everyone

My Poem ‘Don’t Panic’

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

Don’t panic, if you ever find yourself
in an unfamiliar place;
don’t panic, if you are a writer
and your pen suddenly runs out of ink;
don’t panic, if you don’t win in a race;
don’t panic, if you find out that life
is not what you think.

Don’t panic if it’s raining –
because the sun will eventually come out;
don’t panic, if you lose something
that means something to you;
don’t panic, if you don’t have unlimited wealth;
don’t panic, if there are clouds above –
because above those clouds
there is a sun shining in a sky the colour of blue.

Don’t panic, if you don’t know everything;
don’t panic, if you can’t do what you want;
don’t panic, if something feels like it may be ruined;
don’t panic, if you want to be somebody – but you can’t.

Don’t panic, if you’re late for something –
because you are meant to be there when you are there;
don’t panic, if you feel that something
is sneaking up on you by surprise;
don’t panic, if someone looks at you and stares;
don’t panic, if your plans might need to be revised.

Don’t panic, if the house you built is blown away;
don’t panic, if you are in the middle of a city
and you don’t know where to go;
don’t panic, if someone comes into your life
but they cannot stay;
don’t panic, if you feel like things
are building up around you too much for you to cope.

Don’t panic, if every light you come up against is red;
don’t panic, if things feel like they are going in reverse;
don’t panic, if you gambled and lost –
or you put something on what seemed like a ‘sure thing’,
and you eventually lost the bet;
don’t panic, if you don’t see everything in life –
because there is no one alive
who will ever know everything,
or will ever have seen everything in the entire universe.

Don’t panic, if you are ever running late;
don’t panic, if everything feels manic;
don’t panic, if you have to wait;
whatever happens, whatever you have to do,
don’t worry about the things that happen
in the world around you that you can’t control –
because the universe has its own plans;
and even though you and everyone has a part to play,
the best thing you can do is to do what you know,
and don’t panic.

My Poem ‘From Scratch’

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

How do you build a house
without a blue-print?
How do you piece together a puzzle
without first seeing a picture
of how the completed image appears?
What makes a true friendship?
Where do you go
when you have caught all of your tears?

You can’t ever truly go back,
some things are meant to be broken and stay unmended;
some things are just not meant to last;
if we didn’t care,
then there wouldn’t be times when we feel offended.

I am like my Dad,
I am a man of deep feelings;
if I have been hurt by someone,
or something, I do feel sad;
if you start to believe what other people say
and think about you,
one day you might discover that while you were listening,
thinking, and obsessing, you were overlooking
the real thing that you have been missing.

If you had never heard music before,
and someone played you a song,
would you know what it was?
Would you still be able to feel
the same flood of emotions,
and be transported away in the only way
that music knows how to, and always does?

If you had never written a single poem before,
and then one day you sat down and wrote one for someone,
could you say what you wanted to say?
If someone meant the world to you,
how would you tell them, and in what way?

If I had to start from scratch,
if I had to reset and make the same choices over again,
if I could turn back time as easy as you can
with the hands of a clock, or a watch,
if I could talk to the dearly-departed who I once knew,
there are some things that I would love to say
for the very last time, and truly say a fitting goodbye
to an old friend.

Times must change;
everyone must meet their match;
you should never run away from a moment of rage;
when you think you have lost it all,
pick up the pieces that you can see scattered around you,
go home, and start again from scratch.

My Poem ‘Your Day’

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

Everyone, from every walk of life,
everywhere, knows and is familiar
with that feeling of relief
that overcomes us all
the minute that we finish a long day at work,
and we arrive home sweet home,
and we sit down and rest,
and put the events of the day we have had behind us –
especially if we have had a day
that felt as endless as the universe;
everyone, anyone, everybody, anybody,
who has a job or an occupation
that sometimes feels like a treadmill,
knows the full meaning of the old saying
“the only way forward is through”,
and it is amazing how good you feel
after a hard day at work –
it is unbelievable how much energy you have
when you walk through your front-door at home,
because that sensation lifts in no time at all,
and you may even resemble, as you sit in your chair,
the sight of a balloon that has recently burst.

Just like a car running on fumes,
as it finally reaches
and rolls onto the forecourt of a fuel station,
every working man and woman
also needs to refuel and build up their energy levels,
and take a break from what they need to do,
and relax while doing what they love to do,
and cool the temperature of their spirit –
like newly-forged white-hot metal.

Some people relax in front of their TV,
while watching their favourite television show;
some people lay back, put their feet up,
and listen to the latest songs
that are playing on the radio;
some people jump straight into the bath,
or into the shower, and wash away their day,
and let all their work-related stresses drift away;
some people put on their headphones,
and sit in their bedroom, on their bed,
listening to their mp3 player,
as they listen to their favourite artists
telling them what they need to hear –
because they know all the right things to say;
some people read a book;
some people write;
some people reach out for someone for a hug;
some people get changed from their work clothes,
eat, drink, turn off their phones,
and settle down for a quiet night.

Everyone’s day is their own;
everyone feels more like themselves when they are at home;
everyone has thoughts and feelings that are hard to convey;
everyone who has someone, or something, to come home to –
even if that is a mirrored reflection of themselves
that they can see into –
is lucky to have someone, or something,
that they can reply to,
when they are asked the question:
how was your day?

My Poem ‘Warmth’

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

This time of the year
you feel glad for what you have;
this time of the year
the little things mean the most;
this time of the year
some people feel happy,
and some people feel sad;
this time of the year,
for just being still here,
you should pick up a cup or a glass
and make a silent toast.

This time of the year
everyone thinks more;
this time of the year
everyone does more;
this time of the year
some people ask for less,
but give more;
this time of the year
we all need to wrap up more.

This time of the year
you can see smoke rising from country-cottage chimney’s,
and smell burning fires;
this time of the year, in some countries,
they augment their cars with winter tires;
this time of the year
it is wet, cold, and in some places in the world
they are already covered in winter snow;
this time of the year
everyone needs to have conviction and patience wherever they go.

This time of the year
we become more insulated;
this time of the year
we are infinitely more creative;
this time of the year
we write, message people,
and remember family and friends spontaneously;
this time of the year,
if sharing is your favourite art,
then you can give as much as you can shamelessly.

This time of the year
is to each of us what life to us is all about;
this time of the year
is when the days spiral away from us
and seem as if they are a few hours short;
this time of the year
is about realizing life’s wealth;
this time of the year
is about feeling, and giving someone something
to keep them going, hopeful, and warm.