family

My Poem ‘The Ember days’

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

There are days in the year
when so many of us gather together;
there are days when we meet up
with our family and friends
and reminisce and tell stories,
as if we are all basking
in the glow of everything
while sitting around a camp-fire;
there are days when we happily
give gifts to each other;
there are days when we are held,
and we hold the thing
that truly matters in life,
and share love and feel love –
like holding, without fear of being burned,
a glowing red-hot ember.

There are days of the year
when the energy-level is extraordinary;
there are days when every hour
is a treat as sweet as chocolate;
there are days of the year
when you can look around
and truly take-in just how lucky you are,
and remember the glory days of your life-story;
there are days which are too important
to ever be forgotten.

There are days that are significant to us,
because the anniversary of a particular day –
where we were, with whom,
and what emotions were stirred
and what memories were eternally made;
there are days that can come to define our entire lives
in special and magical ways;
there are days when our internal spirit
rises up and overflows out of us
and we show a side of us
that leaves people in a daze;
there are days when words are just not enough
to say what you want to say.

Every day of our year
is about remembering the days
and the times that were,
and continuing traditions of connection
so that we may realize time and time again
that each and every one of us
only has one chance of making our lives
the way we want it to be;
days soon become months,
months soon become years –
however, our lives are timeless;
and even if every day isn’t light and bright,
filled with gifts, presents,
smiles, flowers, and candy,
there is always something there for us to take with us,
and there are always lights in the dark for us
to look at like the illuminations of a Christmas tree.

Never forget the people you have known;
never forget the people who would
never knowingly leave you alone;
never forget the happiness you felt
that continues to live on deep inside you
that you will take with you to the grave;
never forget the days of light and celebration
that will continue to blaze throughout your life,
and bring you back always to the ember days.

My Poem ‘The Fox’

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

In the early hours of the morning
when everybody, mostly,
was asleep in bed,
I used to walk the streets
while the sun was still rising,
and I would see and hear the world –
and there are things that I saw,
and things that I heard,
that I have never before confessed.

I used to listen to the silence,
and, as when I was a child,
I believed that I could hear
and feel the Earth turning;
I used to see the sun
and instantly feel the hairs
on the back of my neck stand on-end,
and I could feel the heat of the sun –
as if my skin was about to start burning.

With the moon still in the sky,
and the stars still shining bright,
the streets, the houses,
the trees, and the flowers,
looked in a stage of rest
as the people sleeping nearby –
and even though it was a new day,
it still had the look
and the feel of twilight.

I used to hear the first birds,
in the trees and on the rooftops,
begin the symphony of song
that is the dawn chorus;
I used to look up at the sky
and see the colours
and the canvas of the clouds
change and paint a unique picture,
with the sun acting as both
an inspiration of natural art,
as well as a back-light.
There were mornings
when I just used to stop and stare,
and feel a part of each
and every beautiful moment;
some mornings were absolutely
stunning, incredible,
phenomenal, and magnificent.

I was witness to true wonders of nature;
I lost time, because I used to forget
that it even existed;
I used to have this feeling
about what a day would consist of
right at the beginning –
like sampling an unfinished meal
and trying to get a sense of it’s flavours;
the times when I felt like
the only person left on Earth,
as if I were its eternal guardian
and destined to walk the miles
of this wonderful sphere forever,
were the best.

Many mornings, many hours,
the only other living thing
that I would see was wildlife –
and the amount of animals
that are already up
and doing what they know,
and what their instincts tell them to do,
without even thinking, is amazing;
and every animal that I used to see
was a moment, for me, that was truly magical:
from deer, to rabbits;
from hedgehogs, to badgers;
from frogs, to cats –
however, the species of wildlife
that I saw the most, and the animal
that I used to see
and would see looking back at me,
the beautiful creature of the night and the day,
which knows the true value of family,
which knows what they have to do to survive
and provide for their family,
that I used to read stories about as a child,
and the animal that I used to see daily
and be captivated by,
was the animal with the most warm and fiery fur on Earth,
which I used to see casually walking down the road,
which I was not for a second afraid by,
and which was and still is one of my favourite animals
of the night and early morning,
and that animal is the fantastic fox.

