gift

My Poem ‘Read my thoughts’

Mark Hastings Uncategorized , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

I am like an open book;
people can usually tell
what I am feeling with a single look;
I express myself a lot;
when I am not speaking I am thinking;
I always have an idea on my mind,
and an expression on my face to be read
that tells its own story –
like the time of a clock;
even when I am dreaming, sleeping, my mind is racing,
and like someone with all the right moves,
in one way or another, I am always dancing.

My thoughts are a constant universe of stars being born;
my dreams are my memories and hopes
being imagined and projected for only me to see;
the eternal hope in my heart and soul
is like an endless, beautiful, and breathtaking new dawn;
my poetry is my gift, my broadcast, my performance,
my love, fears, and desires, printed on a page,
that is the most honest expression of what lies within me,
and what I like to think is the best of me.

Every gift of connection and sharing touches me deeply;
what I say I always intend to be meaningful,
special, heartfelt, and not overly serious, deep, or cheesy;
everyone who knows me, or has met me,
I hope continues to still have the same feeling about me
that they had when they first met me,
and they still remember their first impression of me;
my lasting hope is that everybody remembers me
for the good things I have done,
and share something of me, or about me,
that might serve to inspire others infinitely.

It is not important to say everything you are thinking,
however if you are like me you can’t ever keep
what is on your mind locked away behind lock and key;
it is not everybody who is lucky enough
to be able to paint their own portrait
and display it for all the world to see.
When fate calls you, when destiny sends you a sign,
if you can see what is right in front of you,
and if you can read between the lines,
you can read my mind,
you can feel the meaning of something
before you even know what it is all for.
So, if you ever meet me, if you ever see me,
if you read something that I have written,
if you happen to pick up one of my books,
then I can guarantee you that without too much effort at all,
you will easily be able to read my thoughts.

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My Poem ‘Happy Birthday!’

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

Every day of every month of every year,
today, yesterday, tomorrow, last week, next week,
before you know it, it is someone’s birthday,
it will be your birthday;
today may even be the birthday of someone you know;
today might even be your birthday,
and I might be the first person to wish you
a happy birthday – unfortunately not in person
as I would always prefer doing,
but in the form of this poem;
and as my gift to you, I happily give you this poem,
and a few reasons why you are amazing,
and just my kind of person;
and I want to show you this,
and allow you to understand why you are very important
in so many ways, in my way.
You found this poem, you found me,
for a reason, most importantly
so that I could wish you a happy birthday –
but you also came to this place and this time
and were fated to be here,
listening to me talking to you,
reading what I want to say to you,
long before I even began writing this rhyme.
You and I share something in common, many of us do;
we all have the gift of sharing
more in common with a few,
and people who you may not know personally,
but in a way they know themselves
so they also know a part of you too;
you and I both have a day when people who know us,
who like us, who remember us,
who value our existence and our presence,
choose to think of us, and do something for us,
that is precious, and it may be something
that they want eagerly to do and to say;
we all, we both, may never meet –
however, it would please me no end,
and it would make me eternally happy,
to think that one day, today,
someone, you who are reading this poem
that I wrote for you,
whether today is the anniversary of your birth, or not,
are reading this poem,
and I would like to wish you,
especially if today is your day,
from me, a very happy birthday!

My Poem ‘The Light Fantastic’

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

The world is dark at night;
when there are clouds above
everything can seem grey;
within peoples’ heart’s
there is always light;
stars shining constantly
reveal more to life, more to us,
more than the sun of a spring day.

Every day I look far,
and hope appears;
every day I see patterns of stars,
and my imagination jumps light-years;
every day I look for a fire to sit in front of
and gaze longingly at,
and I witness the birth of a new spark;
every day I realize I have something
that some might say: ‘I would give anything for that’,
and for good, or ill, I get a sense
as to how I have lived, how I live, how I make my mark,
how I have given my heart right from the start.

Bridges are built every day;
most of us have the gift of choice;
technology has paved a new way;
everybody is now discovering that they have always had a voice;
people are learning more;
everybody is becoming savvy in multiple ways of interactivity;
people are talking to each other like never before;
we all feel, sometimes, as if we have backstage passes,
when we can see and reach out to people we idolize –
like a well-known artist or celebrity.

