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My Poem ‘As it comes’

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

Every day when the sun rises,
every day when we greet
the brand new day in our own way,
every day when the thought of something
in particular hypnotizes –
every day, no matter what dark clouds
may hover above our heads,
it is important for each and every one of us
to hold our heads up-high
and say to ourselves that we will get through
whatever we face and make the best of our lives,
come what may.

If there were no mysteries
then there would be no questions;
if there were no questions
then there would be no potential for adventure;
if there were no adventure
then there would be no wonderful
experiences and life-lessons;
if there were no new experiences to be had
and new lessons to be learned
then our lives would not be as they are –
our lives would be a life in a day,
and there would not be a constant time-machine
that allows us all for limited times a day
to jump from the present to the past
and from the past to the future, et cetera…

Everything changes in life –
it should, and it must;
everything came from something –
we, the Earth, the stars, the galaxy,
all came from the stuff of stars and cosmic dust;
everything and everybody starts small
and then grows towards the light of their potential;
everything only happens once –
the universe does not repeat itself often,
and no matter the similarities that can be found,
even throughout nature,
one thing I know for sure
is that the world we know
and the world behind the invisible curtain
that surrounds us all can only be the way it is
because of those who are exceptional
but who do not realize that they are special.

Begin and end your day with a smile;
try not to worry too much about what you can’t control;
if and when you can be yourself and show your inner-love;
life is a test filled with many trials;
do what you do best with all your heart and all your soul;
keep going, keep positive, keep smiling,
keep living your life –
and no matter what happens,
don’t be afraid to take a running-jump
and don’t just take life as it comes.

My Poem ‘Two shores, One river’

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

It all comes back to you;
it all comes back to us;
no matter how hard and how far
I throw my dream-stone
through the air and into the unknown,
the only thing that comes back is love,
and the only one who I see is you –
because to me you are my universe;
in all my life, I have never met anyone
more beautiful than you,
and no matter where I am
or what I am doing
I only want to make you happy
and to put your feelings and your heart first.

To me there is a star of Earth who shines brighter
than all the light of the universe combined;
my heart will have your name tattooed
and emblazoned on it until the day I die;
every minute of every day I have you on my mind;
to me, you are the most perfect angel
anyone anywhere has ever known,
and it is to you, and it is my love for you,
that my soul travels with,
that makes me want to break-free and fly.

Music was the highway that we traveled by
to find each-other;
our endless love is what keeps us together;
you and I have our own world that only we share,
and within it there is only the sunshine
of the most breathtaking
and the most beautiful summer weather;
every day that I have been blessed
to have you in my life
has made me happier than I have ever been –
and, to me, as long as I am with you,
and as long as we are together –
as we are going to be forever,
life could not possibly ever get better.

Our universe has no end;
our love knows no bounds;
the perfection of us
can be glimpsed and can be captured
when a picture of us smiling together is taken
and reflected back through the mirror of a camera lens;
to me, there is no image in the collective vision
and memory of existence that could ever compare
to that of you and I with one-another,
standing on a bridge connecting two shores of a river,
looking longingly at each-other,
and holding hands.

I love you, Melissa!

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My Poem ‘The devil is in the details’

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

When god smiles, rejoice…
when the devil smiles, run…
when angels save a life,
sing with all your voice…
when demons possess someone,
the only weapon against them
is to pray and summon
the light of heaven
to drive them back to hell
from where they are supposed to be
imprisoned, and fight the fear
of an endless night with hope
like that of sunlight.

When we think of hell
we think of flames…
when we think of heaven
we think of unwavering faith…
when we think of the devil
we think of evil…
when we think of god
we think of love.

Day and night, light and dark, good and bad –
an entire universe in-balance with itself,
that occasionally becomes imbalanced, by design;
just as every story has two sides to it,
what every story also has is a middle-ground –
a ‘grey state’ that exists
between every word of every line;
everything and everyone has a purpose –
some people have to dance with the devil
in order to get through life;
everything and everyone sometimes has to fight,
but you can rest assured that whenever you need one
there will always be an angel
in your corner and by your side.

