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My Poem ‘I am’

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

Words are powerful;
song and prayer elevate the words
from a book and give them new life;
words are what makes something
more amazing and more magical;
when spoken from the heart
and with a true explosion
of passion and feeling
words and language become spirit and light –
they become energy,
and even on a cloudy day
can make the world shiny and bright.

The divine is always listening;
there are angels in every place on Earth
constantly waiting;
the creator of all is always creating;
there is a voice that is constantly speaking.

None of us is every truly alone;
the one true believer walks among us
and does not rule in heaven
on top of a throne;
some people in need find asking for help
the hardest thing in the entire world;
every day the barriers and the borders
of both heaven and hell become blurred
with those that they share
with our world here on Earth.

When the light of creation first shone
upon the face of the Earth
that for the longest time
had been veiled in shadow…
when God gave humanity their chance
to be fruitful in the universe’ after-glow…
when the first words were spoken
and their meaning and their message
grew and spread like the vines of a rain-forest…
when the almighty blessed everyone
with the gift of choice…
everything and everybody became the variables,
the equations, the questions,
as well as the answers,
to the most epic of tests.

I believe that when the universe sparked into being,
when the first stars were born,
when the first galaxies were formed,
when the first planets gave rise
to the first intelligent minds
and to the first open eyes
who were able to see and understand
what language is and what some words truly mean…
with that birth of consciousness
followed something…
and every day, on every planet,
the lord of heaven tells us all in our own way
that even though they are the creator
and the way of all,
each of us are meant to find
our own way in our own time,
and no matter what
know how lucky we are
to have been given the life that we know –
and through Him, I know that I am.

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My Poem ‘The Sky Poet’

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

Touch my chest and you will feel
the beating heart that makes me real;
look into my eyes and you will see
the love that burns inside of me.

Read my words;
hear me speak;
understand what I have learned;
watch my eyes shine after every blink.

Look to the sky;
see my face;
there are no goodbyes,
because we all live in outer-space.

I looked above;
I fell in love;
I followed my dreams;
I felt carried away
as if on an energy stream.

We all live for the highlights;
we all go with the flow;
we all long for those shared summer nights;
we all love to know what we don’t know.

I stare at my perfect star;
my heart races like a drum;
the light of heaven obscures the dark;
all there is is our beautiful love.

There is nothing more exhilarating,
there is nothing as incredibly anticipating,
there is nothing that lights up my sky
with a flash as bright as lightning,
as the face, the love, the feeling, the touch,
of my muse, my happiness,
the one who I adore so much.

We all have a destiny;
some people go on a trip
with their favourite music,
and some people head to the stars through books;
everybody, no matter who they are,
can write the most beautiful poetry;
inspiration is just waiting to be found
by everyone on Earth
and everybody on every planet;
it is in that ones closest to us
that we should always put our trust;
this reality is once in a life-time…
so make sure to embrace every moment,
and if in doubt seek enlightenment
from the star poet.

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My Poem ‘Cogito ergo sum’

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

When I wake up every morning,
I know that I am poet,
and I want to be a writer;
when I see something,
I am inspired by an idea,
I become, I feel, and I connect,
with what fills and stimulates
my mind and my consciousness;
I take what has been inspired into being
and I run with it all the way
to the end of my imagination;
I find a way to connect the dots
in an imaginative way,
and express what I see
with undivided focus.

I can look at the world
and see any reality that I can imagine;
I can hear a song
and dream of a place, while still awake;
I can see something,
and then get this rush of excitement
deep inside me, that overflows from me,
that feels like I am
about to take a leap from a mountain;
I can feel things
that no one in the world,
no matter how good an actor they were,
could ever fake.

If I were not a writer,
I do not know who I would be;
if I did not write poetry,
I would not be me;
if I were not inspired
and excited about the world
as much as I am,
I think I would be missing a piece of my soul;
if I did not give myself fully
and wholeheartedly to what was right in front of me,
and what made me feel free,
then I would never know or remember
the feeling of the sun on my skin,
and every rainy day
would always be one that was cold.

The first place to start from,
and the first person to know,
is always the place,
and is always the person,
that you know better than anywhere, or anyone,
and you can always rely on the first instinct
and the first thought that comes to your mind;
there is no place you can go
and not see the person in the mirror,
from whom you can never hide;
if you want to know who to be,
if you want to know what to do,
if you want to have faith in something, or someone,
but you just can’t decide what to believe, or who –
close your eyes, know yourself,
and recite to yourself
one of my favourite, and one of the most profound,
latin phrases you could ever know the meaning of:
cogito ergo sum.