We can all literally find ourselves
with stars in our eyes anytime we want;
we can all take a trip to anywhere;
we can all feel triumphant
when we see the fruits of our commitment,
we can all go to the places where angels and demons
no longer fear to tread;
we can all make dreams real and tangible;
we can all be romantic, pragmatic,
dynamic, classic, terrific, or act wonderfully melodramatic;
we can all be radical, casual, natural, fanciful;
we can all be the one who searches for, lives for,
has, and is, what makes the light of life fantastic.

My Poem ‘Being a writer’

Mark Hastings Poetry , , , , , , , ,

Being a writer
is not something that you choose to be –
you are a writer
from the minute that you wake up in the morning;
you are a writer
when you are sitting down having a coffee;
you are a writer when you are working,
when you are drinking;
when everyone around you is a stranger,
and is living an amazing life,
but they have no idea.

I am a writer,
because to me writing, especially poetry,
is my paradise;
I am a writer
for the same reason a honeybee is a honeybee;
I am a writer,
because when I look at the world,
and I see all that I do,
I need to capture the infinite universe
that fills my eyes.

Being a writer
is like being a god of your own unique world;
being a writer
is something that anyone can be –
man, or woman; boy, or girl;
being a writer
is something that comes natural to some,
but for others they require practice;
being a writer
is having the gift to be able
to tell the world about yourself
in under a minute,
and to be able to leap to a whole other world,
and to not even have to use your feet.

Being a writer is a great adventure;
being a writer can set you apart;
being a writer –
using a pen and paper, a computer,
or a typewriter, is setting your spirit afire,
and sharing your passion and desire;
being a writer is something you always are,
because being a writer is in your heart.

My Poem ‘Huckleberry Friends’

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

You don’t often meet someone
and instantly jive with them;
you have to be very lucky
to find someone and make a friend for life;
you sometimes find a new direction
even when you are not looking for a new connection;
when it hits you that you have found the best of everyone,
you feel like you have been surrounded by new light.

It can be hard to know who to trust,
it can be a big ask to open your heart-
but when you feel that whatever you say
when you open your mouth will never be enough,
and, like time, can sometimes feel unfathomable and rushed;
when a special person walks into your life,
you immediately love them from the start.

I smile, I write, I laugh, I feel inspired,
I feel alive, with my best friend for life
I have shared the best and the most beautiful,
heart-racing, perfect moments of my life.
I will be there for the one who saves me every day,
and any and every hour of any day,
my best friend will enrich my heart and soul,
and send my mind- fueled by the thought
and the memory of them-
rocketing into the sky.

The best thing that has ever happened to me
is to have met the beautiful and wonderful best mate of mine
who calls me their “huckleberry friend”,
because without them, without you,
I would be lost and forgotten,
uninspired and unloved,
and they will, you will,
forever be the most important to me-
and as I am to you,
you will always be to me
my huckleberry friend.

My Poem ‘Elements’

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

Out in the elements,
wrapped up in a big coat
to keep out the cold of the wind;
outside, walking, experiencing a wave of deja vu,
as if doing something that you once dreamed;
the leaves fall all around you;
birds fly from tree to tree;
people off on an adventure race past you
in cars and on bikes;
as you make the most of every moment of freedom
that are so precious,
but you don’t realize how much
until they fade away,
as the light of the day begins to dim.

You can only, truly, speak with clarity
when describing, sharing, and reliving,
an experience that either just happened,
or when recalling the details and the emotions
of a memory that have become the paradise of your life and mind;
you can make things up as you go along,
but there is nothing better than to draw
from that which you already know,
from which you could never be blind.

Earth did not just flash into being in an instant;
the world did not become what it is over night;
even nature was once young and innocent, like an infant;
the beauty of the universe was something that was there
at the moment of creation, but it could not be seen,
felt, perceived, reflected upon,
until the rise, the evolution,
and the question of origins was asked,
by the first of infinite forms of intelligent life.

The smell of a newborn baby;
the aroma of a beautiful flower coming into bloom;
watching someone float in space free of gravity;
seeing the light of the sun at dawn;
glimpsing the light of a full-moon
through the window of a room;
the heart-pounding rush of jumping off a cliff
and flying instead of falling;
thinking about every new horizon and possibility
as an adventure, as well as a calling.