When a single beam of light
passes through a seemingly-transparent prism of glass,
that single flash transforms
into a spectrum of many colours –
the same layers of reality
that the entire world is made up of,
from the most super-giant of stars
to the smallest particles of ash –
and when you see that rainbow
you are seeing the pigment
of everything and everyone
in the universe’s skin and eye-colour.

Questions beg for answers –
however, even fallen angels know
that some things are sometimes best left unsaid;
there would be no life
if there were not also temptation –
however, everybody has to learn a lesson
about the true meaning of life,
though some lessons
you can only learn the meaning of
before you rise and leave your body behind
to lie in peace in its last bed.

Light began everything…
darkness will always exist –
it must according to divine will…
finding an equilibrium with all things
and with all people is all about living…
just as god is in the details of everything,
so is the devil.

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My Poem ‘A new leaf’

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

A new season brings new colours;
a new season brings new flowers;
a new forest brings new trees;
a new burst of sunlight
brings alive new leaves.

A summer’s day is filled with energy;
a summer evening is filled with sparkling stars;
a summer afternoon is filled with beautiful serenity;
a summer’s morning is filled with the most intense
and overwhelming explosion of natural light –
especially at the moment of sunrise
when the sun expels the dark.

Summer walks… summer music…
summer waterfalls… summer epics…
summer breeze… summer shades…
summer peace… summer feelings,
emotions and memories that will never fade.

Every season brings new things
into the mix of life on Earth;
every person is like a planet –
everything in the universe shares something
immutable from birth;
every time we think we have seen everything
something new always shows its face;
every moment is fleeting, precious,
and goes by so fast –
just ask an astronaut looking back at all of us
as they orbit high-above in space.

Just imagine if there was no time
to be bound to any longer…
just imagine if you no longer knew how old you were –
you would always be the same age
and never get any older…
just imagine if your time was yours
to do with what you may…
just imagine if there were no clocks,
no watches, no calendars…
then every life and every one
would live every day as if it were an endless day.

A new shirt…
a new adventure…
a new intake of something to quench your thirst…
a new sense of self-worth…
a new page… a new dream…
a new stage… a new new air to breath in,
heralded by the sight and the prospect
of a new leaf.

My Poem ‘The Matador’

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

I have always wondered
what goes through a Matador’s mind
when he is standing in a bull-ring
and a bull is running towards him
completely intoxicated,
incensed, and blood-blind…
they can’t move, they can’t run…
they have countless people
sitting in a crowd all-around and above,
and every second their heart is beating
so fast that they feel like
they are standing in the centre
of a mist of blood –
who would not be scared?
how could anyone in their right mind
not feel fear when a huge animal
with big horns is running at full-speed
directly at you?
How could anyone not scream or swear?
How could anyone, why would anyone,
choose to do what they do
knowing that one day there
may come a day when the bull
might decide your fate for you?

It is all about respect…
it is all about understanding…
it is all about being your gods-honest best…
it is all about acting without thinking…
it is all about giving yourself
over to your instincts…
it is all about participating in a dance…
it is all about misdirecting, entertaining,
facing something, and being a part of something
that feels almost mythic…
it is all about going into a trance
and seeing a million things happening
all-at-once from a single glance…
and miraculously the matador moves,
the matador survives,
the matador is not pierced by the bulls horns,
nor trampled on by the bulls heavy hoofs…
the matador lives to fight another day,
while the bull awakes as if it has just
been awaken by the new days rays of sunlight.

The matador was born to do what he does…
the matador does what he does
to feed the hunger deep inside him…
this matador was definitely born
under the constellation of Taurus…
the matador does not hate the bull in any way –
he knows that he must be
who he was always meant to be,
and fulfill his destiny…
he knows that he must roll the dice
and use his ‘Capote de paseo’ cape
so as to play and win.

The matador does not do what he does
for fame, for fortune, or for applause –
the matador does what he does
because the bull is his life
and his life is the bull…
he does what he does,
he dresses himself in his suit of light
because to him he is acting out god’s will…
he does what he does because he is The Matador.

