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My Poem ‘Epilogue’

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

Just as the sun must set,
so too must the last chapter of a story be written and told;
just as you might look back on your life
and remember things that you would much rather forget,
so too must you never forget that things happen
as they were always meant to happen,
and nothing that feels timeless can ever be old.

You never want a journey to end,
especially when you have been having the time of your life;
you never want to reach the end of a book,
because then you know all about the story within, its conclusion,
and even if you do read it again it will never be the same;
you never want to fall asleep,
especially if your life feels so amazing and dreamlike –
because you don’t want to wake up
and perhaps find out that your world
has just been a fantastic, idyllic, paradise;
you never want to put memories of places
and people to the back of your mind –
me, personally, I would rather have a moving picture gallery
of the good times in my life all around me,
and each one mounted beautifully in a gold frame.

Like most people,
I have known the very best of times,
I have known the very worst of times –
and usually both extremes of the other
within a short space of time;
like most people,
I have made the best of everything that I could –
especially when the road ahead, and my head,
felt like they were a winter field of dense fog;
like most people, I am a poet of his time –
however, what makes me who I am
will always be something that is hard to define;
unlike most people, at the start of every new day,
I write a brand new introduction
to introduce myself to the rest of the world;
and at the end of every day and brand new night,
I dream a dream that completely captures
and reflects my entire life –
like a mirror, or like a song –
in a brand new and beautifully written epilogue.

My Poem ‘Star Stuff’

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

As the stars of the dark fade,
and the most important star in our lives rises;
as the sky’s light slowly and silently
becomes golden, beautiful, and a gorgeous masterpiece
that has been newly-made –
there is no sound, but the birds singing in their nests
and flying in the sky, and an air of calm,
and a sense of content happiness,
that to the many who are awake and taking in the same moment,
bring joy and smiles to their faces.

Our sun is like an old friend that we hear from every day;
our sun is like a guardian that wants to energize us,
and protect us, but also wants us to run with it,
and be free under its gaze and glare,
to get out there and play;
our sun makes life possible everywhere on Earth;
our sun welcomes every child on our planet,
and has done so, and will continue to,
and be the light that every baby, boy, girl,
adult of all ages, races towards,
as they did at the moment of their birth.

The sun beats within all of our hearts,
a piece of our star in our soul
is what intensifies our emotions;
when we all feel love and longing,
it is the living core of the sun
connecting to us and speaking to us,
and making us feel like it always does;
the sun is a fiery sphere that makes everything clear,
that is so close and yet so far –
but still keeps that world blessed, warm,
illuminated, and in motion.

We are all a beautiful, intricate, constellation,
and our thoughts and memories are a galaxy of moments
of light that make us who we are;
our story began not just at the moment we arrived in the world,
bu when the universe itself came into being
and exploded spectacularly into life,
and every day we all carry within us
something that was there, and lives on,
from the beginning of everything,
and each one of us is made up of and are,
and will continue to be,
the spark of rebirth and the stuff of stars.

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My Poem ‘Merry Me’

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

Life is full of surprises;
the days of the year fly by;
the best of your memories
are full of happiness and kindness;
seeing the silver-lining around every cloud
can be hard sometimes, but it is always there –
there is always hope, and you truly do not know
what is going to happen until you follow an idea,
take a chance, and, with all your heart, try.

The rising sun;
the shining moon;
the warmth of love;
the optimism of a crisp and beautiful magical blue-sky afternoon;
The sparkling and twinkling lights;
the golden star-spangled, heart-warming,
beautiful, sun-kissed, Christmas tree;
the festive feeling in the air
that surrounds everyone and makes everybody
not feel the cold touch of the winter air’s bite;
the noticeable electricity and breathtaking energy;
the communication; the connections;
the story of humanity; the magic of family;
the sharing of gifts; the feeling of togetherness
that is like a true miracle,
when it blooms from inside of you every Christmas.

Everything about this time of the year inspires me;
everything that I see, hear, and think about,
feels like a fresh start, a new beginning, another chance;
everything about this time of the year
brings out so much of the worlds beauty;
everything is a source and a reason to smile,
and fall into a constant, amazing, world of trance
at a moments glance.

At this time of the year,
and every day of the year if you can,
it is important to remember the stars of your life
that constantly shine and tell you
that everything will be fine
and all that matters is that you are OK;
at this time of the year
it is important to make time
for those who always find the time to think of you,
and who want to spend time with you,
and who want to share special moments with you –
over the phone, in an instant message,
or maybe even face to face at lunch
while enjoying a delicious carvery;
at Christmas time it is important to keep mementos
of the people who are important to you in some way;
at Christmas time it is important to think and remember
what and who always gives you a reason
to be happy, to be hopeful, to be grateful, to be merry.

My Poem ‘The Shortest Day’

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

Today is the shortest day;
tonight will be the longest night;
sunrise and sunset will happen
within no time at all of each other,
as if the entire day will begin and end
within the blink of an eye.

The time to do things and to grasp the moments
are more precious today
than they ordinarily are on a normal day;
the Winter Solstice is here –
it is not even midday,
but I can already see the fading of the day’s light.

As soon as I woke up this morning,
I had this immediate feeling that there was something
in the cold early-morning air;
as soon as I started to think cogently
my mind was instantly clear,
and as I watched the sky brighten outside my window
I could do nothing but look up
and marvel at the white clouds that met my stare.

Christmas is but a few days away;
people all over the world
are doing their last pieces of Christmas shopping;
there is an anticipation to be felt all around
that something is on its way;
everybody is filled with hopes and dreams, and genuine joy,
and there is also whispers and wishes
that perhaps soon it may even start snowing.

