blessed

My Poem ‘The Whispering Gallery’

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

Every Sunday,
bang on 10 o’clock in the morning,
the bells of St. Martin’s church
ring-out loud and far –
and every Sunday,
when I am standing and listening
in the most perfect spot
that can be found in all the city,
over time I have discovered
an amazing phenomenon…
just as every whispering gallery
that can be found in places
that are often places of silence
and peaceful serenity,
if you whisper a wish into the air,
and it is carried away on the wind
in the right direction,
then that same wish will come true one day
after having been delivered directly to heaven
by the wings of a listening angel –
and that almost silent prayer
will echo and create epic waves,
like an ocean being skipped upon by a stone,
and you will have been blessed –
even though the evidence of what has taken place
and by whom may have already disappeared without a trace.

The bells of St. Martin’s church ring for almost an hour –
the are a source of hope for many, and they have a power.
Church bells, to me, have always had a solemn beauty to them;
church bells are like the accent of a place of worship’s voice,
and I think they are wonderfully important;
church bells have a way of drawing people to them like a beacon;
you have never felt such a feeling like that
of being as close as you can be
to the breathtaking vibrations of sound
that are produced when ancient bells are ringing
and hammers are hitting their mark in a bell-tower.

The world is one big whispering-gallery;
the Earth has places on it
where the magical can be conjured into being
with the flick of a magic-wand
disguised as an ink-pen;
some people want something so much
but they are afraid to ask for help from anybody –
sometimes things can only be heard
when they are said in the first where
and at the right when…
so, I encourage anybody who feels something special
when they are somewhere,
even if that place may not look anywhere
that may be at all “somewhere to write home about”
to let their inner-most thoughts and wishes
be set free into the atmosphere
of the worlds biggest whispering gallery.

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 ‘Song of the Mockingbird’

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

Far away from Tennessee,
as my ears anticipate
and my eyes look forward,
my heart and my thoughts
are thousands of miles away
across the sea –
and even though I cannot say for sure,
I swear that I hear a song calling to me,
and even though I have yet to see one
outside of the still of a picture,
I believe with all my heart
that the song that I hear
is the true call of a Mockingbird.

In my dreams,
fireflies and lightning bugs
dance and fly through the air
around my love and I;
I dream that I am standing in the dark
outside in the Georgia heat,
locked in a tight embrace
and in awe with the one
to whom I am bound
as we fall under the spell of each other,
and with the beauty of nature;
my dreams, I believe, are also shared dreams
that serve as a doorway to bridge
two thresholds, at any time –
morning, noon, and night;
I believe, and I know,
that you, yourself,
with someone else
can not only tell the future,
but you can make and you can grow
a future that will last forever.

I wish I could take flight right now
and fly across the ocean;
as I write this,
my eyes are drawn to the west;
I wish I could write a poem or a song
to sing so that everybody
could not only read, but also feel,
all of my emotions;
as I gaze out and I see
what lies beyond the horizon,
I feel true love,
and I know that I am blessed.

There are some songs
that are easy to learn
and sing for all to hear, word-for-word;
there are some voices
that are so distinctive
it would take all the gifts of a vocal mimic
in order to make them seem
as if their call were one spoken
by someone of a native tongue
or a particular language who is fluent;
there are some feelings and some spirits
that can freely and easily
fly through the air
over borders, expanses, and fences;
there are some people
who are so beautiful and amazing
in every way that their plumage
and their meaning is one that is known
the world around for being
as one of a kind and as special
as the song of the Mockingbird.

My Poem ‘Found’

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

I am so lucky,
I am so fortunate,
I am so blessed,
I am so grateful
to be able to say
that I am happy,
that I am in the place
in my life that I am at,
that I am able to sit here
and feel like I am at my best.

We all need light,
we all need hope,
we all want life,
we all want to show,
we all want to share,
we all want to care,
we all have a love in our life
that we surround ourselves with
which we hold on to tight;
we all have that something
or that someone
that we dream about at night;
we all have the right
to fight like a knight;
we all have to sometimes
run through fire
to get to the place
and to the person
that we most desire.

The world is not a solid sphere;
the people of Earth are as in motion
as the tectonic plates below the ground;
hope for a peaceful future
is the glue that keeps humanity
from completely fracturing
into a state of fear;
the people who choose
to leave their birthplace
and search for a better place
to call their home
should be allowed to find
and somehow regain
what they thought for the longest time
was forever lost and gone.

I see people looking for something;
I see people everyday
doing the best that they can;
I see people everyday tethering;
I see people everyday trying
to formulate any kind of a plan;
I see people on the move;
I see people standing still;
I see people with the optimism of youth;
I see people in search of a thrill.

