Georgia

My Poem ‘The Wilder Tower’

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

I will never forget the first time I saw
and the first that I climbed the steps
of the “Wilder Tower” – the lightning tower…
I will never forget the silence that I heard
and the feeling of peace that I felt
when I stood atop the stone-built tower
that stands as a monument in a former battlefield
in Chickamauga, Georgia…
I will never forget and I could never truly describe
what I was thinking and what it meant to me
to be where I was and with whom I was with…
I will never forget what came over me,
nor how fast my heart was beating,
as we were standing and looking below and beyond
to the green-grass and to the trees
that stretch to the horizon in almost every direction…
I felt as if I had always been meant to be there,
and as if the tower itself had been calling to me
and beckoning to me all my life.

The Wilder Tower stands tall and steady,
and over the years since its construction first began
it has literally weathered everything:
from a delay in its building,
to being hit during a thunder-storm
by a bolt of blue-lightning…
the Wilder Tower is magnetic
and it is a place that draws people to it…
the Wilder Tower is somewhere anybody can go
to climb, to stop, to think,
and to call out for an answer
from whomever may be listening…
the Wilder Tower is a powerful place
to find inspiration if you are romantic
or artistically-inclined,
especially if you a young-lover,
an artist, and a poet.

To some people, a building is just a building …
to some people, a tower is just a tower…
to some people, a memorial to a battle
is just a reminder of a violent past –
however, to me, certain places have great meaning
and they have the draw and the gravity
that they do for reasons
that are sometimes spiritual in nature…
our planet – the world that gives us
all that we could ever possibly want or need –
has many places on it that will forever have a memory
imbued and associated with it
that will always make them places
that are meaningful and special…
I have stood atop skyscrapers –
from the towering Empire State Building
to the beautiful Rockefeller Center in New York City –
and though those buildings and the skylines
that I saw will stay with me forever
in my memories that I will always remember,
nothing and nowhere could compare
to the first time that I stood looking at,
climbing the stairs of,
and then standing atop of
and high-above the ground,
with my heart in my hands,
while smiling and in-awe
of the 85-foot tall
Wilder Tower.

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My Poem ‘The Haunting of 14 Yucca Drive’

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

There once was a girl called “Shelby”,
Who came from a family who were not poor
But did not have a lot of money…
Shelby liked dolls,
Shelby liked teddy bears…
Shelby liked dogs,
Shelby never went to sleep at night
Without first saying her prayers.

When she was alive
Shelby was the happiest girl
You could ever want to meet
And was never seen
To ever frown or cry,
Shelby was always laughing and smiling –
However after she died
Shelby hardly said a word to anyone
And just used to walk in silence
from room to room
Through her old house at 14 Yucca Drive.

Dead, just as she was when she was alive,
Shelby was sweet and kind;
Even though she could
Only be seen most of the time
By animals and children
Shelby was always there
And could make her living best-friend
“Hailie” laugh on a dime.

The Dial family who now lived at 14 Yucca Drive
Always knew that their house had something about it –
as if it was haunted –
It was just one of those houses that
Just had that spooky vibe…
Hailie could see Shelby,
And so could the family dogs, Snuggles,
Moo Moo, Bella, and Gracie –
Bella could often be seen
looking up to a seemingly empty wall,
When in fact she was actually being
Petted by Shelby from her nose to her tail.

Shelby’s story is a sad one…
Shelby’s life as she knew it
As a happy little girl
Ended one sunny afternoon
When she ran out in front of a truck
On State-line Road…
The truck driver managed
To slam on his breaks,
But Shelby was hit just hard enough
To send her flying to the ground
Where she lay out-cold
Without even a single broken bone.

Shelby died,
Shelby went to sleep…
And when she awoke
It was as if she had just
Woken up from a nap –
Shelby had no idea
What had happened to her
Nor how much time had passed…
But slowly but surely
Shelby realized that years had gone by –
Shelby’s family eventually sold up and moved away –
Even when Shelby was given
Her one-way ticket to heaven,
She said “no thank you”
And told the angel who came to her
That she wanted to stay.

So Shelby stayed on Earth
And she remained the girl she was
Wearing the same clothes
She was wearing when she died
For years – sometimes she could be seen
By sensitive adults, as well as by
Animals and imaginative children –
But for the most part
Shelby spent most of her time
Remembering her life
When she was alive,
And hoping one day
To find the one who could help her
Move on from her sadness
And free her from her
accidental Haunting of 14 Yucca Drive.

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My Poem ‘Walking the line’

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

Literally, figuratively,
physically, emotionally,
I have been walking a line
or two my entire life…
just like Johnny Cash,
near the infamous Nickajack cave
in Tennessee,
I walked the tracks of a railroad-line –
and I can honestly say
that on the beautiful morning in February,
while I was walking alongside the Tennessee river
with the love of my life
and my adoptive family,
I too had what could be called
a “spiritual experience”:
the sky was blue,
the light was golden,
and I felt more alive than I had ever felt –
I was renewed, and I did not even for a second
think to look back over my shoulder,
because all that mattered
were the moments of perfection
that I was living out in nature
and under the life-giving and incredible sun.

Walking any kind of a line
is always when and where
something life-changing begins;
walking down a road that you don’t know
is how you can discover
and learn to embrace something unknown
and completely different;
walking, and not rushing,
is how to savor the beautiful
and the miraculous things about life
that speedsters sometimes miss
because they travel at the speed of lightning;
walking has always been a passion of mine –
and I swear that you haven’t lived
until you have stopped and heard
the breathtaking sound
of the Earth when it sings.

