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My Poem ‘Back down to Earth’

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

I’m back now…
my second home is now
4000 miles away again…
I’m back below the clouds…
I feel like I am a man of two minds:
one, a proud Englishman;
and another, someone who feels at home
in Georgia, in the United States of America,
where there is more opportunity
to do anything, at any time of the day,
and at any given moment
as there are lanes on a highway.

I’m back where everybody drives on the left,
instead of on the right…
I’m back where I was born –
however, there isn’t a moment
when I do not miss the light of my day,
the light of my night,
the light of my life,
back there where you can see
fireflies flying and glowing
against the stars of a twilight sky.

I’m back wearing jeans –
however, only days before
and for two weeks-straight,
I had been wearing shorts
morning, noon, and night,
and getting touched on the skin
by the heat and the light of the sun…
I’m back walking down familiar paths
and sitting in the same chairs
in the same places that I know every inch of –
however, though I am awake and writing
here in England, I am also projecting myself
back to Georgia with Melissa
and dreaming along with her
and surrounded by the scent of a burning candle
that smells like coffee
when its wick burns and its wax melts.

I’m back where there are not as many drive-throughs
as there are in the US;
here in the UK, for example,
if we want to withdraw some money from our bank-account,
or if we want to pick up a prescription from a pharmacy,
we have to actually walk to somewhere –
however, in the US you can get money,
you can pick up your prescription,
as easily and as speedily
as you can order take-out food,
and you don’t even have to leave
the comfort of the driving-seat of your car.

Both the US and the UK share many things in common,
but there are many wonderful differences
that set them apart…
we have different names for the same things:
in the US, people seem to find more time
to celebrate and remember the liberty
and the freedoms that they are
constitutionally entitled to…
both the US and the UK even have
different forms of humour
and things that they find funny,
but both the US and the UK know
the true joy that comes with sharing experiences
together as friends and as a family,
and why it is important to smile and to laugh.

Both the US and the UK have for centuries now
shared a “special-relationship” with one-another,
and from my perspective and from my experience
our commonalities have no limit
to their importance and worth…
to me, both the US and the UK
are two sides of the same coin,
they are two halves of the same heart,
and I feel and I know with all my soul
that the US and the UK are bound to each-other
in more ways than could ever be described –
and when I am away from both the UK and the US
there are things and there are people
that I miss more than others,
but it is my knowledge
of what makes both the US and the UK
so special that always makes me smile
and always brings me back down to Earth.

My Poem ‘Waiting…’

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

Waiting… waiting…
I’m waiting for something…
I’m waiting for something,
and for this thing
I have been waiting all morning…
I used to think that I was good at waiting –
for my birthday, for Christmas, for the weekend…
when I was a kid I knew that within no time at all
my favourite days of the week and the year
would come around again
and within the blink of an eye
they always did…
but, I am all grown up now –
and as I wait now
for what I am waiting for to arrive and be delivered,
I now know the true meaning of the song lyric:
“the waiting is the hardest part”…
did I mention that I am waiting for something?

I have been keeping myself and my attention occupied
while I wait, I have been doing things
that I have not done for years –
but since I cannot leave the house,
and there is no one else
who can sign for my delivery for me,
I knew that I would have to keep
my eyes from constantly
looking at the time while I am waiting…
so I cleaned – I cleaned my bedroom window,
I cleaned the dirty-dishes from the night before –
I listened to music, I sat looking out the window…
thinking… wondering… waiting…
and now here I am, writing, still waiting,
and anticipating…
my morning and my day started early,
as it always does –
but now it is 2 o’clock in the afternoon,
and I am still waiting.

Waiting for what?
What is this something that is so special
that I would stay at home all day and wait for it?
Well, it is something special indeed that is coming –
something that you could say I am connected to,
and the reason that this something even exists…
what I am waiting for is something
that I have spent a long time invested in,
and as I wait for what I hope will soon arrive
I am even starting to have flash-backs
to my first encounter with the idea
of what is beimg delivered,
and I think about the journey that I and it
have already taken with each-other –
all those mornings… all those nights…
all those words… all those internal fights.

