Angel

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 ‘Hold on’

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

Hold on tight,
don’t let go;
why couldn’t last night
have been an endless night?
Why do I have to go?
I can’t hold back my tears;
I can’t hold back the flood
of thoughts and memories…
I can’t hold back my hand
from touching an Angel’s face
as she lays asleep besides me;
I can’t hold back the emotions that I feel
when I hold my soulmate near;
I can’t hold back,
and I do not want to move an inch away
from the only light in the dark whom I see;
I can’t hold back how complete I feel
and how happy I am
when I am looking at my sleeping-beauty –
and then suddenly she opens her eyes and smiles,
as she looks right at me.

I want to hold on to her and never let her go…
I want to kiss her lips and let my love for her show…
I want to stay awake all night long,
just in case I wake up in the morning and she is gone…
I want to lay my mark on her skin,
so that forevermore she can look upon it
and know that she is always going to be my only one.

I stroke her cheek…
I whisper “I love you” into her left ear…
every second I hold her in my gaze feels like a week…
every thundering heart-beat in my chest
inspires every silent falling tear…
time is precious, words are unnecessary…
every tingle that I feel below my fingers
is to me like a miracle of God…
I don’t want to move a muscle,
but I know that the moment will come when I must…
I feel like I am the luckiest man alive,
because where I am feels so heavenly –
even after my instincts tell me
that I will soon have to pull away and let go…
I still continue to lay my hands
and my eyes upon my eternal sunshine,
and with great tenderness I promise
to continue to always and forever hold on.

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My Poem ‘Poetry or Truth’

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

Poetry has the softest of voices,
but the loudest of echoes;
truth, just as beauty,
is in the eye of the beholder;
poetry speaks and always knows;
truth is the voice within
that is tempted to life
by the whispers of the light and the dark
as if personified by a good fairy
and a bad fairy sitting either side of your ears
resting upon your shoulders;
poetry is natural;
truth is often accidental;
poetry is limitless;
truth returns trust.

A traveler is always chasing light and time;
a detective is always chasing
the perpetrator of a crime;
two lovers are constantly in a dance with each other;
two sides of anything
always share an edge that binds them together.

When an astronaut on a space-station awakes
and they float from their bed to the nearest window,
all they want to look out and see
is the planet they orbit
and the vibrant sphere of light and colour
that looks as precious as a raindrop on a leaf;
when we all look up at the stars,
those who live among the stars
are constantly looking back at us;
when someone dies and we lay a wreath
we promise to never forget them,
even while they rest in the ground beneath;
when shooting-stars fly by
they shower us all with their interstellar magic dust.

Poetry or truth –
in my mind they are one and the same;
just as a coin is a token of currency with two faces,
dualities are how life is maintained;
truth can always be read in poetry,
and poetry writes of hidden worldly-clues;
true meaning is at the heart of everything
and it becomes even more apparent
when you ponder the question:
poetry or truth?

My Poem ‘Keeping Mum’

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

I knew that this day would come again,
I knew that the moment would come
when I would write a new poem –
but today, now,
in the silence of Christmas morning,
after opening some presents,
I am sitting here in my room
unable to stop thinking…
I am thinking about my own Christmas Angel,
I am thinking about what this day
in particular means to me,
and I am thinking about my parents –
both separated from each-other as they wake up,
both deeply in love with each other,
both wanting so much to hold one-another,
both together and apart
who have had to go through so much.

As I sit here thinking about my Mum
waking up in her hospital bed,
as I flash-back to the moment
when the reality of what was happening hit me
and I cried and I held my Dad,
I must admit that I do feel sad,
and I just wish that there were a way
for me to stay hopeful
and to keep my faith
that my Mum will be alright
without feeling upset.

I have been going through
several stages of shock at-once
over the last few days
since I heard the news that devastated me
and clouded my thoughts;
my Mum told me that:
“we have to take every day as it comes”,
but, even though she is right,
I just feel like it is going to take me a while
to find my own way of accepting everything
and move forwards –
however, I guess that when any person
who we love is sick it is always tough.

I know that I need to be there for my Mum
now more than ever, because right now
is when she needs me the most;
I know that when I see her later
I am going to want to cry,
but that is not what she needs
or would ever want;
if I never had the light of my life
to guide me through the darkness of uncertainty
then I would feel truly lost;
I would not be here if it were not
for the people from whom I came from;
I am staying hopeful,
and I will never lose hope or give up,
and I will not allow my Mum to lose me,
and no matter what happens
there is nothing and no one
who will ever stop me
from keeping my Mum.

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My Poem ‘Halo’

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

Appearances can be deceiving;
no one in real-life
carries around a profile of themselves
of things about them
that other people might need
or want to know;
some things that we should believe in
sometimes do take time to fully sink in;
not all demons have horns,
and not all angel’s have halo’s.