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.

Read-my-thoughts-final-no-title

My Poem ‘The White House’

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

In the white house where I grew up,
in the only home that I ever known,
in the place where I wrote every poem
of my first poetry book,
in the sanctuary where I have always
felt love all around me,
and have never felt as if I were on my own,
within the walls of my childhood make-believe castle,
within the rooms of the heart of our family,
within the memories captured in every family photo,
within every thing that I can still see,
I can feel anchors of time
that will always be tied to me.

In the garden where I used to play as a boy,
in the green oasis where I spent an entire summer
reading the ‘Dark Tower’ series of books by Stephen King,
in the protected and safe paradise
where my sister Clare and I used to cut the green grass,
swing on the white swing that our Dad made for us,
and where we used to pick green and red apples
straight from the branches of our apple tree,
in the hallowed ground where we used to play
outside with our toys,
in the wonderful world that was our back garden,
where I vividly remember running, smiling, and laughing,
in the open air where I remember feeling the most free.

In the house that is a part of me and my family
as we are of it,
I cannot imagine living anywhere else;
whenever I ran out of my house’s back door,
I had no idea what adventure I might be embarking on:
an expedition to a far-away land,
an underwater diving adventure,
a Formula One race while driving my Go-cart,
or an out of this world voyage
to the final frontier of space
where I might see the imagined lives
of civilizations on other planets –
and I can say with my hand on my heart,
that my childhood home was one of the most
beneficial of things that gave me
true, happy, and great health.

My room in my house
was that smallest bedroom of the three,
but the magic box room that was my bedroom
is like the core of a star,
and is where I still keep the building blocks
of what makes me Me;
my home is a reminder of the past,
of my childhood, of what is important
in the here and in the now;
my home will always be my home,
but it will also always be
more than I could ever put into words –
because on the inside
my home is a palace of many treasures,
but if you were to look at it from the outside
all that you would see would be
a simple painted white house.

My Poem ‘Heart to Heart’

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

It always feels exhilarating
to get something off your chest;
it always feels amazing to say something
that you have been meaning to say;
it always feels great to ask something of someone
that for a long time you have only had
the opportunity to guess;
it always feels liberating
to give a secret about yourself away.

Procreation, pregnancy,
the creation of new life has always intrigued me;
maintaining a legacy, passing on knowledge,
keeping a tradition alive for a new generation to carry on,
is something that truly fascinates and enthralls me.

Children learning about their family
from the stories told to them by their parents;
parents engaging with their children,
and showing interest in what they like to do,
and what they think;
children being allowed to say what they see,
and create their own picture of the world,
from a vast mosaic of pieces of life that they see,
and connecting together the fragments;
parents allowing their children to be children,
without any unneeded pressure
about who they should be too early –
in my opinion, the best gift you can give any child
is the knowledge that life itself is a teacher
and a lesson, and if you pay close attention
to what is going on around you,
and how you feel about things,
there is no knowing what you will discover
about the world, and about yourself,
and with the right knowledge
and an abundance of passion and enthusiasm
there is no knowing what might happen.

Children can only be taught so much by their teachers
and their parents, and there comes a time
in every boy and girl’s life when they realize
that they have to make a decision for themselves
with their own mind and their own reasoning,
and make a choice that might inform their entire future;
children can only be protected and held back
from the big wide world for so long,
and the moment that they realize
that they have to start paying for what they want,
every child has this worry about what to do next,
as they are engulfed by a massive wave of fear.

Every parent will tell you
that bringing up a child is not easy;
every child will tell you
that no one shines brighter in their eyes
than those who raise them, those who praise them,
and they who just by being there for them when they need them,
who make them extremely happy;
every parent will admit that providing and balancing
what a child needs with what they want can sometimes be hard;
every child, in not so many words, most of the time,
just wants to know that they are wanted,
and that they are loved,
and the best and the most amazing way
a parent and a child can show this
is to talk to each other,
and not be afraid to look into each other’s eyes,
and have a heart to heart.