When you are doing things,
time literally flies away from you…
when you are watching something,
talking about something,
and when you take your mind off of something,
then the waiting for something
can be a little more bearable,
and less mind-numbing –
but waiting can sometimes be a good thing…
waiting can be exciting…
waiting can also be boring,
especially if you have been
counting how much time
you have actually been waiting…
time is a wasting –
but maybe it’s not?
At least I got to do something
to fill my time while I was waiting:
I wrote this poem that you are now reading –
so at least something worthwhile
came about and was born out of
all the time that I have been waiting…

My Poem ‘Welcome Back’

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

It’s been a long time
since I thought like a poet,
or wrote a rhyme…
I didn’t know if
I would be able to do it again,
when I opened my notebook
and I picked up my pen.

I have been enjoying life
living every day surrounded by love,
but now I am traveling
into the morning light
and flying like a dove…
an island on the other side
of the Atlantic Ocean is calling:
I am going back home
to where the temperature is low
and snowflakes are falling.

I don’t want to leave where my journey began –
I am happy to see my family again,
but I am truly sad to be leaving
the love of my life and my second family…
I can still see the last face I saw
before I left America behind for a while,
I can still see in my mind
the house that has been my home
for two weeks, or more,
that has the family name
hanging over it of “Dial”.

Once in a life-time memories made,
but now I am flying on a plane
to the land of Shakespeare,
red TELEPHONE boxes,
green-fields, and The Beatles…
in 10 hours, I will be back home in England –
however, already I feel a sensation
of ‘butterflies’, and pins-and-needles.

My mind is always in the rear-view mirror,
I am always reliving in my mind
moments that other people
might think too small
and too brief to be remembered…
when I left the U.S. tears fell down my cheeks –
whenever I have to make a difficult leap
it is always hard for me to know
what to say and how to speak –
however, though time has gone by too fast,
I know that this time will not be my last,
being where I think about every hour of the day,
with those whom cannot wait to see me again
and wish me a heart-felt ‘Welcome back!’

My Poem ‘Standing Rock’

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

All ground is sacred ground…
the Earth beneath our feet
has its own identity…
the world that moves silently through space,
and its spirit, is so powerful and nurturing
that it creates its own gravity
and a near-perfect environment
for all life to thrive and live…
all that breath in the air of the planet
to which we are all bound and indebted
are expected to not only take away,
but to give back in return…
our home, this world, is the home
of countless species and forms of life –
each and every-one given from birth
the rite to exist and fulfill their destiny…
some people have learned to understand
and interpret the timeless language of nature,
and they also understand that not only
does the Earth have a spirit –
so too do the trees, the plants,
the animals, the mountains, the rivers,
the seas, the fish, the microscopic organisms
smaller than the human eye can see…
every thing with a consciousness,
with thoughts, with feelings, with emotions,
with instincts, with a reason to be,
has a reason to be alive…
even a single drop of rain adds to our planets worth…
we are all luckier than we know
to live on the planet that do…
long after all the stories of our lives
have faded to dust, the Earth will still have
a billion and more mornings and nights,
Winters and Summers, frosts and thaws,
and the world will live on –
and though humanity will have gone,
we will still be ingrained in the DNA
of our home-world, and our monuments will remain,
just as the beautiful natural-monuments of Earth
will continue to boggle the mind
of everyone who is lucky enough to see
our planet’s deepest reaches
and its breath-taking, towering,
and still-standing mountains,
and epic formations –
our most special and sacred
wonders of Earth and rock.

mypoem-standingrock

My Poem ‘Boo’

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

There once was a dog called ‘Boo’,
whose fur was as black as night
and as white as that of snow,
who when they heard the call of their name
they would run to you
and then follow you there afterwards
wherever you would go.

Boo loved to jump;
Boo loved to run;
Boo loved to bark, but never bite;
Boo loved to wag their tail
to show that they were happy and having fun.
Boo was smart;
Boo loved learning and performing new tricks;
if Boo saw another dog
they were off like a shot;
Boo’s favourite thing in the entire world
was their well-chewed green tennis-ball,
and Boo also loved giving “face-sugars”
to their owners’ mouths
with wet tongue licks.