A gift, a present;
a lift; a season of significance;
an important time; a beautiful moment;
a peace of you never to be left behind;
a confluence of life, fate, destiny, karma,
thought, emotion, and reality,
and its connected and miraculous elements.

My Poem ‘When I die’

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

I am sorry you are reading this now,
I wish I were alive to say this in person-
however, where I am, I do not think that
personal eulogies by those who have died are allowed;
so this is me planning for the inevitable, as always,
leaving another part of me for my friends
(who were my friends),
and for my family, for my parents-
to whom, I will always be their son.

No matter how things turned out,
no matter when, where, and how I died,
things in my life, throughout my life,
felt like and made me feel turned inside-out-
but I had a great life,
I had a wonderful life,
I had an inspiring life,
I had a blessed life,
I had a mostly-happy life-
so I ask anyone who reads this
who remembers anything about me to not cry.

There were times in my life
when I absolutely could not believe my eyes;
there were times growing up
when I was the happiest that anyone of any age
could ever be;
there were times as a teenager
when I was lucky to see each and every beautiful sunrise;
there were times as an adult
when I was never happier
than when I was laughing and joking
with my amazing sister Clare-
talking, and being in the same room,
and loving every second of being with both of our parents;
and of course spending time with inspiring friends;
and of course trying to write inspirational poetry.

I am not about to die-
at least I don’t think so.
I have considered, and I am considering,
what lies beyond death,
and what awaits us all.
I am not going to lie,
I am not in any hurry to give up on life-
just so you know;
but I am writing this poem,
because I want the last words
that people remember me by to be my own;
I want people who know me
to have a copy of this poem,
and to read it and think about me,
when they are alone and cry tears of happiness,
not sadness;
I want people to constantly be saying hello to me,
at the same time that they are saying goodbye.
I want to say that I hope to see you soon
in another life, and I hope that you will never forget me,
and I hope that this poem will keep on gifting you my presence,
in my poetry, in your life,
when I die.

My Poem ‘Constant Companion’

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

A best friend who is there
whenever you need them;
a tried and true way
that you can always rely on;
a gift that means more to you
than you could ever fully mention;
a constant companion,
who is the best person in the entire world you know,
and who keeps you in time with reality
like a pendulum.

A constant light;
a comfortable feeling;
a voice that keeps you talking
until way after midnight;
a face you can turn to in your hour of need
that you can’t stop remembering.

An infinite moment that you want to return to
and forever exist in;
a time shared beyond compare;
a kindred soul, like that of a twin;
a place you can go back to
when you think you are nowhere.

A person who is a part of you;
a constant gravity in your life
stronger than the Earth or the sun;
the reason you are who you are,
and why you do what you do;
you who are always there-
my constant companion.

My Poem ‘Did’

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

There is a beautiful sunset outside my window,
I am listening to Ed Sheeran on my iPod at the moment
to give my creative spark the get-up-and-go.

I have been writing since I woke up this morning,
and my right shoulder is literally aching;
I am about to have something to eat,
but I just want to write down in words
the things I am proud of,
and the things I wish I never did.

I am proud of myself
for using my self-taught gift of expression,
and with the help of a great friend of mine
getting two books of my poems published-
the support, the love, the miracle
to be able to share my words with the world,
in the way I always wanted,
is beyond anything that I could ever have wished.

When I was a kid I was a movie-loving boy
who made up his own stories for fun;
now I am a 33 year-old poet,
who still loves films,
and who goes to the cinema as often as I can.
When I was growing up I wanted to be many things
when I eventually became a man;
but now that I am standing tall, and looking back,
I am thinking that my life
might have been easier
if I had had some kind of life-plan;
I thought I would have been married,
and had kids by now-
at least that was my boyhood, adult-arrival, expectation;
however, a few things happened along the way
that were not part of anyone’s plan-
and those are what I see looking back at me
every day in my own reflection.

I hope there comes a day
when I can honestly say
that who I am now is who I want to be;
I hope there is a day when I can say
“this is what I have been dreaming at night about”,
and then waking up and turning it into poetry;
I hope one day I will be able to say to my own kids,
that I don’t regret the things I have done,
and if I had the time to do over again
I would still do all that I did.