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My Poem “Square One”

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

Just like in the game of Monopoly
when everybody first arrives in this world
they start with the word “Go”,
and then they roll the dice
that will decide for them
where the game they are
involved in will take them –
and the rules of life
are similar to the rules of a game:
each of us start somewhere,
each of us are given a name,
each of us are given choices,
and as we learn more about
who we are and what motivates us
we find ourselves being pulled
down particular paths,
by particular things,
by particular people,
into making decisions
that will effect the rest of our lives.

No one in this life
is immune to influence –
because our brains are driven
by stimulation and information,
even from a young age…
no one can stop themselves
from making the “wrong choice” –
because up until a choice or a move
has been played to its conclusion
there is no way of knowing
the outcome of anything…
everybody dreams of becoming
something or someone when they are a child –
something or someone
who they see and want to emulate;
but I wonder how many people
actually became who they wanted to be
when they grew up,
if they did what they wanted to do,
and if they became who they wanted to be
when they were a kid?


Life has a way of making certain things happen,
while other things never get off the drawing-board…
people have a way of changing
their minds more frequently than they would think under certain circumstances…
the terrain that people think
will always stay the same
has a way of being remade
that cannot simply be returned
to how it used to be –
because nothing, no one,
and nowhere stays untouched
by outside influences.


From the moment that
the necessary components of our planet
coalesced and began to slowly
but surely evolve into
the wild testbed of experimentation
that it will always be,
even before humanity entered
the mix and started effecting
the world by any and all means,
Earth has been visited from space
many times by its fellow
celestial cousins
and it has continued to
thrive and go with the flow
of whatever course
plays out upon its surface.

Everything and everybody
begins their journey with
whatever and whomever
they have at their disposal,
and then, before long,
everything and everyone
finds themselves being
taken to places that they
do not choose to be –
but places where others want them to be;
and that is when the seeds
of rebellion are first sowen,
that is when the first ideas
of defiance start to get louder and louder –
until every individual decides to do something for them
and for no one else,
and that is when it starts:
that is when the power of chance
can start to change the map
of the world within our mind
and start to alter our opinion
of what we are here to do
and who we are supposed to be.

We all think that we will not
make the mistakes that similar people in our shoes have made in the past…
we all think that we can somehow
be different from other people
if we have “more” of something
than someone else…
we all think that we might get to see
something that no one else has ever seen,
or experience something
that no one has ever done before;
but each of us discover
that we are all constantly stuck
in a loop of repetition
that is hard to break free of –
especially when we find out that
there are powers in the world
that wish to control others
into thinking and believing
that one way is the only way
and supercedes all others…
we all think that there is a way
to see something before it happens,
and perhaps prevent the inevitable –
but time and time again
each of us are given a wake up call
that reminds us that some things
will always happen
because they were always meant to happen:
including proceeding down a path
for as long and for as far as we can
before realizing that we have
actually returned to where we were
and have to start over again
from Square One.

My Poem “Relationship’s End”

Mark Hastings Poetry , , , , , , , , , , , , , 
A relationship doesn't just happen,
a relationship takes time
to build, to grow, to change...
a relationship can begin
in many different places,
at many different times,
for many different reasons,
and in many different ways...
a relationship does not have
an established timeline, a map,
nor a explanation as to when
and how things will happen
over the course of it, nor why -
because a relationship must be allowed
to become what it is supposed to be.

When it comes to relationships,
you cannot compare
the relationship you have with someone
to the one shared by other people,
because every relationship is unique...
when it comes to knowing
what to do while in a relationship,
no one can know what is the right thing
and what is the wrong thing to do -
because no matter how much time
you spend committed to making
a relationship last as long as it can,
nor how hard you try,
things will undoubtedly happen
that will push every bond to its limit,
and cracks will ultimately start to form,
and one day -
through no fault of any one person -
a relationship, like a mirror,
might shatter into pieces
because of all the stress
it finds itself under.

Sometimes relationships end
because they have to,
because they were always meant to -
however, when you look back
over the path you made with someone,
you can see where things started
to slowly but surely go wrong
from all the clues
that were always there to be found...
when a relationship is no more,
and you have to walk away from someone
who used to mean something profound to you,
it can be easy to blame yourself
for why things went from good to bad -
but sometimes some things
are just not meant to last,
because sometimes when we catch up,
and then we go beyond,
what we always thought
a relationship would be
all we start to see
are all our chances to leave,
all the escape routes,
all the ways out we can use
to return to a state of being
when and where we are accountable
to no one else's actions but our own.