My Poem ‘To the dogs’

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

There is no more trusted,
nor a more loyal companion and best friend,
than man’s best friend;
there is no more attentive, comforting,
and loving, protector of a master,
than the part of the family
who loves nothing more
than to lie at the foot of your bed
and warm your feet as you sleep at night;
there is no more excited person on Earth
who could ever compare to the one
who would sit and wait for you all day long,
and want to greet you when you walk through
your home’s front door,
with an enthusiasm that feels sometimes
as if it has no end;
there is no more pure look of love
than that of your faithful family dog,
who is loyal to their owner to a fault,
and who would in a fight stand with their paws before you
and save you with every ounce of their bark and bite.

There is a bond that is bound eternally
between a dog and their human parents and friends
from the time they are a puppy;
there is a trust that is forged that is hard to break;
there is nothing gives a dog more joy
than making their master happy;
there is a beautiful connection made
when a dog is given a name by their owner,
and you can tell that after they realize
that the name that is being called in their direction
is in fact the name that has been gifted to them
from the wagging of their tail,
and it is an acceptance of identity and obedience
that cannot be faked.

A lucky child is one who grows up with a pet to feed,
to look after, to play with, to walk, and to wash –
however, the most important thing that a child learns
from having a pet is that love and loyalty are a two-way street,
and that if you show true love you will receive love back in return,
especially from our four-legged canine friends
who look at us as if we were a god;
man’s best friend can also be woman’s best friend,
and without their human best friend they too would feel sad and lost;
I still remember my family pet who I loved when I was a little boy,
who brought to my family great joy
until she fell into an everlasting sleep never to wake again from,
and in honour of ‘Jess’,
and every member of her wonderful breed and species,
this poem of mine goes out and is dedicated to the dogs.

My Poem ‘Merry Me’

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

Life is full of surprises;
the days of the year fly by;
the best of your memories
are full of happiness and kindness;
seeing the silver-lining around every cloud
can be hard sometimes, but it is always there –
there is always hope, and you truly do not know
what is going to happen until you follow an idea,
take a chance, and, with all your heart, try.

The rising sun;
the shining moon;
the warmth of love;
the optimism of a crisp and beautiful magical blue-sky afternoon;
The sparkling and twinkling lights;
the golden star-spangled, heart-warming,
beautiful, sun-kissed, Christmas tree;
the festive feeling in the air
that surrounds everyone and makes everybody
not feel the cold touch of the winter air’s bite;
the noticeable electricity and breathtaking energy;
the communication; the connections;
the story of humanity; the magic of family;
the sharing of gifts; the feeling of togetherness
that is like a true miracle,
when it blooms from inside of you every Christmas.

Everything about this time of the year inspires me;
everything that I see, hear, and think about,
feels like a fresh start, a new beginning, another chance;
everything about this time of the year
brings out so much of the worlds beauty;
everything is a source and a reason to smile,
and fall into a constant, amazing, world of trance
at a moments glance.

At this time of the year,
and every day of the year if you can,
it is important to remember the stars of your life
that constantly shine and tell you
that everything will be fine
and all that matters is that you are OK;
at this time of the year
it is important to make time
for those who always find the time to think of you,
and who want to spend time with you,
and who want to share special moments with you –
over the phone, in an instant message,
or maybe even face to face at lunch
while enjoying a delicious carvery;
at Christmas time it is important to keep mementos
of the people who are important to you in some way;
at Christmas time it is important to think and remember
what and who always gives you a reason
to be happy, to be hopeful, to be grateful, to be merry.