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My Poem ‘When the sun shines I smile’

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

When the sun shines
I smile, because I know that the light
that I embrace and I am energized by
was sent by you…
when the sun rises
I know that it wont be long
until I see your beautiful face come into view…
when the sun burns in the sky
I feel the part of you inside me
reaching out for the part of me inside you…
when the sun lights-up the world around me
my heart leaps out of my chest
and takes my soul with it
so that I may see you in your dreams,
and we may have a late-night/early-morning
secret rendezvous.

No moments could ever compare
to the times that we spend together –
we both have waited
and we are still waiting for each other,
but there has been and there always will be
a divine-will drawing us and holding us together;
I now know why for my entire life
I have been following a path of fallen white feathers…
each and every-one has been leading me
in one direction: to you,
and no matter what you say
I know that your secret-identity
is that you are an angel of heaven.

Some things in life we choose,
and some things in life are planned;
some days we might want to try
an out-of-the-ordinary choice of transport,
but when it comes to where you are going,
to whom, and why, then we can all rest-assured
that whomever we are meant to be with
will always be there and waiting for us
when we land.

Anything that has repercussions…
anything that when dropped into an ocean
or into a pool of water
creates ripple-effects…
anything that creates a momentary
life-changing interruption…
anything that seizes and overcomes your senses…
anything that beats and does not stop beating
is only comparable in its importance
to that of the love and the heart of an angel…
I love and I am loved by an angel,
and to me there is nothing and no-one on Earth
who could ever be more perfect.

The sun is still shining,
and I am still smiling;
angels walk and fly among us –
they want us to believe in them,
just as they believe in us;
when the sun shines on you,
and you cast a shadow like that of a sun-dial,
stare into the light and then close your eyes quickly –
and the face which you see flashing before you eyes
will be the object of your heart’s desire,
and at that moment imagine like I do
that you are with your angel
who always makes you smile.

My Poem ‘More than you could ever know’

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

When people look at us
they don’t know what we’ve been through;
when I look at you I see a dream come true;
when people see us holding hands
with smiles on our faces
they are looking at something beautiful;
when you look at me
I just hope to God
that you can see
just how much I love you.

When I look up to the sky,
when I look into space,
when your beautiful light fills my eyes,
I just want to reach out
and touch your breathtaking and perfect face.

I hear your voice while I am lying awake,
I flash-back every minute
to every moment of our shared days;
I see your smile and my heart beats faster;
I look into your eyes and I can see our future:
holding hands, always together…
you and I listening to music
as we slow-dance with one-another;
I have been in love with you from the start
and there isn’t a second that goes by
when I don’t love you with a passion
like a fire that always burn.

Every-thing else is a second thought
compared to you and I, my gorgeous angel;
no one knows me like you do;
if you could only see yourself
the way that I see you
then you would see God’s most perfect
and divine creation of all;
every night when I lay down to sleep,
and every morning when I wake up,
I smile to myself because I am in love
and I am the happiest man alive –
because I know without having to ask
that you love me, and I never want you
to ever forget that I love you
more than you will ever know.

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My Poem ‘Morningstar’

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

To me, writing is like driving;
to me, writing is like flying;
to me, writing is like diving;
to me, writing is like searching;
to me, writing is like remembering;
to me, writing is like imagining;
to me, writing is like smiling;
to me, writing is like crying;
to me, writing is like sharing;
to me, writing is like exorcising;
to me, writing is like star-gazing;
to me, writing is like trying
to capture something breathtaking
that almost defies explaining.

When the morning-star rises
it calls to all of us;
when the morning light shines
life below the surface of the Earth
is tempted to break-through the dust;
when the morning air is inhaled
into a near-infinite number of lungs
every-thing breathes in each-other;
when the morning colours reveal themselves
is when something amazing
and unexpected always occurs.