Our planet is a beautiful place to live;
our planet is a beautiful place
to enjoy for all its glorious beauty;
our finite existence is a beautiful opportunity
for all of us to find and share
the meaning of all life
with that very special someone;
our lives are as they are for a reason,
and even though there may have been times
when life has been indescribably rough –
the true strength that you can have in life
is to keep believing that one day
you will be given the gift of total clarity.

A tree must shed its leaves;
a parent must let their offspring fly free;
a prosperous life must have both rain
and sunshine to thrive;
a person should not have to hide;
a kite must be lighter than air
to fly high and true;
an astronaut who braves
the outer limits of space
must also have a desire
to return to the ground;
a contradiction of differing emotions
and feelings is everybody and you;
a thing must sometimes be lost forever
so that one day by someone else
it can be found.

My Poem ‘The Umbrella’

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

The greatest escape on a rainy day,
the best cover to tie you over
from the lightning and the thunder;
whenever, wherever, you are
something akin to the sun of a Summer’s day;
a perfect oasis and the most serene place
of peace of mind and spirit;
that which when you hear it playing
is literally music to your ears,
that is personal –
but can also be shared in a different way
with people that you are in constant contact with,
that both stimulates all kinds of emotions and tears –
the thing that is so intrinsic to you
it is almost a part of your soul;
the coat of protection
that helps you brave the winter’s cold.

Like the roots of a tree,
like the canopy of a forest,
like the ground beneath all of our feet,
like the constituents of a bird’s nest,
we all have things above us, below us,
and around us, that ground us,
and that inspire us and amaze us
over and over, and without them
we would not be who we want to be,
and we would not be blessed with life’s
invisible, natural, but always present, poetry.

When the rain stops falling,
when the clouds part
and the sun shines again,
when life emerges from where it has been hiding,
as the writers continue to drive
the swirls and the course
of the ink of their pens,
when the Earth settles
and a brand new set of ripple effects
echo throughout the world,
like raindrops falling on the water of a pond,
when new experiences and new thoughts
accentuate and strengthen already deep-seated bonds,
when you need a shelter to wait for a break in the weather…
take out, unveil, open again,
that which has always served to be your refuge
and your constant umbrella.

My Poem ‘Dear Friend’

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

Dear friend,
how have you been?
What have you heard?
what have you seen?
What have you been doing?
How have you been feeling?
It’s spring here,
and the days feel longer;
it’s starting to get steadily warmer,
I have to say –
and every day, just recently,
has been sunny and bright,
and above my head has been
an endless blue sky.
Winter was cold,
however we had no snow –
and it felt like everything
was holding its breath;
but now everything and everybody
can breath regularly,
because everything now is clearer.

I saw a magician last week,
and I am still amazed by what I saw
and what I felt during their show;
I began reading an old favourite book of mine,
‘The Hitch Hikers Guide to the Galaxy’,
and I am convinced that wherever I look
I am seeing the number ’42’ –
the answer to ‘Life, the Universe, and Everything’;
I went to London again a few weeks ago,
and I had the most fantastic and inspiring time;
I have been going from place to place,
and I have been compelled to take pictures,
ask questions, and write a poem or two;
it has been weeks since I went to the cinema
to watch a film – however there are a few movies
that I am looking forward to seeing –
every time I go to the cinema
it has mostly been a special experience for me:
it always has, and always will be.

My life has been a roller-coaster
for a while, as you know,
and I have been through a lot –
not as much as some,
but I think my fortunes
may be on the rise again, like the rising sun.
I must go now, but I hope to hear from you soon.
Whatever you are doing,
I hope you are happy and having fun!
I hope you continue to live a blessed and happy life,
and I wish only the best for you,
my dear friend.

My Poem ‘The Feeling’

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

Every day I am overcome
by a sudden intense wave of emotion,
like the tide of an ocean;
I could be doing anything, at any time,
when I feel a light-headiness
that is one of a kind;
and when I feel it,
I know that something is about to happen,
I know something is happening right now,
I know something is building and rising
and growing in so many ways
like the sun in the sky.

Our internal thoughts
have more of an external influence
than we may think they might:
I have imagined things happening,
and they have come true;
I have come face to face
with something I dreamed about one night;
I have seen things turn around on themselves
and show themselves to me again,
as if they were brand new.

My thoughts often bubble up
and leave the confines of my mind;
my emotions are noticeable
and can be read in every language that I know –
from the sound of my voice,
to the tone of my poetry,
to the language of my body;
my instincts know know to read most of the universe’s signs,
but I always find myself somewhere
I might never at first would have thought to go –
which makes the choices that I make
sometimes more spontaneous and in the moment,
and they are phenomena of my life
that have stayed with me.