The air is cold;
the streets are busy;
Christmas songs are playing all around me
and filling me, the atmosphere, and everybody,
with happiness, who are sitting with me here in this cafe;
there are seasons and emotions greeting and changing
and being felt all around the world;
there is energy on the verge of being set free;
there is more than meets the eye occurring today
on the shortest day.

My Poem ‘The Muses’

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

The muses visit me early in the morning;
the muses tuck me in bed last thing at night;
the muses bring alive to me a painted drawing;
the muses make me smile after learning something
I never knew before with sheer delight;
the muses come to me when I am having a shower;
the muses sit next to me
when I am watching a film at the cinema;
the muses listen to my thoughts and talk back to me
through my imagination for hours;
the muses sit facing me
and whisper to me when I am having my dinner.

The muses sit around the table with me
when I am in Starbucks having a coffee;
the muses ride along with me on the train;
the muses are guiding me and picking out interesting finds
every time I walk and look around a bookstore,
and even before I read any of the books
they are already talking to me;
the muses are always a close fellow passenger
whenever I fly on a plane.

The muses helped write, helped produce,
and they also perform and they sing
on every one of my favourite songs;
the muses influenced the creation, the sculpture,
the inspiration of every piece of art;
the muses have kept people motivated
when they are on a journey that is sometimes confusing and long;
the muses will keep the stars in the sky shining
at the end of time, as they have done from the very start.

The muses introduce themselves to children from the day they are born;
the muses walk, talk, and show us things when we dream;
the muses can go anywhere they want
and do not believe in restrictions, borders, walls, or laws;
the muses are more ubiquitous than you would believe.

The muses see all of time and space
and they understand every bit of it;
the muses were the universe’s first poets;
the muses are known for their quick humour
and their lightning-fast and incredibly creative wit;
the muses sometimes even take the form of animals and pets.

The muses never sleep;
the muses are always on the move;
the muses never have to stop and eat;
the muses are always at the front of every line
and never have to cue.

The muses are whom everyone consciously or unconsciously daily uses;
the muses are why everyone closes their eyes and then chooses;
the muses are whom no one refuses;
the muses are all-powerful, all-knowledgeable,
all seeing, all doing –
so if you ever want to know something,
or if you ever want to ask something,
24 hours a day,
ask the muses.

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 ‘Not just for the Summer’

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

Some songs are made and played
to catch peoples attention for a season;
some people we grow close to
enough to call them a friend;
some things are just fads that we have to have,
and be a part of for no good reason;
some relationships, short or long,
simply can never end.

If something means, or has meant something,
anything, to you, you can never forget it;
if a person touched you in some way,
then their feeling, and the way they made you feel,
will always remain;
if something can be remembered forever,
it can be done so with the mind and the pen of a poet;
if someone knows you, and if you truly know and love someone,
you should never feel alone when standing in the rain.

When you go back to a place,
if you are like me, you can also go back to another life,
another time;
when you are standing outside in the dark,
and the stars above make you think you are in outer-space,
if you are like me, you can relive and remember
even the tiniest of details
and be completely intoxicated by them again –
as if they were a bottle of wine.

We can sometimes make ourselves believe
that we have lost everything,
because our perception of the world
and of our circumstances appears to have been painted in that way;
however, the next day, in a new light,
everything is actually all right, and okay.
We can sometimes say goodbye to someone
and think that that friendship and connection
has been broken and is over;
however, in my experience, nothing,
especially a goodbye is ever forever,
and a bright, beautiful, inspiring,
phenomenal light, that rivals even that of the sun,
is not just for the Summer.

My Poem ‘Ghost on my bed’

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

When I was a child,
around the age of eight or nine,
I was sleeping in bed,
when I suddenly woke up in the dark-
I’m not sure what time it was,
but it was definitely after midnight-
and the lasting memory
that has stayed with me every day since
is that of me turning over in my bed
to look down at the light
coming from underneath my bedroom door,
and even though it was seemingly warm in my bed,
the air around me had gone incredibly cold-
as if I were sleeping in a bedroom
that was also a fridge;
and I also remember, from out of nowhere,
the feeling that I was being watched,
and that I was not alone.

I must have been lying there
for what must have been only a few seconds,
when I turned my head to look away from the light
towards the dark of my bedroom wall,
when I suddenly felt the mattress I was sleeping on
sink, as if someone was sitting on my bed besides me,
and I could feel their weight,
and their touch on the back of my neck.
It was definitely not the wind,
it was definitely not my imagination;
it was definitely someone, or something;
it was definitely a presence, a spirit,
a phantom, an apparition,
that felt real and was real-
it was a life that was still living in some form,
who had come to pay me a visit.

I did not make a sound;
I did not cry;
I did not look around;
I did feel frightened and unsettled, I am not going to lie;
I just lay there; I just listened;
I just closed my eyes and wondered whether
when I woke up in the morning
whomever was now sitting on my bed would still be there;
I just remember drifting away,
until I saw the light of my dreams glisten.

I woke up in the morning,
still with the memory of the night before
alive and burning in my mind.
I opened the curtains to let the new day’s sunlight in,
and I looked around, and I sighed.
To this day, I do not know what, or who,
came to me on that night a long time ago;
I do not know if they were once alive and they knew me,
or someone I know who is not yet dead;
I do not know who was there in the gloom of my room,
but I do know that one night when I was a boy
there was a ghost who sat on my bed.

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 ‘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.