listening alone
as you walk through nature…
music is the beginning, the end,
and the giant leap to an amazing new adventure.

Portals to new worlds can be psychological,
emotional, visual, and audible…
some doors only require
your undivided-attention to open them…
some worlds can be both big and small…
just as to see some things clearly
you need to look at them through the right lens,
to hear something life-changing
you need the right means of translation
in order to listen.

Music means more to people than even they may know;
music is capable of stimulating transformation
in people in more ways than can ever be conceived;
music was born at the beginning of everything,
and each and every one of us
has been dancing and listening
to that universal soundtrack all our lives,
and as long as life continues to exist
we will be living in the resonance
of that timeless cosmic echo;
music, like any kind of magic,
needs to be witnessed and heard to be believed.

Music is universal,
but it is also personal;
singers sing,
but they also need to hear;
music has been changing and influencing lives
in ways that almost supersede
the natural and the biological;
when musicians play their voice can be heard
by those light-years away, as well as near.

A song can be like a seed
that explodes to life in your mind
and blossoms like a tree in spring;
a song can be of a time,
or timeless and forever
and never get old;
a song can be simply a way
for somebody to tell the one they love ‘I love you’,
and the one who made it
may never truly know how much happiness
to other people it will never stop bringing;
a song can be a life-line and a life-saver,
and when heard at a particular time
a song or a piece of music
can override all of your senses,
as if the instruments
that you are listening to them with
are head-phones to a divine soul.

Head-phones to the soul

My poem ‘The Drummer’

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

It was all he heard…
it was all he felt…
it was all he wanted to do…
every morning, every night,
the drummer felt a longing,
and the beat was the only cure…
over and over again,
the drummer played the rhythm
of his favourite beat in his mind,
with the fingers of his hands,
and every time that he tapped his feet…
it was as if it was his own heart beating…
it was as if it was his own pulse racing…
it was the most epic sound
he had ever heard in his life,
since he was a baby
and he used to look out his bedroom window
and listen to the thundering sound
of the pita-patter on the window-pane
when it was raining…
it was more powerful
than any kind of hunger or craving…
to Mark, the music was like the heart-beat of God…
to Mark, the music that came from his soul
was something that was transcendental…
to Mark, the music was what kept him
from becoming among humanities lost…
to Mark, the music he heard was what he loved…
and to him it was beautiful.

Becoming a member of a marching-band
had been a dream of Mark’s since he was a child –
Mark had everything that any band
would ever want, or ever need: Mark loved music,
and he loved his favourite instrument…
even as a child Mark would turn his parents’
pots and pans into home-made drums,
and he used to play them,
and his parents let him be free
and express himself, and go wild –
and if anybody came around to visit
Mark and his parents
they would see and hear
Mark playing the most phenomenal of beats,
and every day of his life
music, especially his music,
has become more and more important.

Mark tried-out to be in his high-school band…
Mark had dreams of one day playing
in the marching-band of his favourite
college football team…
Mark played and practiced every minute
he was awake or asleep,
and he knew that it he just played
with all his heart
that everything in his life
would happen as he always dreamed it would,
as if it were all a part of a plan –
however, all Mark could play,
all Mark wanted to play,
all Mark loved to play
was the beat that he heard within…
and when his moment came
to show just how incredible a player
and a drummer he was Mark froze…
and then he did what he always did –
he played the music that he knew and loved.

Mark never made it into the marching-band…
Mark was disappointed to not be able to play
and march in front of his favourite football team –
but he wasn’t sad…
to lift his spirits, Mark’s parents ordered him
a band-uniform all of his own and they told him to
“never stop playing” the music that made him
the most happy and the music he had always known…
Mark’s parents told him to go out in his uniform,
with his drum, and “fill the world” with his music
that to them was like no other –
and that is exactly what Mark did:
he went out…
he walked down the main street
of his home town’s most busiest road…
he stopped people and traffic
to a stand-still everywhere he went…
and as he played he knew
that because of his music
he would always be remembered
as the boy, and later the man,
who would always be known as
“The Drummer”.

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My Poem ‘No comparison’

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

I’ve walked the Earth…
I’ve searched the stars…
I’ve been waiting to be
with you all my life…
I’ve seen love in the eyes of others –
but I have never seen a love
as breathtaking as ours.

It began before we met…
it started when our heart’s
first began beating…
it started when we were born
of our parents under the sunlight
that constantly shines down
upon our beautiful planet…
it all began before even
the first birds began tweeting.