My Poem ‘I Look Above’

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

Above my head,
caught in the branches of a tree,
I see a red balloon –
a former gift and token of love
from one person to another on Valentines day –
that had floated away,
so that it could be seen by me,
so that it could inspire me,
so that I could start a new poem,
while looking at it,
as I wonder where it came from,
who it used to belong to,
who bought it, and how long it will be as it is,
as it was always meant to be –
and as with most things that I witness and see,
I know that the red balloon in the tree
will only be a sight to see
that is temporary.

Above my head, I see clouds of white
that look like a frozen blanket of snow hovering in the air;
above my head, I can hear an invisible airplane –
invisible to sight but not sound,
and the unmistakable noise of travelers on their way;
above my head, there is always something
that I can look up at for hours, and simply stare;
above my head, is a dream of an endless, perfect, day.

As I look above, I remember being above –
I remember being among the clouds
and imagining the sensation of flying like a bird;
as I look above, just as when I remember looking below,
I am frequently lost for words
and in full belief and feeling
that I have all that I could ever want,
and there is nothing more to life
that I need to see or know.

I look above a lot;
I look above, because I cannot yet imagine
seeing or knowing enough;
I look above, because I am reminded
every time that there is more
to a small pin-prick of light
than there might at first appear –
just as there would be more to see
for an extraterrestrial astronomer
looking at the Earth from their observatory
and seeing only a faint blue dot.
The sky is just a veil
to many wonderful and magical things
that cannot be seen with the naked eye,
and that is one of the reasons
that I will continue to look above.

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My Poem ‘Three Little Words’

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

When you are looking for a way to say something;
when for some reason, at the most important moment,
words fail you;
when you can say whatever you want,
and you have a lot to say,
but because all the ideas in your head
all seem to come at once,
you can sometimes end up saying nothing;
when it is a day when words and actions
mean more than they usually do,
and you have to make every moment and every word
count and be felt with more depth of feeling;
when on Valentines day you want to write an entire essay
and poem about how much someone means to you,
there are three little words that alone say everything: I love you.

There is a remarkable, noticeable,
and wonderful, look in the eye;
there is a warmth that rises;
there is an indescribable tingle
that you feel all over your body;
there is a flashback that happens
that takes you back to the very first time
that you heard those magic words, one after the other;
there is a slowing down of time;
there is a pull that you feel that grabs you like a rip-tide;
there is a reliving of a memory;
there is a feeling of happiness,
and overwhelming belonging, and love,
that is unlike no other.

Every time I have ever said something meaningful
and heartfelt to someone who means something to me
so profoundly that I have to tell them,
and show them, in some way;
every time I write a poem for someone,
I am giving a part of my heart away;
every time my heart grows in size, my heart races,
my imagination explodes, my feelings eclipse my thoughts,
and I am in my ideal state of mind,
in my beautiful, optimistic, and hopeful, love-filled world;
I think about someone who is unbelievably important to me,
who I love to death, who I love more than words can say,
and I close my eyes, I picture that special person in my mind,
and I say my favourite three little words…

My Poem ‘Tenacious Me’

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

I don’t give up easily; I don’t let go quickly;
I am probably the most dogged person you will ever meet;
I am steady in a crisis, and even in an earthquake
I do not lose my feet;
I remember, I repeat, I think –
I turn things over and over in my mind,
like dirty clothes in a washing machine;
it doesn’t bother me if it rains, spits,
or pours down and soaks me from head to toe,
because I know why it has to rain on me and on everybody –
because I have seen what I have seen
and because I have been where I have been.
It’s raining right this second;
the sky is full of clouds of light grey;
it is a perfect day for you if you are a duck
paddling in the water of a duck-pond;
the rain is temporary, and tomorrow the sun will come out,
that blue sky will bless us, and the rain,
and our troubled thoughts, will have been washed away
and will belong to yesterday.

Everybody has their share of mistakes
packed away in the closet at the back of their mind,
which do not often see the light of day after we have made them –
unless we accidentally make the same mistakes again;
everybody has scars from the personal wars they have been through,
which we only show to a small trusted number of people
who know us inside and out, and any explanation as to where,
when, and why, we came to acquire them we need not explain.

I am someone who learns lessons from life –
my life, my experiences, other people’s life,
other people’s hurdles;
I am someone who doggedly persists at something until I get it right,
but I still know the difference between making things fit naturally,
and trying to completely fit a square inside a circle.
I never lack confidence, nor determination,
and I will tirelessly work to make something
as close to perfect as it can possibly be;
I am someone who wakes up every morning
and wants to be the one someone and anyone can call on,
and that, unapologetically, is tenacious me.