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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 ‘Ice Dreams’

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

Ice-skating in New York City;
building snowmen in London;
waiting to hear
if the groundhog saw his shadow
in Punxsutawney, Pensylvannia;
sitting in your living room with your children
while watching the movie ‘Frozen’;
collecting fire-wood;
going for long walks;
sitting in a cafe with a coffee and a good book;
meeting up with friends
and enjoying the company of someone
who you haven’t seen in a while
and having a good catch-up and talk;
wrapping up well in thick clothing;
wrapping gifts to be given to friends and family;
listening to seasonally-themed songs
playing on the radio that you can’t resist
the temptation to sing-along with;
the tradition of decorating a room and a tree
that when completely adorned
has the wonderful gift
of making all that look upon it
incredibly happy.

Everybody has a vision and a memory
of what Winter is all about;
to some people the cold temperatures
of winter are what they dislike the most
and they would gladly, if they could,
do without;
to me, it wouldn’t be Christmas especially
if it were not cold, cloudy,
and at any moment it did not feel
like it were about to snow at any moment –
I don’t think I could get used to
having a Christmas, in say Australia,
where it is as hot as the turkey
that is being served up on the dinner table
outside in the sun,
where as you are eating
you can smell the aroma
of food being cooked
on a nearby barbecue.

There are some people
who have never seen
a single real-life flake of snow
fall before their eyes;
their are some people
who have seen more winter days
to last a life-time;
their are some people
who could just out of their window
at a flurry of snow without ever getting bored,
while happily enjoying mulled-wine and mince-pies;
their are some people who know and love
that it is winter by the intoxicating smell of pine.

There is something about winter
that brings out different things in different people;
there is something amazing and beautiful
about how the light of the sun
shines on a winter day
and the way that it can make everything gleam;
there is something fairy-tale-like, and almost magical,
about a snow-covered world;
there is something about everything
that stirs the imagination
that calls back to memories of childhood experiences –
and though to some the thought of cold
and of snow might be their version of a nightmare,
everybody can remember every time
that they had a waking-
or a night-time envisioning
of a very memorable,
and a most-likely cold,
ice dream.

My Poem ‘Feelings’

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

As one book closes,
another story begins;
as a new book begins,
the eternal story continues;
as eyes open to greet new light,
eyelids fall under the weight of the stars
that shine above at night;
and while some rise high,
others cannot help but fall deep.

Every day we understand
more about our own lives;
every minute we wonder
what happened to all of our time;
every second our heart’s keep beating
to tell us that we can do more
with our gift of life;
every spark of thought
that comes to our minds
can be like the lure
on the end of a fisherman’s line
calling to, and connecting with,
both the past and the future,
the unforgettable
and the one of a kind.

The pages of time
flick back and forth
like leaves on the wind;
if you look closely around you
you may even see who and where
you were when you were younger;
whatever, or whomever, brings light
and joy into your life
will always be your best friend;
every moment only comes once;
every experience has a half-life;
everybody follows in the foot-steps of another;
embrace every chance of happiness;
enlighten the world with your smile and your grin;
live your dreams day to day and night to night;
in your life there will never be nothing,
because all that you need
will always be that which is closest to you –
we all have hands, fingers, eyes, and a mouth
to grasp and to show
the colours of our feelings.

My Poem ‘Thankful for’

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

As family prepare to gather,
as the sun shines
and the sky is blue –
as someone who is thankful,
as someone who is grateful,
who is both the loved and the lover,
I am thankful in more ways
than I could ever say
to be alive and to be able
to write this for you.

I take lots of time
thinking about the who,
the what, and the when
that have passed by like a river;
I constantly reflect
what I see and what I feel;
I have always considered
golden experiences
as memories to be made
a part of my DNA,
as well as simultaneously
to be remembered;
I have always believed
that no matter where you are in your life,
wherever you are in the world,
that there is always something
that to anybody else would seem small –
but to you that same something is a big deal.

As I have gotten older,
the things that I am thankful for have changed –
but that which matters the most to me
is still the same;
as I have lived, I have slowly come to realize
that life goes by faster than a bullet-train,
and things do sometimes happen
that you should not spend too much time
trying to explain.

Clouds form, rain falls;
colour is painted over the face of the dark;
there is no such thing as an impenetrable wall;
the seafloor, the sands of an island shore,
the photos of now compared to those of before,
that which will be forevermore:
the indescribable, the tangible,
the special, the spiritual –
that which only I will ever truly know –
is what I am the most grateful for;
however, the gift of love
given with all their heart
by the love of my life only to me
is the thing that I am the most fulfilled by
and in my life I am the most thankful for.

