My Poem ‘Stations’

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

Kisses and hugs;
smiles and tears;
handshakes and long-looks;
happiness and delight;
sadness and fears;
every emotion can be witnessed
and seen every day at a station:
at an airport- in departures, in arrivals;
at a bus station, at a coach station;
on the platform of a train station;
people- friends, family, lovers, partners,
confidants, strangers,
say goodbye, and say hello,
to each other, alongside each-other,
about to start a new journey,
or who have just arrived at their destination.

Everything that could happen
happens in a terminal;
anything that could be said
can be heard while waiting in line;
something unexpected always happens
and sparks can always be seen
when you have a mixture
of different kinds of people;
the more information available the better,
and the more distractions people have
the easier it is when they are waiting
and need something to do
to pass the time.

Luggage going out;
bags of belongings, souvenirs,
and perhaps duty-free, coming in;
tests of patience, hopes, and doubts;
tickets firmly in-hand
to somewhere they are looking forward
to returning to, and for others
once in a lifetime vouchers
to a place they have never been.

Adults, and children,
have different coping-skills
and varying methods of keeping themselves
entertained, while waiting to board a plane,
or when they are waiting for a train
depending on their disposition
for both adults and children alike,
it can be either an exciting, wonderful,
heart-pounding, and amazing, time,
waiting to get underway
that they can’t sit still, or rest,
and cannot wait to leave;
or there are those who worry that they have
remembered everything that they need,
and that there are no problems,
and they don’t need to find someone to blame.

Departing somewhere is a great feeling,
and it is very exciting;
however, for me ‘arrivals’ in an airport,
or the moment that you see a loved-one
standing and waiting for you
on the other side of a window,
is the best place to be,
and, personally, I feel happiness
for everybody when I see people reuniting
it’s one of the best moments to witness;
it’s one of those close encounters
that fills you with fascination and elation;
it’s one of those magical, cork-popping,
emotional, time-freezing, eternities,
that just overflows with fizz
you see it all, you witness the wonderful;
you feel so much when you come back
from a holiday away;
and when you take the first steps
of your vacation,
there is always something to be sensed
and felt at every time of the day
in each and every person
departing, or arriving,
at a station.

My Poem ‘I wish’

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

I wish I could put into words what I am thinking,
I wish my poetry could truly reflect what I am dreaming;
I wish I could express in greater depth what I am feeling;
I wish I had a voice for song,
because if I did I would not stop singing.

I wish I could live in a bookstore;
I wish I could replay my memories
on a blank wall in front of me,
like a movie projector;
I wish I could breath underwater
and explore the seafloor;
I wish I could go back in time
to my first day of school when I was four.

I wish I could relive the best of my life
over and over again;
I wish I could go anywhere,
and be with anyone, any time;
I wish I could change myself between who I am now,
and who I was then;
I wish I could explore the universe
and not be afraid for a second at what I might find.

I wish I could play an instrument;
I wish I could make the dreams of the most deserving come true;
I wish I could go camping, and sleep under the sky
of an infinite field of stars,
with a glowing fire next to me,
without the need for a bed or a tent;
I wish I could be reciting these wishes,
and living these hopes with you;
I wish we could all find great, new,
hopeful ways to coexist;
I want only the best for you who is reading this-
that is what I wish.

My Poem ‘Elements’

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

Out in the elements,
wrapped up in a big coat
to keep out the cold of the wind;
outside, walking, experiencing a wave of deja vu,
as if doing something that you once dreamed;
the leaves fall all around you;
birds fly from tree to tree;
people off on an adventure race past you
in cars and on bikes;
as you make the most of every moment of freedom
that are so precious,
but you don’t realize how much
until they fade away,
as the light of the day begins to dim.

You can only, truly, speak with clarity
when describing, sharing, and reliving,
an experience that either just happened,
or when recalling the details and the emotions
of a memory that have become the paradise of your life and mind;
you can make things up as you go along,
but there is nothing better than to draw
from that which you already know,
from which you could never be blind.

Earth did not just flash into being in an instant;
the world did not become what it is over night;
even nature was once young and innocent, like an infant;
the beauty of the universe was something that was there
at the moment of creation, but it could not be seen,
felt, perceived, reflected upon,
until the rise, the evolution,
and the question of origins was asked,
by the first of infinite forms of intelligent life.

The smell of a newborn baby;
the aroma of a beautiful flower coming into bloom;
watching someone float in space free of gravity;
seeing the light of the sun at dawn;
glimpsing the light of a full-moon
through the window of a room;
the heart-pounding rush of jumping off a cliff
and flying instead of falling;
thinking about every new horizon and possibility
as an adventure, as well as a calling.

A gift, a present;
a lift; a season of significance;
an important time; a beautiful moment;
a peace of you never to be left behind;
a confluence of life, fate, destiny, karma,
thought, emotion, and reality,
and its connected and miraculous elements.