You and I, me and you –
we are one of a kind,
we are unbelievably special…
we make new music together
every time we speak…
we fall in love with each other
over and over again…
we would not be the same people
without each other,
nor would we be as happy as can be…
we are one and the same,
and that is something
that could only we could ever understand.

It’s because of you
that my heart feels like
it is beating a thousand times a second…
it’s because of you
that nothing could ever compare…
it’s because of you
that I believe that for each
and every one of us God has a plan…
it’s because of you
that I look at your picture
at all hours of the day
and I dream of being with you
over and over again
within every timeless moment that I stare.

I have never loved anyone like I love you…
I have never thanked God more for anything
than I do when I thank him for you…
you have been the most beautiful to me
since the first picture that I saw of you…
because you are my passion,
because you are my obsession,
because you are my addiction,
because in all the world,
because on all the planets
that circle those distant lights of perfection,
there is nothing and no one
as gorgeous, nor as amazing, as you…
because, Melissa, to me, to you,
there is no comparison.

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My Poem ‘The devil is in the details’

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

When god smiles, rejoice…
when the devil smiles, run…
when angels save a life,
sing with all your voice…
when demons possess someone,
the only weapon against them
is to pray and summon
the light of heaven
to drive them back to hell
from where they are supposed to be
imprisoned, and fight the fear
of an endless night with hope
like that of sunlight.

When we think of hell
we think of flames…
when we think of heaven
we think of unwavering faith…
when we think of the devil
we think of evil…
when we think of god
we think of love.

Day and night, light and dark, good and bad –
an entire universe in-balance with itself,
that occasionally becomes imbalanced, by design;
just as every story has two sides to it,
what every story also has is a middle-ground –
a ‘grey state’ that exists
between every word of every line;
everything and everyone has a purpose –
some people have to dance with the devil
in order to get through life;
everything and everyone sometimes has to fight,
but you can rest assured that whenever you need one
there will always be an angel
in your corner and by your side.

When a single beam of light
passes through a seemingly-transparent prism of glass,
that single flash transforms
into a spectrum of many colours –
the same layers of reality
that the entire world is made up of,
from the most super-giant of stars
to the smallest particles of ash –
and when you see that rainbow
you are seeing the pigment
of everything and everyone
in the universe’s skin and eye-colour.

Questions beg for answers –
however, even fallen angels know
that some things are sometimes best left unsaid;
there would be no life
if there were not also temptation –
however, everybody has to learn a lesson
about the true meaning of life,
though some lessons
you can only learn the meaning of
before you rise and leave your body behind
to lie in peace in its last bed.

Light began everything…
darkness will always exist –
it must according to divine will…
finding an equilibrium with all things
and with all people is all about living…
just as god is in the details of everything,
so is the devil.

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My Poem ‘I live for him’

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

Our life has a meaning…
we live for a reason…
nothing can stop us
from fulfilling our destiny –
not even dying…
we should never stop hoping
and believing in the power
of god and heaven –
and there is no better example,
nor a more shining star
of a blessed and saved angel,
that I have ever heard of
than that of the story
of Isabella “Izzie” Cochran…

Izzie died, Izzie went to heaven –
Izzie was with Jesus the entire time,
and she was returned to life
and to the arms of her loving family,
because it was not her time
to live among the angels
and stay in the presence of the divine,
because she has a life-long purpose
to spread the word of the one
who watches over all of us,
and to be a reason for others
to believe in miracles.

Blessings can come as profound surprises…
prophecies can be played out
when you least expect them to be…
one person can bring together a world divided…
it is amazing who you can see
when you look into infinity
and a single star guides you
to the place and to the person
where and with whom you are meant to be.

There is only so much that can be written…
there is only so much that can be shared…
there is only so much that can be understood
about our reason to be here
on Earth as a child of heaven…
there is only so much in life that we can all take –
however, as the bible teaches us,
we are all only given that which we are able to bear.

It is incredibly inspiring,
it is spiritually reinvigorating,
it is a life-redefining reminder
to never stop believing,
it is beyond imagining
to have been given a gift
and to know with all your heart
that the love that binds
each and every-one throughout creation
is the reason why children are born,
why the world keeps turning,
why we are given what we are given,
and why the beautiful gift
who is Izabella “Izzie” Cochran
died and was brought back to life…
because her purpose –
that which Jesus told her
when she saw him
next to a white horse in heaven –
was to live and to live for him.