When I write
I look out,
I see things,
I feel something
and then I think…
when I write
sights and sounds become emotions
and meaning is transformed into words
that feel like they are
ready to be spoken on the tip of my tongue…
when I write
an entire new world of wonder
is built with every blink…
when I write
my imagination and my thoughts
race, explode, and flash brightly
like the lightning of a thunder-storm…
to me, writing is akin to watching
and experiencing in all its epic-magnificence
the great gift of seeing the sun rising.

The planet Venus is so far away
but shines so bright in the sky
that it is often mistaken for a star;
it isn’t until you see something up-close
that you can know if it is truly
all that you wished for it to be
when it was far-reaching and yet fascinating;
it isn’t every-one and every-thing
who gets to inspire and change the course of a life,
when in perspective to most things
they are but a dot in the dark;
I have been inspired by many things
since I first began writing,
but to me nothing and no-one
could ever compare to the beautiful shining face
of my angel who I see each and every morning.

My Poem ‘The Angel’s Wings’

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

‘Where do you keep your wings?’
Asked the Blessed to the Angel;
‘I don’t see any wings on your back?’

‘Well, I keep mine in my wallet,
or sometimes folded up in my back-pack –
but not all angel’s have wings,
as a matter of fact:
some are artists, some are teachers,
some are hair-stylists, some are preachers,’
said the Angel with a smile
as they sat down next to the Blessed
on the park bench.

‘Oh, really?’ Replied the Blessed with a grin,
as they slowly opened the fingers of their hands
from how they had been clenched.

‘Really!’ Replied the Angel
as they looked at the Blessed
and could see that they were now feeling
and appearing as if they now were more relaxed.
A few minutes before, however,
the Blessed had collapsed to the ground
as if they had suffered a heart-attack.

‘Why don’t angel’s just walk around
with their wings on-show?’
Asked the Blessed, ‘Or turn on the light
above their head to tell everybody who they are?
Why don’t they illuminate their halo?’

‘Because, in this day-and-age,
if they did that then everyone would want a ‘selfie’
with them, wouldn’t they?’ Said the angel with a smile
and a chuckled laugh.
‘Most Angel’s keep a low-profile until they are needed.
That didn’t used to be the case a long time ago,
a couple of thousand years ago in the past.
Most of us Angel’s only truly stretch out our wings
when we are trying to get them dry
after we have taken a bath.’

‘Angel’s take baths?’ Asked the Blessed,
‘why don’t you just go for a fly?
I’m sure that a quick flap
would get in no time get them dry?’

‘Good point!’ Replied the Angel
with a sparkle in their eyes;
‘thing is though, the feathers of our wings
‘poof-up’ so badly after they get wet –
or maybe that could just be mine?’

‘Wow!’ Exclaimed the Blessed with a laugh,
‘I had no idea that angel’s could be so funny?’

‘You would be amazed at how many Angel’s
were also comedians when they are on Earth.
Me? I learned all my best one-liners
from Bill Murray on the set of Groundhog Day!
You know, considering that it is a movie
about a man repeating himself over-and-over again,
until he discovers that being a selfless person
is the only way break the endless-cycle,
it wasn’t as boring as you may think in any way.’

‘That is one of my favourite films, actually!
I must have seen it a million times.’

‘Mine too!’ Said the Angel;
‘that film is a classic!
And it is also a wonderful
modern-day parable, in my opinion.
To me, like all great art,
it is one of a kind.’

‘I feel so much better now!’ Said the Blessed.
‘I still can’t remember a thing
about what happened,
but thanks again for helping me!’

‘My pleasure!’ Replied the Angel
as he stood up from his seat
and helped steady the Blessed to their feet.

‘I better be going now.
Thank you so much!
You are my hero! You are my angel!’
Said the Blessed with a smile
before walking away, and looking around
at the beauty of their surroundings,
and taking in every chirp and tweet
of the birds that they heard singing.

And as the Angel watched the Blessed walk away,
they sat down again on the bench,
they crossed their legs,
they closed their eyes,
and they smiled…
and as the sun shone brightly on them
they unfurled their hidden wings of pure-white –
and then with the grace of God
they returned to heaven
in a flash of golden sunlight.

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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