My Poem ‘This New Day’

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

Each new day presents new challenges;
each new day we all leave new footprints;
each new day relies on its connection
to the day before
so as to rhyme with the day to come;
each new day is a choreography
and a mix of infusions
of many styles of dances;
each new day we see people pushing their limits;
each new day our closest star shines and burns
and keeps alive life on Earth,
and until we reach our dying day
that important star will always be our sun.

This new day, this new start,
this new time to play,
this new chain of moments
are ours to do with what we choose;
this new awakening, this new cycle,
this new rising, this new drum-roll,
is ours to make something vibrant and amazing with
just as glorious as the sky above is blue.

Every new day is a new poem;
every new poem is an entry in a diary;
every new page is written on
with the ink of inspiration and fascination;
every new thought is the first step
of a writer along the way
towards the penning of a brand new
creation of poetry.

One good morning;
one good afternoon;
one good evening;
one good night;
one new drawing;
one new moon;
one new inhale and exhale of breathing;
one new burst of beautiful sunlight
will lead and will be an important seed
that will grow like vines in a jungle
in many new directions,
and the more that we all follow
these extensions of our actions
the more new ground we too will lay –
and this process will continue
and it will go on and on forever,
and the future of tomorrow
will be made of what we all do
on this new day.

My Poem ‘Mark The Pirate’

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

Life can sometimes feel to you
like you are on a wooden ship
sailing across the seven seas;
when the wind is at your back
and the waves beneath the hull of your boat
are crashing around you,
as you are rocked from side to side,
you can feel like you are living
the life of a pirate –
looking for a new bounty of treasure
so that you may rest easy
and to not have to worry
about anything or anybody
but your shipmates and crew.

I can imagine it all now:
me, looking to the bright blue horizon –
making my eyes shine a brighter blue
than they normally do;
the sensation of the wind and the ocean spray
whipping through my hair;
the black and white skull and crossbones
of the Jolly Roger flag being displayed
proudly over my head,
the sound of “arrr matey” and “arrr me hearties”
coming from my crew (naturally I am the ship’s captain),
with bottles and barrels of rum being drunk,
if and when possible –
and a parrot called ‘Mo’ perched on my right shoulder,
for good measure and for good luck.

What a life it would be
to live the life of a man with a plan,
with a map, with a direction and a compass
to follow and to guide our way to untold riches;
what fun I would have if I were a pirate
living in the world of the 17th or 18th century –
when the world was still thought to have an end,
and a treasure chest full of gold
was the pinnacle of all wishes.

To see the world;
to discover the wonders of the unknown;
to constantly see the sails of my fine vessel unfurled;
to call the ocean seas my infinite and perfect home;
to fight when I need to fight;
to write a Captain’s log of all of ours adventures;
to experience a life like no other during the day,
and to sing, dance, and be merry all through the night;
to live the dream;
to feel the constant rush of excitement
invigorate me and never stop the speed
of the drum-beat of my heart;
to be able to know how fast my ship was traveling
just from feeling the vibrations of the wooden
boards and beams beneath my booted feet;
to be able to cry out, laugh, joke,
and maybe even through in one or two
“yo-ho-ho’s” for good measure too…
it would be so amazing, even for a day,
to be and to live the life of a pirate.

My Poem ‘Short but Sweet’

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

All moments are precious;
first thing in the morning
every second rushes by like a train;
no matter what it is,
everybody remembers their first;
in the fresh and bright new morning light
the energy in the air is amazing
and addictive and always goes
straight to your head.

I like to start every day
by listening to a song or two;
some people like to wake up
and immediately connect
and engage with the world
that never sleeps and is always up and ready;
I like to begin my day with a poem of my own,
writing for a small few;
some people like to go for an early morning run,
a walk, a coffee from their favourite coffee shop,
to make sure that their day begins with a tone
that makes them extremely happy.

Morning time can feel like you are a skier
on a snowy slope heading down a mountain
faster than you can think or perceive clearly;
in the middle of the day,
some people have time to take a break
and enjoy a brief siesta of mind and body;
in the afternoon, time seems to move much slower
and can at times feels as if
the hands of the clock are standing still;
in the evening, at the twilight of the day,
is when you truly have the time
to make things happen –
and if you are not doing anything in particular,
before the end of the night and the day,
you soon will.

One day is always different from the previous,
and the day that will follow will also be
its own day with things occurring in it
that will always be synonymous with that day’s date;
every opportunity that presents itself
is almost over as soon as it begins;
there is never any limit to how much happiness
you can generate;
no two experiences has a true identical twin.

Life can seem long when you are living it,
but short and brief when recalled and remembered,
and what is said can sometimes have a half-life
comparable to that of a birds tweet;
life is meant to be made the most of…
so dive below, and reach high and above!
You can do so much in such a short space of time –
so don’t forget to cherish
every unforgettable moment,
especially those that are short and sweet.