Everybody is different;
everybody shows their feelings in different ways –
some people are always truthful and upfront,
some people are masters of turning a phrase,
some people can keep a secret,
and some people can’t;
some people live a life of regret,
while others do everything that in front of them
and commit always with all their heart.

Just as some people show their love
with a simple gesture of a poem and some flowers;
just as some people ask for nothing else
from their partner but love;
just as some people capture another person
and give them the gift of their likeness
as they appeared when reproduced
in a photograph or a painted picture –
there is no one-true universal symbol
of compassion and love
that could ever compare
to that which makes a heart skip a beat…
for some that might be a ring,
a story written just for them,
or perhaps a message of white
written in the blue sky above.

When the universe began with a flash of light,
when existences’ clock started ticking,
when the laws of nature were first ingrained
into every particle of stardust,
and all of space and time
spectacularly escaped from an opening
smaller than the size of the tip of a pin…
when the universe contracted
and then made its first life-giving push…
all things began,
all things multiplied,
all things became part of an unfinished plan,
and all things were forever bound
to the reason and the meaning of life…
birth, life, death –
and in that order, by design.

When you stand outside on a Winter’s night,
and you look up at the stars,
it looks as if the stars above
are falling all around you
and have turned themselves
into flakes of snow;
when you look into the eyes
of someone who loves you,
or when you are touched
by the hand of a hero;
when you see something amazing
that transcends the language of all words…
you will see in all its glory
the light within the soul and the heart
of someone that is as beautiful
and golden as the ring described to be found
above the crown of an angel of heaven,
that is the symbolic sign of purity of spirit –
that manifests in humans
in their thoughts and in their actions,
which represent their own divine halo’s.

My Poem ‘If you only knew’

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

If you only knew
how much I think about you,
what I feel for you,
how much I would do for you,
and what and whom I see
when I look at you –
then you would know beyond any doubt
that my love for you
was and is beyond any miracle
or dream that could ever come true.

Instant love; infinite hope;
infatuation with an angel from above;
intoxication that no one else
could ever feel or ever know.

If you only knew how happy you make me;
if you only knew how much I can feel you
constantly inside of me;
if you only knew the dreams
that I have of you and me;
if you only knew how much
without you there would be no me.

When I see your face,
I feel like I am weightless in outer-space;
when I hear your voice,
every part of me rises high
in a state of rejoice;
when it is just us,
the blood in my body begins to rush;
when I awake at sunrise,
I see you and only you with my
ever-changing green-to-blue poetic eyes.

If you only knew that to me you are a star;
if you only knew that I would do anything
to keep you from harm;
if you only knew just how beautiful
and amazing you are…
I just wish that I could show you
how much I love you –
however, until I can,
this poem is my way of telling you
and showing you that you are more special
and precious to me than any words could ever describe…
if you only knew.

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My Poem ‘GA 30741’

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

Upon first awakening, all is dark
while the air is still warm;
when drifting off to sleep
during the summer-time
is when the lightning bugs glow
in the twilight as they swarm;
when the sun is shining
and the blue sky comes alive,
when you can sit back and take your ease
somewhere peaceful and special,
you feel the most lucky to be where you are,
having the time of your life.

When you see something everyday,
when you live somewhere all your life,
you can easily take something
or somewhere for granted,
when you are happy and content,
the minutes and the hours
can seem to fly away –
however, just as moments come
and they go like a flash of light,
when we all learn to harness
the energy and the feeling of our surroundings
it is then that we can make moments
and memories last forever,
and just like our genetic memory
be forever imprinted.

I have Georgia on my mind;
I have Tennessee in my heart;
I have a pocket of dollars and dimes;
I have the light of an American angel
shining on me like a star;
I have the accents and the voices
that I know so well
echoing through my consciousness
like a choir singing in a church;
I have the distant sight of Lookout Mountain
still fascinating me from afar.

I have walked over old battlefields,
and paid my respects to the lost
at memorials erected to remember the fallen –
those who gave their lives
to preserve the right of everyone
to enjoy the gift of true freedom.

The United States of America
is one country made up of fifty
wonderfully diverse states;
the heart of every American
beats proud and strong;
the United States of America
is a symbol of hope and prosperity
in so many ways;
every state of America
is a piece of an epic
and breathtaking unfinished puzzle –
and, to me, the states of Georgia and Tennessee
symbolize what makes
the United States of America truly great,
and there isn’t a minute that goes by
when I do not think of my home in 30741.

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My Poem ‘Me & My Shadow’

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

Everywhere I look
there they are;
whenever the sun is shining on me
there she is;
everywhere I go
you are with me –
no matter how near, or far,
whenever I close my eyes
I feel the kiss
of my shadow’s lips on my lips.