My Poem ‘Mark The Poet’

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

Mark, the Poet-
make sure this time you don’t blow it.
You are starting again-
new page, same pen.
Everything before was just preparation-
you went along for the ride,
because you were in need of love and connection.
You already had everything you needed,
you were just trying to be all things to all people-
but guess what? You found out you weren’t perfect.
It’s not a problem to be knocked down,
as long as you get back up;
it’s human to cry when something and someone
hits you by surprise and knocks you on your butt.
You are a lover, not a fighter-
but, at your heart,
you don’t want to just play your part;
you want to be happy-
that is your life-long wish;
you want to take your time and go gently,
but you also want to do everything right this second-
however, everything you want to do,
no one would ever be able to fit
on any bucket list.
That is your gift, that is your problem;
your intensity has inadvertently opened up rifts,
your overwhelming passion has blown up in your face
like a bomb.
You need to learn to listen to the right people
at the right time;
you need to stop worrying
about what you are going to write on the next line;
you need to go with the flow,
and trust who and what you know;
you need to keep being yourself;
you need to stop wanting to impress somebody else;
you need to keep things simple in your head,
because you know that you are not stupid;
you know who you are,
so don’t for a second forget it.
Be the Mark with the biggest heart;
be the Mark who you’ve been from the start;
be the Mark you’ve been destined to be
since you first breathed in the air,
and looked up at the sky of this planet;
be the Mark of music;
be Mark the favourite;
be the Mark of magic;
write a sonnet,
and be Mark The Poet.

My Poem ‘When I die’

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

I am sorry you are reading this now,
I wish I were alive to say this in person-
however, where I am, I do not think that
personal eulogies by those who have died are allowed;
so this is me planning for the inevitable, as always,
leaving another part of me for my friends
(who were my friends),
and for my family, for my parents-
to whom, I will always be their son.

No matter how things turned out,
no matter when, where, and how I died,
things in my life, throughout my life,
felt like and made me feel turned inside-out-
but I had a great life,
I had a wonderful life,
I had an inspiring life,
I had a blessed life,
I had a mostly-happy life-
so I ask anyone who reads this
who remembers anything about me to not cry.

There were times in my life
when I absolutely could not believe my eyes;
there were times growing up
when I was the happiest that anyone of any age
could ever be;
there were times as a teenager
when I was lucky to see each and every beautiful sunrise;
there were times as an adult
when I was never happier
than when I was laughing and joking
with my amazing sister Clare-
talking, and being in the same room,
and loving every second of being with both of our parents;
and of course spending time with inspiring friends;
and of course trying to write inspirational poetry.

I am not about to die-
at least I don’t think so.
I have considered, and I am considering,
what lies beyond death,
and what awaits us all.
I am not going to lie,
I am not in any hurry to give up on life-
just so you know;
but I am writing this poem,
because I want the last words
that people remember me by to be my own;
I want people who know me
to have a copy of this poem,
and to read it and think about me,
when they are alone and cry tears of happiness,
not sadness;
I want people to constantly be saying hello to me,
at the same time that they are saying goodbye.
I want to say that I hope to see you soon
in another life, and I hope that you will never forget me,
and I hope that this poem will keep on gifting you my presence,
in my poetry, in your life,
when I die.

My Poem ‘The Cure for Cancer’

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

We live in an incredible day and age
when we can do almost anything-
we can do almost anything,
we can go almost everywhere,
we can say almost everything,
we can enjoy the wonders of the world
that surrounds us, without a care;
however, there are things that we cannot do,
there are places that we cannot go,
there are things that we cannot say;
there are people in this life
whose destiny it is to live
the shortest of lives,
and to be afflicted with a disease
that touches and effects the lives of everyone,
young and old, everywhere-
a life-changing shadow,
which no light shone can yet completely cure,
and that darkness is cancer.

My aunt Mary died of cancer
when I was a teenager,
and unfortunately I did not see
or get a chance to say goodbye
to my auntie before she died.
My Dad’s older sister,
I remember was always someone who was smiling,
happy, thinking about everybody else;
my auntie Mary came with us to Florida
when I was a child,
and even though I was very young
I remember her enjoyment, her smile,
her heart of adventure at being
in an unknown country
and experiencing adventures,
that you would always keep with you,
that are literally once in a life-time.
I remember taking my aunt’s, my uncle’s,
my family members’ faces, voices, and spirit
for granted, and never once thinking
that they would ever die, or be in ill-health.

We all take things and people for granted,
and we all stupidly hold grudges on people
who are as human as we are,
and who know they are,
because they are going through their own
trial of mortality.
Cancer has touched and has been a big part
of the life of every family,
and right now it is still touching my family,
and it is still having a profound effect
on every family, and when I think
of what cancer is, and what it means,
and where the fight to beat it has taken people
and will take people,
I feel small, I feel weak,
I feel like if it were possible
that the life of one person
could change the direction of the tide
in eradicating and subduing cancer forever,
I would choose to willingly sacrifice my life
so that every other life of humanity
may be spared more pain and anguish,
and so that no one else may have to
fight every day to preserve
the memory of their identity.