My Poem ‘In memory of’

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

One of the greatest things
you can do is remember;
one of the most touching things
you can do is to not forget;
one of the things that grounds us the most
is a memory that holds us in place
so that we don’t drift away –
some memories are like anchors;
one of the things that has stood the test of time
still remains the greatest archive
that could ever be envisioned…
and that place is a world,
and that world is our beautiful planet.

The lands of every country on Earth
are speckled with the graves
and the monuments of the lost and the fallen;
every society and every religion
remembers their people in different ways;
perhaps one day the only thing
that will remain of humanity on Earth
will be which still remains
engraved on worn-out vertical tablets –
electronically? solar-powered?
Or, perhaps, on good old-fashioned
marble and stone?

Humanity has changed and continues to change;
mankind is moving forwards,
but still continues to remember
and embalm that which to them is sacred;
humanity has the means to be
at-peace the world-over,
however some cannot live
unless there is a fight to be fought
and a war to be waged;
mankind can only be blamed
for what it has done and for what it still does –
every-body has to sleep
in the bed that we all make.

In my time here on Earth,
I have learned that some things
can be put off until tomorrow –
however, the most important things,
the people who we love and who love us,
should never be side-lined,
nor ever ignored;
I have learned more than once
throughout my life that, no matter what,
each and every one of us in our lives will be hurt –
however, that which becomes a part of us
we were gifted with so that when we need it
we can draw on something as powerful as a memory
to pick us up off the floor;
as I have lived, learned,
and occasionally lost,
I have slowly understood life more –
and I understand why there needs to be a hell below
just as there needs to be a heaven above;
I, personally, hold on with all that I am
every day to my memories
that I still return to when necessary…
when I need to leave my own monument
which is always anchored to the place,
or to the person, where, or to whom,
it was created in memory of.

My Poem ‘Scales & George’

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

George was brave…
George was strong…
George was a knight
who was always looking
for someone to save…
George was the one
everybody called out to for help,
and he could do no wrong.

“Scales” was your common mountain dragon,
living in his cavernous cave
underneath the Earth –
when one day, after returning from a bit of fun
that involved flying, fire-breathing,
and accidentally scaring half-to-death
the local town-folk that lived nearby,
Scales was payed a visit by a “knight”
who called himself “George” –
who had the smallest of swords
that Scales had ever seen –
and who was as full of heart
as he was overflowing with words.

It was not an everyday occurrence
for Scales to be visited by anyone –
not even an another dragon;
it was rare that a human
voluntarily came looking for Scales –
however, even from his first glance
at the young warrior-wannabee,
Scales could tell that George
was not just anyone.

“I am George – knight of the night,
defender of the weak,
the hero of the people of Mountain Shadow –
and I, dragon, am here to slay you!”
Said George while holding his sword
out in front of him
as he walked into Scales’ cave
and came face to face with the dragon.

To which, Scales laughed uncontrollably
and even exhaled a few flames of fire
he was so amused by what he had just heard.
Scales, however, was impressed by George’s
pronunciation and his ability to speak
“dragonese” – a gift that he did not know
that any human could utter,
well no human before George
that he had ever encountered.

“Well, George, hero of Mountain Shadow,
I am Scales – nice to meet you!”
Scales replied with a smile
as he looked into George’s eyes
and hoped to put a smile
on George’s glum-looking face;
however, George looked angry
to Scales for some reason,
and he did not appear to be
taking a breath –
which was probably why his face
looked like it was changing colour
and why he was shaking so intensely.

“Did you not hear me, dragon?
I am here to slay you!”
Shouted George as he could feel
his helmet begin to slip
even further down his face.

“I heard you just fine, George!
Would you care to take off your helmet
and your armour, maybe?
You have come a long way from your town –
you must be tired?” Scales replied –
fearing that George might soon faint.

“I cannot do that! I must slay you
so that you may stop terrorizing my people!
Every time we see you in the sky above
our children scream, our women cry,
and our men drink themselves into a stupor.
And I have been sent here to face you
and to slay you, because among our people
there is no one braver than I!”
Said George as he shook from helmet to his boots.

“Really, dear George?
I mean George, defender of the weak?
I am truly sorry to hear that!
I did not mean to cause so much panic!
Please forgive me?”
Said Scales with a genuine expression of regret –
to Scales he was only just having a bit of fun,
and he honestly did not mean to cause such upset.