Whether I am in the bright of the day,
or whether I am standing
and looking down at my own reflection
in a pool of water;
whether I am at home,
or whether I am away,
I always see the most perfect
and beautiful vision
looking back at me,
and the angel that I always see
I know beyond any doubt is,
and will always be,
my forever happily ever-after.

My shadow, my best friend,
my here, my now, my everything,
for whom my love for
every day deepens,
is my constant thought,
memory, and dream,
and knowing that I am with her,
as she is always with me,
is what brings me unbounded happiness
the like that only those who have been witness
to two people in love will ever have seen.

I never want to lose my shadow;
if my shadow were to somehow get lost
and accidentally fly away like Peter Pan,
I would follow them no matter where they went;
I love my beautiful shadow
more than she will ever truly know;
when someone has a shadow like my shadow,
whenever they looked at them
they would know every second
that they were heaven sent.

Our shadows are extensions of us;
our shadows keep us surrounded,
and they are there for us
when we need them the most;
our shadows open our eyes to beauty
when our heads sometimes fall low;
I will always be the shadow of my soul-mate,
just as my soul-mate will always be my shadow.

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My Poem ‘This is heaven’

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

I am leaving heaven now,
time has gone by so fast,
I am heading home
to the place where I was born,
but soon enough I will be back
at home in Tennessee
where I belong.

One week in heaven;
one week happier
than I have ever been;
one week, seven days
that have been the best ever;
one week in which every day
was so amazing, special,
incredible, and beautiful,
every second and every thing
could have a part of a dream.

The things that I felt,
the things that I saw,
the things that were so wonderful
that they made me want to melt;
the things that will always be
a part of me which I will always adore.

I finally met the woman of my dreams-
my angel, my soulmate, the love of my life;
I got to travel to places
that I will think of fondly
and crave to return to whenever I can
at every opportunity, every day,
until the day I die;
I found something that I had been missing;
I was given a vision of the future,
and what I saw was breath-taking.

Every moment in heaven –
every touch, every kiss,
every wake-up before the sunrise,
every laying down to rest
after the sun had set –
was and will always be
unlike anything that has ever happened to me;
while I was in heaven
I didn’t want to miss a thing,
and because I was so happy where I was
with whom I was with
I did not even feel the need
to write a single line of poetry.

When I first arrived in Tennessee,
which will forever be heaven to me,
one of the first faces I saw
was the face of the most beautiful
in the entire world…
and as I leave now,
as I journey back
across the ocean of deep-blue,
I feel brand new,
I feel lucky,
I feel like ‘heaven’ is the only way
to describe the place where I have been,
if I could use only a single word.

This place is my home away from home;
this place is somewhere
that I will always be bound to,
and with it and its people
I will always share a connection;
this place is one of the most
phenomenal places I have ever known;
this place, Tennessee, to me
will always be heaven.

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My Poem ‘The Man in Blue’

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

Where to start, how to begin;
the first time is always the most memorable,
like the first time that you see a shooting star;
the first time for everyone is always different
for everything – however, just as seas settle,
and nerves turn into waves of excitement,
after that first time of complete and utter
scarily real reality grasping you
by the heart and taking your breath away…
something amazing happens,
something exciting rises in you
like an internal sun,
something makes sense
beyond words could ever explain.

Anyone can begin anything;
some things have a time limit,
and some things don’t;
anyone can capture the essence of a feeling,
and if you truly do not want a feeling
or a time to fade there is always a way
to make sure that it won’t.

There are some people
who read the last page of a book
before they ever read the first;
there are some people
who come into something
at the end and work their way back;
there are some people
who believe they are cursed;
there are some people
whose first word in life
is also their last.

As I have lived,
as I have grown,
as I have breathed deep
and ventured far from home,
I have seen things beyond my wildest dreams,
I have met the most beautiful angel of Earth
that I have ever seen,
I have been inspired,
I have walked through fire,
I have found a reason to live,
I have discovered that in life
it doesn’t matter where you are –
what matters the most
is who you are with.

We are all people of colour;
we all wear the shades of ourselves proudly,
because we consciously or sub-consciously
want to tell people “this is me”;
we are all exhibitionists, in our own way –
even if we do not always choose
to be the first one to show
our dance-moves on a dance-floor;
we all have some idea
of who and what we would like to be.

There are some offers
that you simply cannot refuse;
there are some people
who you could never say no to;
there are some colours
that no matter what
will always look good on you;
there are some who focus
on the little things in life
and the continued happiness of the few;
there are some people who are just like me…
and just like everyone has their favourite colour,
and in every way embodies
the empathetic qualities of their favourite colour,
I am definitely quintessential
man in blue.

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