Every day people walk the line of life and death;
every day people walk the line of light and dark;
every day people walk right and left;
every day people walk to live,
and to live they have to walk far;
every day people walk
even though every step may feel like mile;
every day people walk through all weathers;
every day people walk through fire
and must overcome a torrent of trials;
every day people walk and repent
so that one day they can be
welcomed through the gates of heaven.

No matter what demons lie in your past,
you have got to keep walking
even though there may be times
when you don’t feel fine;
no matter what baggage you carry
that you think you can’t let go of,
sometimes you have got to learn
to let go of what you don’t need anymore,
and don’t look too longingly
at the light of the past
because before too long it may make you blind;
you haven’t lived in this life
if you haven’t at some point or another
been asked to pick a side;
there is no one alive
who hasn’t had to walk away from something
so that they to walk towards something –
no matter what, no matter the time,
everybody in their life
has got to walk the line.

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My Poem ‘Morning in America’

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

Morning light; morning silence;
morning life; morning peace;
morning in Tennessee and Georgia,
there is a calmness, a stillness,
a chance to breath in
the new day’s fresh air;
morning in my favourite states of America
is like waking up in a dream-world
that hypnotizes you
with its beauty with every second that you stare.

Star-spangled banners gently flutter and wave;
raindrops fall from the branches of trees
and from the roofs of porches
from the remnants of the storm
of the night before,
people go out in their cars
and carry out their daily routines;
every morning I look out of a window
and I see a red cardinal pass my way;
when I step outside for the first time
every morning I look around
and I am completely in-awe:
I see so much perfection,
and I feel so happy and so content
that it takes me a while to realize
that what and whom I see
is not in fact the stuff of dreams.

Birds sing; wind-chimes ring;
flowers open; morning has truly broken;
the sky is white, bright, blue, and pretty;
I feel so lucky to be here
with an intoxicating warmth of energy
surrounding me.

To me, this place is sacred
as much as it is blessed;
to me, the America that I know
and the America that I see
is like a country of heaven on Earth;
to me, I cannot wait to open my eyes
as the sun rises,
just after I put on my clothes and get dressed,
and reach out and hold the hand
of the most beautiful angel of Earth
who I have been destined to be with
since the day of my birth.

I love all that greets me
and all who speak to me
as my senses awaken;
I love driving to places
with my soulmate in our car;
I love how I feel like
every morning I have been saved
as well as taken;
I love every day when I wake up
and it is morning in America.

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My Poem ‘GA 30741’

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

Upon first awakening, all is dark
while the air is still warm;
when drifting off to sleep
during the summer-time
is when the lightning bugs glow
in the twilight as they swarm;
when the sun is shining
and the blue sky comes alive,
when you can sit back and take your ease
somewhere peaceful and special,
you feel the most lucky to be where you are,
having the time of your life.

When you see something everyday,
when you live somewhere all your life,
you can easily take something
or somewhere for granted,
when you are happy and content,
the minutes and the hours
can seem to fly away –
however, just as moments come
and they go like a flash of light,
when we all learn to harness
the energy and the feeling of our surroundings
it is then that we can make moments
and memories last forever,
and just like our genetic memory
be forever imprinted.

I have Georgia on my mind;
I have Tennessee in my heart;
I have a pocket of dollars and dimes;
I have the light of an American angel
shining on me like a star;
I have the accents and the voices
that I know so well
echoing through my consciousness
like a choir singing in a church;
I have the distant sight of Lookout Mountain
still fascinating me from afar.

I have walked over old battlefields,
and paid my respects to the lost
at memorials erected to remember the fallen –
those who gave their lives
to preserve the right of everyone
to enjoy the gift of true freedom.

The United States of America
is one country made up of fifty
wonderfully diverse states;
the heart of every American
beats proud and strong;
the United States of America
is a symbol of hope and prosperity
in so many ways;
every state of America
is a piece of an epic
and breathtaking unfinished puzzle –
and, to me, the states of Georgia and Tennessee
symbolize what makes
the United States of America truly great,
and there isn’t a minute that goes by
when I do not think of my home in 30741.

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My Poem ‘Tennessee Me’

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

The smells and the taste
of my favourite place;
the look and the touch
of my favourite
and the most beautiful face;
the feeling of warmth in the air
when I am there;
the instinct of holding
my angel’s hand,
as I run my fingers
through her beautiful hair…

Take me back there;
let the engines of a jet
transport me as fast as they can;
take me, please,
I wont put up any kind of a struggle –
in fact, I would gladly volunteer.
To be there always
with the one I love
is my life-long plan.

I miss walking over the state-line with ease;
I miss the feeling of being able to just be,
while constantly surrounded and embraced by love,
and what it feels like when two people
become one when they kiss
and wrap their arms around each-other in a hug;
I remember walking over the Tennessee River,
on the Walking Bridge, on a beautiful sunny day;
I remember getting down on one knee
and promising to want to spend
the rest of my life with the love of my life
in any and every way.

Since I have been back in England,
since I sat down again at my desk,
since I again slept in my old bed,
I must admit to feeling
like an adopted American
who has returned to his birthplace on a visit;
it is weird being here now,
especially when more than anything
I want to be back there;
it is like I have been
abducted and transported
to a far-away world-
and even though everything feels familiar,
I feel like I have to be
a different me than I want to be
while I am here.

Until you cross the line,
until you cross the river,
until you go somewhere
and you have the most amazing
and life-changing time,
only then can you see, feel,
and fill your entire life
with the gift of love
that the one you are meant to be with
has to give and has to offer;
until you follow your heart,
until you find the you you are meant to be,
until you know what it feels like
to be held by the one
who always makes you feel safe in their embrace
while you are sitting
and lying with one-another in the dark,
only then will you come close
to understanding what it feels like
to be the lucky in love with Melissa
Tennessee Me.

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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.