A Poem A Day #606: End of the Road

Mark Hastings Podcast, Poetry , , , , , , , , , , ,
“End of the Road” by Mark Hastings was taken from Mark’s poetry collection ‘The Comeback Kid’ which was published in 2023 by Zeloo Media. Check out more of Mark’s poetry online @ http://MarkThePoet.Me – all poems © Mark Hastings ● Buy Me a coffee @ https://www.buymeacoffee.com/MarkThePoet ● Check out the merch store on Redbubble: https://rdbl.co/3xWa4Rw

My Poem “Over too soon”

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





One of the most beautiful
and truly breathtaking sights
that we mere mortals get to see
is the last glimpse of daylight
when the sun slowly disappears
below the horizon at sunset,
when day becomes night;
and to me, for some reason, a sunset
sometimes has even more of an impact
upon me than witnessing a sunrise -
because, for so many reasons,
seeing the sun set reminds us all
of how precious time is, how short life is,
and how one day we will all see a last day
when we will all close our eyes for the last time
and day will forever become an eternal night.

Sunsets happen too early for some people -
however, everybody has at least once in their life
enjoyed the experience of sitting,
or standing, like a statue or a monument,
as the last rays of the sole star
at the centre of our solar system
touches us and allows our shadow self
to be caste upon the ground behind us...
there is no more astounding moment
like sitting upon the infinite grains of sand
of a beach as the bright sunlight retreats
to its source, as the temperature drops,
as the air grows cold, and as the song
of the sun is replaced by the crashing chorus
of the waves of the sea, as the ocean tide
recreates the shoreline, as above the clouds
the stars of the cosmos sprinkle down
a healthy dose of stardust to inspire
the dreams of countless.

Sunrises remind us all of new life...
sunsets remind us all of how far
we have all come and what we have done -
and, in my experience, there is no more perfect time
to sit and reflect upon life and our place in nature
than on a summer's evening in June...
sunrises remind us all of how
amazing it is to be alive...
sunsets remind us all that sometimes
when something is over it is over
though an echo of what was 
might in some form remain -
however, I am sure that we can all agree
that the journey of some things
and the journey of some people
are sometimes over way too soon.






					

		
		
	




			
				


	

		

					
My Poem “Love is Everything”

								

								 Mark Hastings
															Poetry					
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Love is the beginning… Love is the end…

Love is the reason the stars keep shining…

Love is the gift that can do anything…

Love is that indefinable feeling

when your heart skips a beat,

or when you feel that indescribable

flutter of joy in your stomach

that makes it hard to speak…

Love is what completes you…

Love is what makes you who you are…

Love is what radiates from you

like the light of a constant star…

Love is divine… Love is complex…

Love is what defies the passage of time…

Love is the spirit that knows no rest…

Love is life… Love is rebirth…

Love is the greatest power in the universe…

Love is the reason that you keep going…

Love is the reason that you keep breathing…

Love is the reason that you keep dreaming…

Love is the reason to keep living –

because Love is… Love is Everything.

					

		
		
	




			
				


	

		

					
My Poem “This is how it starts”

								

								 Mark Hastings
															Poetry					
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As we ring in a new year

there are fireworks, there are smiles,

there are wishes of hope, of joy,

and of endless hours of cheer…

As one year ends and as another year begins,

as the sun continues to perfectly rise and shine,

everybody hopes for the best days of their life

and they want every moment that they live

to be one that they will remember

as a time in their life

in which they were truly living…

As the world continues to turn

and change faster than we are able to perceive,

as the people that we have known all our lives grow older,

and as we all hopefully grow wiser,

everything around us shifts on its axis

and we all begin to realize

that every day is both a beginning and an end,

and the start of a new year can be

the first step that leads to wonders of light

that appear like stars that twinkle in the dark –

and for me that is how every first day

of every new year starts:

with a flash of light, like that of a burning spark.


Happy New Year! 🙂

					

		
		
	




			
				


	

		

					
My Poem ‘Science’

								

								 Mark Hastings
															Poetry					
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As one cover closes,

another cover opens;

as one world freezes,

another continues to never know

the feeling of what it is like to be frozen;

as one story ends,

another adventure begins;

as a stranger becomes a friend,

another friendly acquaintance

is off to see something new

that they will declare when they see you next

that they had never seen such a thing before, or since;

as one road changes,

another connects with the one before

but simply with a change of name;

as one fire rages,

another dies until it is no more

than the after-glow of an extinguished flame.