My Poem ‘Echo’

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

I often wonder why people go to the same places:
why they shop at the same shops,
why they eat at the same restaurants,
why they drink the same drink at the same pubs;
I often wonder why music, fashion, brands,
bands, writers, movies, have the impact that they have,
and why they become the thing that someone people genuinely love;
I often wonder the same questions as an ‘ad man’ would
of a product he is figuring out how to sell and advertise,
and get people thinking and talking about something;
I often wonder the same thoughts as an artist
has to think when they want to start turning their passion
into a means of living.
There must be thousands, if not millions,
of people like me in the world,
but I don’t think that there are many people
who ask questions and come up with their own informed answers
in spontaneous verses of poetry –
most people don’t have the time to think about things
that are outside of their normal way of thinking,
their circle, and do not have the passion that I have
for imagination, connection, freedom of expression,
through a love of life and words;
I would guess that there are not that many people
who can see what I see.

I have always been fascinated by what draws people
and all forms of life to what they desire
and want above all else:
when a moth is drawn to a flame,
that doesn’t mean that they want to kill themselves;
when an astronaut leaves the Earth,
that doesn’t mean that they want to separate themselves
from the world and from the rest of humanity;
when someone does something
that may have consequences for them in the future,
when they start they are not thinking
that what they are doing will one day be bad for their health;
when someone looks for an answer in a book,
or in a story about a time gone by,
they are looking for a truth already been found by someone else,
they are looking for clarity.

The rings within a tree are an echo of its life
and of the times that they have lived through;
the DNA of someone is an genealogical timeline
of an entire family of infinite members
that can be traced back and mapped to the beginning of time;
the frequency of every piece of man-made technology
can be followed back from the present day,
to the invention of the light-bulb,
to the manufacturing of the first wheel,
to the amazing and phenomenally detailed drawings of Leonardo da Vinci;
the entire meaning of all that matters
can be glimpsed in the natural art of the universe,
and in the first thought that always follows
when someone asks a question of why?
Everyone, and everything that happens,
exists, and is a thing of momentous importance,
in the endless ripples and waves that is
the universe of the big bang of creation’s echo.

My Poem ‘The Cure for Cancer’

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

We live in an incredible day and age
when we can do almost anything-
we can do almost anything,
we can go almost everywhere,
we can say almost everything,
we can enjoy the wonders of the world
that surrounds us, without a care;
however, there are things that we cannot do,
there are places that we cannot go,
there are things that we cannot say;
there are people in this life
whose destiny it is to live
the shortest of lives,
and to be afflicted with a disease
that touches and effects the lives of everyone,
young and old, everywhere-
a life-changing shadow,
which no light shone can yet completely cure,
and that darkness is cancer.

My aunt Mary died of cancer
when I was a teenager,
and unfortunately I did not see
or get a chance to say goodbye
to my auntie before she died.
My Dad’s older sister,
I remember was always someone who was smiling,
happy, thinking about everybody else;
my auntie Mary came with us to Florida
when I was a child,
and even though I was very young
I remember her enjoyment, her smile,
her heart of adventure at being
in an unknown country
and experiencing adventures,
that you would always keep with you,
that are literally once in a life-time.
I remember taking my aunt’s, my uncle’s,
my family members’ faces, voices, and spirit
for granted, and never once thinking
that they would ever die, or be in ill-health.

We all take things and people for granted,
and we all stupidly hold grudges on people
who are as human as we are,
and who know they are,
because they are going through their own
trial of mortality.
Cancer has touched and has been a big part
of the life of every family,
and right now it is still touching my family,
and it is still having a profound effect
on every family, and when I think
of what cancer is, and what it means,
and where the fight to beat it has taken people
and will take people,
I feel small, I feel weak,
I feel like if it were possible
that the life of one person
could change the direction of the tide
in eradicating and subduing cancer forever,
I would choose to willingly sacrifice my life
so that every other life of humanity
may be spared more pain and anguish,
and so that no one else may have to
fight every day to preserve
the memory of their identity.

We can all be a part of finding a truth
that may one day be the key
to understanding and building a future of hope,
devoid of the word, the hurt,
the silent fear, that is cancer;
we can all be there to give all that we can,
in any way that we can;
we can all be there for those who need us
now more than ever;
we can all be the difference;
we can all be a part of the cure for cancer.