I remember where I was, who I was with,
what I thought, what I felt,
what every second meant,
when something that turned out to be life-changing for me
flashed into existence, and changed me,
and propelled me on a new course and direction, as a result;
I have the gift to see myself
as I was at a particular time in my life,
and although those days will never happen again,
and those moments can’t ever be repeated,
I am truly blessed to have lived a life
that has been so eventful, epic, inspiring, and full.

I am nostalgic;
I am someone who looks at old photographs,
and says to myself: remember when?
I believe that love is more than a word,
more than a simple emotion,
more than even a poet or a song could ever truly express –
because it is real ‘magic’;
I don’t let go of anything without a fight,
especially something that I believe
with all my heart was heaven-sent;
I know I am not dreaming
when the thing that I am imagining
is so amazing, awe-inspiring, and heart-racing,
that it becomes the dominant thought
that I can’t stop thinking,
and when what I am seeing is so exciting
it becomes the defining meaning of everything
I am intensely feeling.

My Poem ‘Send in the Poets’

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

Send in the poets,
instead of firing your bullets;
send in the poets
to raise your spirits;
send in the poets
to inspire hope that you will never forget;
send in the poets
to give you a feeling in your heart that you can’t express;
send in the poets,
and they will take away your fears,
and alleviate you of any distress;
send in the poets,
and you will feel blessed;
send in the poets,
and you will see love coalesced;
send in the poets,
and your heart will beat, spark,
and thunder like a lightning storm in your chest;
send in the poets,
listen to them read a poem,
and feel absolutely refreshed
and like your best;
send in the poets,
and experience a magical moment,
as you watch the sun setting in the West;
send in the poets,
and you will know incredible happiness;
send in the poets,
and you will know nothing but success;
send in the poets,
to know true paradise and bliss;
send in the poets,
and for the first time in your life
you will feel like you can achieve anything,
and take all of life’s hits,
understand all of life’s tricks,
be hypnotized by the moments of an eclipse,
be transfixed, know the reason that you exist,
never again feel adrift,
believe you will possess all that you have ever wished,
emerge like a butterfly from a chrysalis.
Words are sometimes hard to say,
but in those moments when there is so much to say
that needs to be said:
open your heart, open the door,
and let in the wizard of words and the awesome orator;
close your eyes, and ask the universe
to send in the poets.

My Poem ‘No Filter’

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

A beautiful, gorgeous, sunny, warm morning –
with blue sky above, multiple reflections all around,
people coming and going, living, breathing,
seeing, experiencing, and music playing everywhere you are,
and a different voice for every hour that you hear.

I am sitting with a wonderful cup of coffee,
at a table next to a wall of windows
that stretch as far as the eye can see;
I am looking out at the city,
basking in the daylight of sunlight,
feeling energized and inspired
by the atmosphere of outside and inside;
I am seeing, listening, drinking,
thinking, dreaming, feeling,
and doing my favourite thing: writing poetry.

I am in plain sight, and it is as if no one can see me,
or is interested in me, or what I am doing –
nobody would ever think to approach me,
and ask me what I am writing;
however, if someone were to ask me what I am doing,
or how I was feeling, I would tell them that
the only way that I can describe how I am feeling
at this exact moment, is to say that:
I feel as if I am a bird in the sky,
hovering above the rest of the world,
not even needing to flap my wings too much
in any way at any time –
because I know that there are times
when instead of exerting yourself
with a lot of flapping about,
sometimes you can get to where you need to be
by simply using the external forces that surround you,
and using them, if you have the means,
to simply and silently glide.

As I look at the world,
the natural daylight instantly highlights the colours,
the details, the resonant aura of everything,
and the reason for things to be the way
that they click into place;
as I see the spectrum of existence and life jump out at me,
I have the biggest smile on my face;
as I look to the horizon,
and then to what I see right in front of me,
the scale and the impact that hits me
of certain things, that for some reason interest me,
instantly inspire me, and I see patterns repeating,
and shapes that have meaning;
I see and read emotions, attitudes, interests, tastes,
on the faces and in the actions of everybody,
and I am intrigued and fascinated;
and I also see things that I would change, if I could –
if I could just blink, or snap my fingers,
and change someone’s direction,
or show them another choice to make,
or an alternative to something I can see they are about to do –
however, I am merely an observer, a poet,
someone who can only say what he sees,
and express how something makes him feel,
and, though sometimes I wish I were,
I am far from omnipotent,
and that is a good thing.

Life is what it is;
the world is many things,
and is in many states of being, all at once;
some things that happen can feel like a magic trick;
everyone can believe anything they want.
Whether in the bloom of spring;
whether in the cold but beautiful light and air of winter;
whether you are doing something you have done before,
or whether you are being blessed
with the sight of something you cannot ever remember
at any time before seeing;
whether you are sitting, standing, lying, waiting,
and you have a chance, a moment, to look around
and take in life and the world,
do so if you can with perfect vision
and with no need for a filter.

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