One day, Boo saw that the front-door
of his home was slightly ajar
and that the light from outside
was shining on the floor –
Boo loved being outside
and Boo loved rolling around
on the front garden’s green lawn –
so Boo decided to take this golden opportunity
to discover what they could see, hear,
smell, and taste outside,
and embrace their gifted chance.
Boo opened the front-door more with their nose
just enough for them to fit through;
Boo jumped out into the light of the day
on to the garden path,
and then Boo saw that the gate of the garden
that lead to the road was open…
Boo saw no danger…
Boo wanted nothing more than to have fun…
Boo ran to the gate and jumped out into the road,
and then…

All dogs can go to heaven;
all animals can find peace when they pass on –
but, sometimes, the bond that an animal has
with their owner is so strong,
and they are so much a part of a family
that they love and who loves them,
that they are given a choice,
just as I believe we are all given
when it is our time:
to remain here on Earth
and continue to be near and dear
to those who bless us
with the name that we are given.
Boo saw the light,
but Boo chose to run back
into the arms of their master;
Boo’s owners cried many tears
when they discovered that Boo had left them –
however they knew that Boo
was still with them some-how,
and they also knew that the memory
of what they meant to Boo
and what Boo meant to them
was all that mattered.

Boo lived on;
Boo still loved to run and jump,
and sit comfortably in their owners’ lap;
Boo still enjoyed laying down in the grass
and sun-bathing on a sunny afternoon;
Boo still felt an unbreakable bond of love;
Boo still came running when they heard
the sound of the mail coming through the letter-box.
Although they could no longer be seen,
although their bark was now slightly more muted
than it used to be,
whenever they heard their name
there came a-running the dog that was,
the dog that is,
and the dog that will always be,
‘Boo’.

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My Poem ‘Light of your life’

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

Life is a symbiosis;
we may be one person,
but we are not meant to be alone;
life can be counted in sunsets
and sunrises –
however, what truly counts
and what everybody remembers the most
throughout their life
are the times that they share
when they felt the most
comfortable and at home.

Our memories are like candlelight
flickering in the wind;
our dreams are like old photographs
that have faded over time;
our fascinations and our connections
from our childhood are like breadcrumbs
of where we have been;
our thoughts and our emotions
carry farther than the seemingly small,
but in reality near-infinite,
confines of our own mind.

However young or old you are,
sometimes life can feel like a struggle –
and the greatest cure,
and the thing that you crave the most,
when your life feels like it is a rocky road,
can be as simple and as special
as a wonderfully-long hug or a cuddle;
sometimes the pressure of living can feel too much
and it is then when all you need
is that phenomenal and incredible
loving caress and touch.

Everybody shares something with everyone else;
love is universal and amazing
and is not meant to be unrequited;
even prisoners can still hold on to hope
behind the walls and the bars
of their prison cells;
those who are meant to be
must do all that they can to remain united.

Technology soon becomes out-dated;
time goes by in a flash;
some things are random,
and some things are fated;
the days to come always have echoes
within them of experiences from the past.

Never give up hope that you will one day
fall in love with someone who loves you too,
and when you find that perfect person
you will find that they understand you,
and they will want nothing more
than to orbit around you like the moon.

The things that are meant to happen and work out
the way that they are supposed to always do;
what is truly important to you
is what you carry with you
through your entire life;
and like the one in your life
who loves you the most,
until your dying day,
everything and everyone
will always be with you
and be the light of your life.

My Poem ‘This is heaven’

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

I am leaving heaven now,
time has gone by so fast,
I am heading home
to the place where I was born,
but soon enough I will be back
at home in Tennessee
where I belong.

One week in heaven;
one week happier
than I have ever been;
one week, seven days
that have been the best ever;
one week in which every day
was so amazing, special,
incredible, and beautiful,
every second and every thing
could have a part of a dream.

The things that I felt,
the things that I saw,
the things that were so wonderful
that they made me want to melt;
the things that will always be
a part of me which I will always adore.

I finally met the woman of my dreams-
my angel, my soulmate, the love of my life;
I got to travel to places
that I will think of fondly
and crave to return to whenever I can
at every opportunity, every day,
until the day I die;
I found something that I had been missing;
I was given a vision of the future,
and what I saw was breath-taking.

