Heart

My Poem ‘The Perfect Song’

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

The perfect song to wake up to;
the perfect song to get you ready for the day ahead;
the perfect song to work to while listening to;
the perfect song that you can’t mute,
which just continues to replay over and over in your head.

The perfect song to listen to while writing;
the perfect song to listen to while you are exercising;
the perfect song to make you happy;
the perfect song to listen to while drinking a cup of coffee.

The perfect song to inspire you;
the perfect song to motivate you;
the perfect song to make you feel;
the perfect song to help you heal.

The perfect song to walk down the aisle to at your wedding;
the perfect song to unlock your memories;
the perfect song to walk through the beautiful countryside,
while listening to that which magically enhances
everything that you see –
like being shown the muse of an epic and moving painting;
the perfect song that is also the most wonderful and incredible,
insightful, amazing, gift of spoken word and musical poetry.

The perfect song to soak in the bath to;
the perfect song to listen to while on a long journey;
the perfect song to sing to, and make your body move;
the perfect song to show you the stars,
and allow you to hear the music of infinity.

The perfect song says everything that you want to say,
and it may even be a song that was created before you were born;
the perfect song says more;
the perfect song says that there is someone who understands you,
and they know what you have been through;
the perfect song is the perfect song to you,
because it can lift you up when you are down,
and when the world feels wrong;
the perfect song says everything about you
at a particular moment in your life,
and from the first second that you heard it,
and it turned a switch inside you permanently on,
you knew in your mind and in your heart
that you had found the perfect song.

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 ‘Missing Words’

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

We read in sentences, not words;
we sometimes see words that are not there,
but are meant to be there;
we sometimes hear in our mind the unheard;
we all make connections
and take leaps of logic and imagination
when trying to make sense of something
that makes us feel, think, jump with joy, and care.

We all give a part of ourselves
to what we create, read, love, and see;
we all see and sculpt shapes of the clouds in the sky
in our mind and vision that resemble things
from our hopes and dreams;
we all take trips of instinct and intuition
when thinking about what is and what could be;
we can all draw the shape of a heart and share it,
and receive it, and instantly know what it means.

Our brains and our minds are more powerful
and more capable of navigating a path than we believe,
even one that might appear treacherous and impassable;
our accumulated knowledge
is deeper and richer than buried treasure,
and we sometimes know more than we think;
our individual way of seeing hope in chaos
is something that is truly magical;
our gift of seeing things before we see them in front of us
is an unbelievably incredible source of fantastic vision
and inspiration that take us anywhere and show us anything
with a blink.

Missing words are like puzzle pieces that we fill-in silently;
missing words are like invisible bridges
that come to life naturally and give meaning and feeling,
and they capture something’s spirit, like poetry;
missing words are always found,
and they always make themselves heard –
like nature does at sunset, with the evening song of all birds;
and if and when the moment calls for it,
you and your amazing mind will instantly seek out
and reach for the right words and they will be what were once
the missing words.

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 ‘The Psychology of Silence’

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

Silence speaks louder than sound;
silence is where true discovery is made;
silence is where truth is found;
silence is full of infinite space;
silence is where you can hear a heart beating,
or a heart breaking;
silence is a no mans land where no one can hide;
silence is waiting; silence is a tide.

There is no sound in space;
there is no sound in a vacuum;
silence has no face;
silence can hurt you.

Words on a page rise silently;
words written in ink have depth deeper
than the paper they are written on;
words are not the only poetry;
words are a way of transition.

If you can convey an intention, a feeling,
an emotion, a meaning, without making a sound,
or without the aid of anything
other than that of you and yourself,
you truly understand and are on the same wavelength
as that of nature;
if you can say something with an action
rather than with an empty sentiment,
then not only can you be a powerful presence
on the present, but also, more importantly,
a talisman for the future.

The planets of our solar system
orbit around the sun unheard;
if you were listening from high above
you wouldn’t be able to hear anything,
but you would know that humanity was there
by the tiny lights that we all make
from our place on the surface of the Earth;
everything, everyone, has a silent story
that speaks for itself, and themselves;
epic people and fantastic worlds
can be spoken to and journeyed to
within the pages of every book on every bookshelf.

A therapist uses silence as an essential tool
to open a person’s mind;
a fisherman uses silence and patience
in unison with their bait to catch their fish;
an artist uses silence along with the paint on their canvas,
and if need be could make great art blind;
anyone can decipher anything with knowledge and common-sense;
everything is there to be something
to something, or someone, else-
that is what I found and interpreted
when I analyzed what struck me
about the psychology of silence.

My Poem ‘Imago’

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

The image in the mirror,
the reflection in the water,
the memories you will never forget,
the non-mistakes you will never regret,
the changing masterpiece of your life,
the height and the stream, from which,
and into which, you dive,
is you, is everything,
is what no one else will ever see,
or will ever know,
what you will be always and forever,
wherever you go.

No one will ever know your struggle;
no one will ever feel what you feel;
no one will ever know why you walked
and were splashed by all those rain puddles;
no one will ever see the image of your ideal.

There are skies of many colours,
that all mean something different to everyone;
there are situations and experiences that are also lessons;
the more intense something is,
and the more meaningful it feels,
can also mean the more fun;
you and your shadow are the ghost,
and the angel, or monster,
you can never out-run.

What you are going to be only you can decide;
who you want to spend your life with,
in one way or another,
is the answer to whom and what resides in your heart;
how easy life feels, you can only know
when you naturally realize
that you don’t even have to fly anymore,
because you can simply glide;
who will remember you when you are gone
are those who knew you and will always know you,
because of the marks and the ever-lasting echoes
of the muses of your art.

When you dream your last dream,
when you think your last thought,
when you have taught everything that you can possibly teach,
when you have been taught everything that you can be taught,
you will know that the metamorphosis you have been undertaking
is finally at an end and will be a link to everything
and everyone before and after you, like a bridge,
your entire life and its meaning will be who, and what you are,
and how you appear, and are seen, in your last image.