We can all be a part of finding a truth
that may one day be the key
to understanding and building a future of hope,
devoid of the word, the hurt,
the silent fear, that is cancer;
we can all be there to give all that we can,
in any way that we can;
we can all be there for those who need us
now more than ever;
we can all be the difference;
we can all be a part of the cure for cancer.

My Poem ‘Our Room’

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

The space, the place, the sanctuary,
the part of our home where we can truly be;
the dance-floor that is there for us to move around on
like John Travolta;
the studio where we can listen to music,
and create our own;
and where we can sing
while channeling every kind of performer-
from a ‘rock god’, to a classically-trained tenor of opera.

In our room, we are surrounded by all of personal possessions
and memories, and all our favourite things
that we have collected throughout our lives;
in our room, we can read, study, surf, watch,
and interact with the rest of the world,
while wearing the face and name of any guise.

Our room is where we dream;
our room is where we can talk to friends;
our room is the place where not that many people have been,
or will ever see;
our room is a cocoon that contains all that we need
for any and every day, and any eventuality,
from the instant that we emerge and rise from our bed.

Our room should not just be the place where we sleep;
our room should not just be where we spend
one-third of our lives without nothing to show for it;
our room should be our temple, our library,
our catwalk, our personality, our gallery,
our place of safety, our place of serenity,
our place of development and growth-
like a mothers womb;
where we return to and enter with a smile;
where we feel and can imagine ourselves as anything, or anyone;
where we can lose our inhibitions,
and shower ourselves with all kinds of magic-
that is the place that is our room.

My Poem ‘Five’

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

Some people work all through the night;
some people have to get up before the sun rises,
and work all day;
some people have to wear a specific uniform,
or a particular kind of attire-
like a shirt and tie;
some people have to fight through busy traffic
in a car, on a bus, on a bike, on foot,
that is the same every day in every way.

There are more jobs in this world
than most people know about;
there are more ways to pay your way in life
than can be imagined;
there are jobs that can keep someone dry
and warm on a rainy day;
there are some jobs that on a sunny day
you can take great pleasure,
just because you are able to be out and about;
there are jobs that you have to travel to and from by train;
there are jobs that when you try to describe them
they are hard to convey.

People have lots that they have to work with;
people have lots of coworkers who they have to work alongside;
people have jobs that they sometimes find hard to live with;
people have jobs that they know they will be doing
until the day they die.

You are truly blessed in your life
if you can do and enjoy a job that you do,
which you love doing;
I envy those people who can be
who they want to be all of the time-
to have the chance to live their dream,
some people would do anything.

The perfect job and profession,
to me, is one that does not pay the most,
and is not all about how it is valued
by the amount of zeroes that follow
the pound, or the dollar, sign.

Finding a job and having a job that you like doing
and care about is a rare thing to have indeed;
when you have not had a job and you want a job,
any job, you will do all that you need;
some jobs that people do constantly reinvigorate them,
make them feel a sense of achievement,
and make them feel alive.
If you are someone who genuinely likes, or even loves,
what they do for a living,
think of it as a walk in the park,
or a steady countryside drive-
whatever you do, wherever you work,
whether you are on a shift from seven until seven,
from sunrise to sunset,
or behind a desk or a table every day of the week,
from nine til five.

My Poem ‘Constant Companion’

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

A best friend who is there
whenever you need them;
a tried and true way
that you can always rely on;
a gift that means more to you
than you could ever fully mention;
a constant companion,
who is the best person in the entire world you know,
and who keeps you in time with reality
like a pendulum.

A constant light;
a comfortable feeling;
a voice that keeps you talking
until way after midnight;
a face you can turn to in your hour of need
that you can’t stop remembering.

An infinite moment that you want to return to
and forever exist in;
a time shared beyond compare;
a kindred soul, like that of a twin;
a place you can go back to
when you think you are nowhere.

A person who is a part of you;
a constant gravity in your life
stronger than the Earth or the sun;
the reason you are who you are,
and why you do what you do;
you who are always there-
my constant companion.

My Poem ‘The Volunteer’

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

Giving blood; giving life;
giving food; giving time;
giving heart; giving insight;
giving a smile that makes someone laugh;
giving someone something
that you know they will like.

Making an effort; creating an effect;
making people look; creating a self-sustaining project;
making a plan; creating a solution;
making someone a fan; creating a revolution.

Believing in a cause; taking the initiative;
saying just what someone needs to hear
to find a hidden and important door;
seeing the truth of the world:
that everything is relative.

Acting for the benefit of others;
thinking first about the future;
treating a stranger like a sister or a brother;
being the one who will do what needs to be done
to keep things going and people together.

A true volunteer has a heart the size of the Grand Canyon;
a true volunteer is someone who instantly replies to a request
and an S.O.S. for help with a loud and resounding YES!;
a true volunteer does not think too much
about what will happen to themselves,
because they are too busy thinking about others
and about quieting the tears of fears;
a true volunteer is a person who wants what is best
for all of humanity-
and that is what makes them the great, amazing, true,
wonderful, world-changing, indispensable,
and vital, volunteer.