Every moment in heaven –
every touch, every kiss,
every wake-up before the sunrise,
every laying down to rest
after the sun had set –
was and will always be
unlike anything that has ever happened to me;
while I was in heaven
I didn’t want to miss a thing,
and because I was so happy where I was
with whom I was with
I did not even feel the need
to write a single line of poetry.

When I first arrived in Tennessee,
which will forever be heaven to me,
one of the first faces I saw
was the face of the most beautiful
in the entire world…
and as I leave now,
as I journey back
across the ocean of deep-blue,
I feel brand new,
I feel lucky,
I feel like ‘heaven’ is the only way
to describe the place where I have been,
if I could use only a single word.

This place is my home away from home;
this place is somewhere
that I will always be bound to,
and with it and its people
I will always share a connection;
this place is one of the most
phenomenal places I have ever known;
this place, Tennessee, to me
will always be heaven.

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My Poem ‘Mark The Pirate’

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

Life can sometimes feel to you
like you are on a wooden ship
sailing across the seven seas;
when the wind is at your back
and the waves beneath the hull of your boat
are crashing around you,
as you are rocked from side to side,
you can feel like you are living
the life of a pirate –
looking for a new bounty of treasure
so that you may rest easy
and to not have to worry
about anything or anybody
but your shipmates and crew.

I can imagine it all now:
me, looking to the bright blue horizon –
making my eyes shine a brighter blue
than they normally do;
the sensation of the wind and the ocean spray
whipping through my hair;
the black and white skull and crossbones
of the Jolly Roger flag being displayed
proudly over my head,
the sound of “arrr matey” and “arrr me hearties”
coming from my crew (naturally I am the ship’s captain),
with bottles and barrels of rum being drunk,
if and when possible –
and a parrot called ‘Mo’ perched on my right shoulder,
for good measure and for good luck.

What a life it would be
to live the life of a man with a plan,
with a map, with a direction and a compass
to follow and to guide our way to untold riches;
what fun I would have if I were a pirate
living in the world of the 17th or 18th century –
when the world was still thought to have an end,
and a treasure chest full of gold
was the pinnacle of all wishes.

To see the world;
to discover the wonders of the unknown;
to constantly see the sails of my fine vessel unfurled;
to call the ocean seas my infinite and perfect home;
to fight when I need to fight;
to write a Captain’s log of all of ours adventures;
to experience a life like no other during the day,
and to sing, dance, and be merry all through the night;
to live the dream;
to feel the constant rush of excitement
invigorate me and never stop the speed
of the drum-beat of my heart;
to be able to know how fast my ship was traveling
just from feeling the vibrations of the wooden
boards and beams beneath my booted feet;
to be able to cry out, laugh, joke,
and maybe even through in one or two
“yo-ho-ho’s” for good measure too…
it would be so amazing, even for a day,
to be and to live the life of a pirate.

My Poem ‘Here’

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

I am where I have been
a thousand times before –
but this time it feels different,
this time I feel different.
When I write, I like to write
about exactly what is on my mind
at a particular moment in time –
however, where I am right now,
I have never been her before.
We can all go off and enjoy adventures
and make mistakes,
but we should never forget
what and who is truly important –
and I think, for a little while, I did,
and I have, and I realize now
the cost that our actions can have,
and there are always consequences
to going off like an outlaw
off the beaten-path.
I feel, looking back,
that I made the mistake
of forgetting who I truly am,
and chasing after a mirage
that never existed.
That is what happens
when you find yourself in a desert
and you lose your way –
when you want something so badly
you can accidentally find yourself
in the middle of a game
that someone else is playing.
Now I feel like I have come through the dust,
and the wilderness, and I have found myself
back where I started –
I am a different man to the one
who set out so long ago,
but seeing the familiar places and faces
who were a part of my life for so long,
I feel like I have come home.
I feel like ‘the man with no name’;
I feel like I have returned
after taking a treacherous trek
through lands where no one would ever
knowingly choose to dare;
I feel like I have found an old photograph
and I have stepped inside the frame;
I feel like I have come out
the other end of a dark tunnel
into the light of the day,
and I need to find out who I am again.
Where am I?
I am where I should have stayed all along,
I am where I belong: I am here.

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?