“Forgive you? You are asking for my forgiveness?
Do you not want to roar? Or breathe flames, maybe?
Also, can you tell me how it is possible
that a dragon such as you are
can speak, and speak the most perfect of English?”

“It is not I who is speaking English, dear George –
you are speaking dragonese!
I had no idea anyone or anything could speak
in the dragon-tongue –
however, I am both surprised and pleased!”

“I am? Since when?
I had no idea there was such a language?”
Said George with a look of astonishment.

“And I had no idea that humans had such
a big heart for such a small body?
Today is truly a day for human-dragon
mutual-relations development!”

“You are not a monster at all, are you?
You are not what our children dream of
in their nightmares!
I thought that slaying you would be
the crowning achievement of my life –
but now, I realize that
though we may look different from one-another
there are things that both humans and dragons
have in common and share.”

“Perhaps you could return to your town
and say that you did in fact slay me?
And in return, I promise to never shadow
the town of Mountain Shadow,
nor shake fear into the hearts of its people,
ever again!” Said Scales as he thought out-loud.

“And you would just let me turn around and leave?
You wouldn’t just come up behind me and eat me
so fast that I wouldn’t even hear a sound?’

“George, I promise! Believe me, I had no idea
that I was perceived as such a demon of skies
by your people! I may be a dragon…
I may breath fire from time to time,
but I do not tell lies.
In fact, I have been thinking about
turning vegetarian? Sheep and cows
do not taste that great,
and humans do not do any favours
to my already sensitive-stomach
and my problematic digestion!”
Said Scales with a wry toothy-smile
after he licked his lips jokingly.

“But what if someone from town find out?
If my people ever found out that I lied
they might banish me?’ Said George worriedly.

“No one will find out. Your secret is safe with me.
You go home and receive a heroes-welcome for slaying me.
I will even give you an old tooth of mine as proof!”

“You would do that for me?”
Said George with a lump in his throat
and a tear in his eye.

“Of course I would, George!
That is what friends are for!
And if you ever need my help in any way
then do not hesitate to return her in the future.”
Said Scales with a smile,
before yawning and stretching out his wings.

“Thank you! “Scales” is it? Thank you
for your kindness and your generous offer –
I will not forget!”

“Now head home, young knight –
and tell your fellow towns-folk
how you slayed me easily
and then took a tooth from my mouth
as a souvenir. And, as I said,
if you ever need me I will be right here.”

And so, George turned around with a grin
and left Scales’ cave holding an old tooth of his
that must have been the size of his hand –
leaving Scales to rest in comfort and in silence again,
and thinking about his new-found human friend.

George returned home to his town more of a hero
than he was before he had left –
and telling anybody who might want to listen
how he slayed the dragon of the mountain
(but who to George was secretly his new best-friend).

Both George and Scales knew that their meeting
was just the beginning of a long friendship
that would be a staple of their shared future –
and both Scales and George knew
that it would not be long
before they saw one-another again
and they shared a brand new adventure.

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My Poem ‘A new leaf’

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A new season brings new colours;
a new season brings new flowers;
a new forest brings new trees;
a new burst of sunlight
brings alive new leaves.

A summer’s day is filled with energy;
a summer evening is filled with sparkling stars;
a summer afternoon is filled with beautiful serenity;
a summer’s morning is filled with the most intense
and overwhelming explosion of natural light –
especially at the moment of sunrise
when the sun expels the dark.

Summer walks… summer music…
summer waterfalls… summer epics…
summer breeze… summer shades…
summer peace… summer feelings,
emotions and memories that will never fade.

Every season brings new things
into the mix of life on Earth;
every person is like a planet –
everything in the universe shares something
immutable from birth;
every time we think we have seen everything
something new always shows its face;
every moment is fleeting, precious,
and goes by so fast –
just ask an astronaut looking back at all of us
as they orbit high-above in space.

Just imagine if there was no time
to be bound to any longer…
just imagine if you no longer knew how old you were –
you would always be the same age
and never get any older…
just imagine if your time was yours
to do with what you may…
just imagine if there were no clocks,
no watches, no calendars…
then every life and every one
would live every day as if it were an endless day.

A new shirt…
a new adventure…
a new intake of something to quench your thirst…
a new sense of self-worth…
a new page… a new dream…
a new stage… a new new air to breath in,
heralded by the sight and the prospect
of a new leaf.