My Poem ‘The Night Club’

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

It always been amazing to me
how a song or a piece of music
can make you and can teach you
how to move to it
within seconds of first hearing it;
it has always been inspiring to me
how a memorable character in a story
can have the unknown power
to come into the physical world
and walk around in it;
it has always been fascinating to me
why some people, no matter how soundly
they may be sleeping
wake up early in the morning,
and, just like me, begin creating;
it has always been gratifying to me
to see people sharing what they can
and keeping alive the memory
of a phenomenal feeling.

I have always been a quick study;
I have always been fast on my feet,
as well as fast in thought
and luminous and strong in spirit;
I have always known that
there are multiple levels to a story;
I have always felt just as comfortable,
alive, and sensitive to what surrounds me
in the beautiful light of a sunny day,
as I do walking in the dark
in the moonlight of night.

Everyone is a catalyst;
every day is a new day
that has echoes of the days before
as well as foreshadowing of the days that will follow;
every time you do anything
you are taking a risk;
every eventuality can evolve
from fantasy to reality at any moment
anywhere you go.

When you unexpectedly wake up,
you are being awoken for a reason;
when you randomly find something
that has been left by somebody,
that thing was left purposefully
so that you could find it
and so that it could influence
your life in some way;
when you see something, feel something,
and something within you is changed;
when you know that you are forever in love;
when you know your place,
when you know your time,
when you find yourself awake
and energized like never before –
reading, writing, watching, walking,
listening, loving every moment,
even if that place and time
is midday in the afternoon
or 1 o’clock in the morning –
and you discover that you are a member
and a reveler like so many other people
who are in their element being a star
in the constellation of a night club.

My Poem ‘3/14/15’

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

Today is the 14th of March;
today feels like a Sunday,
however it is in fact a Saturday;
today feels like, in some way,
I have stepped out of the dark;
and today is also a great day,
because today is my Mum and Dad’s Anniversary –
and today, more than any other,
I am reminded about how my parents
absolutely love each other in every way.
Today is also ‘International Pi Day’ –
a day in which some people celebrate
the mathematical constant
that has no discernible end;
and, as I feel change happening all around me,
I am also reminded of the unchanging constants
in my life – namely my family:
on whom, I know I can always depend.

I have many constants in my life:
hope, poetry, music, optimism,
memory, thought, family, connections –
and when I feel them and I understand them
for what they are and for what they mean to me,
nothing else matters;
the pain of the past fades away,
and just being thankful for what I do have
always keeps the wolf, that sometimes visits me
at all times of the night or day, at bay.

Today feels like the perfect day
to hold on tight to the best thing in my life;
today feels like I am understanding something profound
with the wonderful gifts of hindsight, and foresight.
My heart feels brand new;
I am breathing fresh air now
that makes me feel light-headed –
as if I were experiencing high-altitude hypoxia
on top of a mountain;
my mind is reaching out into the big blue;
I am changing again;
I feel like I have just woken up
from an interesting dream, and come full-circle;
and today is the 14th of March, 2015.

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My Poem ‘Numbers’

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

Numbers surround us;
numbers connect us;
numbers help us remember things –
from the home where we live,
to the age that we are;
numbers define some people;
numbers are important to some people;
numbers are how some people
judge whether someone has something or nothing;
numbers have grown in importance and in prominence
since there invention –
from the moment that somebody started declaring
that one added to one is two,
and that the greater the number of something you have the better,
the more power you have,
and with your numbers you can do anything.

Numbers are more important to our daily lives than we realize;
certain numbers are more significant to us than others;
numbers are all that some people see in and with their eyes;
certain numbers: dates, times, addresses, “lucky numbers”,
can make people feel better;
numbers are our key to places, to our finances;
numbers can also be a sign of understanding and knowledge;
numbers are how we know the worth of something,
according to their prices;
numbers can be a way to encourage.

Numbers are fearsome, numbers are cruel,
numbers are tiresome, some numbers: not cool.
Numbers are stressful,
send you wild with rage;
numbers are frightening,
dictating your age.
Numbers keep you up revising,
deep into the night;
numbers make you shed a tear,
but persist and they’ll cause you delight.

Numbers are everywhere you look,
and sometimes they are more populous than words;
some numbers are constantly changing;
some numbers always remain the same;
numbers exist in their own, and they connect,
every kind of world;
numbers connect lots of things:
from follow counts on websites,
to balances in bank accounts;
from pin numbers, to lottery numbers;
from years of birth,
to the number that we see of a particular bird.
Everybody in the world secretly
has an inbuilt obsession with numbers.

With thanks to Katie Hewer for the third verse! 😉