Starts, and finishes;

beginnings, and ends;

birth, and death;

life’s phases of change and transformation;

thoughts, and wishes;

fresh air, breathing, cleansing;

right, or left;

chaos, order, belief, science;

everything in balance,

and happening for a reason,

like the variable in a perfect equation.


When things recur in nature;

when things are born, twinned with another

instead of singularly and alone;

when the present is also the past and the future,

that is when we all should take notice

with all our senses and instincts –

because it is then that we realize

that it is always better to be a designer

of your own life and style,

instead of simply being the same as someone else

and acting like a clone.


The seasons of Earth,

the names that we have given

the phases of our planet,

are never the same from one year to the next:

some winters are mild,

some winters are unbelievably harsh,

some summers are as golden as those

we always remember having when we were a child,

some summers are like being bitten hard

by a tyrannosaurus rex.

The sun continues to burn, and shine;

the water level of our rivers and lakes rise

and they fall, unexpectedly;

life is what it is,

and can never knowingly be kind, or unkind;

things happen again and again, invariably,

wonderfully, and sometimes surprisingly poetically.


Life is a continuous moment,

that our time existing in which

could be balanced on the tip of a needle;

our voices are but a whisper

in the cosmos of perfect silence,

and it is life’s precious finality

that empowers me the most,

and inspires me to the deepest of depths

and to the greatest of heights –

because once our lives are lived to their entirety,

we expire and then begin again anew,

and with another life to live and slowly reveal –

and that is the great journey,

and that is the great discovery of life,

of the universe, and the answer that follows

the equality sign posed eternally

from time in memorial by a meaning of life,

that is both a religion to believe in,

as well as the refined tried and tested

practice of a science.

					

		
		
	




			
				


	

		

					
My Poem ‘Epilogue’

								

								 Mark Hastings
															Poetry					
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Just as the sun must set,

so too must the last chapter of a story be written and told;

just as you might look back on your life

and remember things that you would much rather forget,

so too must you never forget that things happen

as they were always meant to happen,

and nothing that feels timeless can ever be old.


You never want a journey to end,

especially when you have been having the time of your life;

you never want to reach the end of a book,

because then you know all about the story within, its conclusion,

and even if you do read it again it will never be the same;

you never want to fall asleep,

especially if your life feels so amazing and dreamlike –

because you don’t want to wake up

and perhaps find out that your world

has just been a fantastic, idyllic, paradise;

you never want to put memories of places

and people to the back of your mind –

me, personally, I would rather have a moving picture gallery

of the good times in my life all around me,

and each one mounted beautifully in a gold frame.


Like most people,

I have known the very best of times,

I have known the very worst of times –

and usually both extremes of the other

within a short space of time;

like most people,

I have made the best of everything that I could –

especially when the road ahead, and my head,

felt like they were a winter field of dense fog;

like most people, I am a poet of his time –

however, what makes me who I am

will always be something that is hard to define;

unlike most people, at the start of every new day,

I write a brand new introduction

to introduce myself to the rest of the world;

and at the end of every day and brand new night,

I dream a dream that completely captures

and reflects my entire life –

like a mirror, or like a song –

in a brand new and beautifully written epilogue.

					

		
		
	




			
				


	

		

					
My Poem ‘The Shortest Day’

								

								 Mark Hastings
															Poetry					
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Today is the shortest day;

tonight will be the longest night;

sunrise and sunset will happen

within no time at all of each other,

as if the entire day will begin and end

within the blink of an eye.


The time to do things and to grasp the moments

are more precious today

than they ordinarily are on a normal day;

the Winter Solstice is here –

it is not even midday,

but I can already see the fading of the day’s light.


As soon as I woke up this morning,

I had this immediate feeling that there was something

in the cold early-morning air;

as soon as I started to think cogently

my mind was instantly clear,

and as I watched the sky brighten outside my window

I could do nothing but look up

and marvel at the white clouds that met my stare.


Christmas is but a few days away;

people all over the world

are doing their last pieces of Christmas shopping;

there is an anticipation to be felt all around

that something is on its way;

everybody is filled with hopes and dreams, and genuine joy,

and there is also whispers and wishes

that perhaps soon it may even start snowing.


The air is cold;

the streets are busy;

Christmas songs are playing all around me

and filling me, the atmosphere, and everybody,

with happiness, who are sitting with me here in this cafe;

there are seasons and emotions greeting and changing

and being felt all around the world;

there is energy on the verge of being set free;

there is more than meets the eye occurring today

on the shortest day.