memories

My Poem ‘Only for you’

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

It’s hard to believe
it was just a year ago,
it’s unbelievable to think
that before this time last year
we had never met face to face;
it’s incredible to think back
over the last 12 months
about everywhere we have been
and all that we have done,
it’s breathtaking to remember
every memory that we both made together,
and to know only the secrets
about moment that only you and I know.
It’s been 52 weeks of close-encounters
like nothing that could ever be matched
even by a visitor from outer-space;
it’s been epic, it’s been amazing,
it been magical, it’s been fun…
the last year, since the first time
we both came eye to eye with one-another,
have been the best days of my life –
there hasn’t been a day, or a night,
that has gone by since the first time I saw you
and I fell under the spell
of your beautiful and hypnotizing eyes,
that I have not thought about
that life-changing moment when I felt
both lost for words and happy beyond-content –
when I saw your gorgeous face
and I was forever captured
by your transfixing star-light.

You can’t know what a moment in time
will mean to you until it happens,
but I knew even before I met you –
when all I knew was your voice and your picture –
that you were both a blessing and a wish-fulfillment;
you can’t know how much your life will change
until you meet someone who you just can’t get enough of –
and I could have never have known how happy I would be
until you became my world and my eternal soulmate;
you can’t truly know yourself
until you meet the person fated to be
the other-half of your beating-heart;
you can’t know true love until your reality
eclipses all the beautiful visions of your dreams –
when I was blessed by you I knew from that instant
I would never be the same and that no distance
to get to you to be with you
would ever be too far.

Every moment that we spend together feels like a dream;
every kiss that we share is something powerful to me;
every hug, every cuddle, every stroke of your perfect face
is like a miracle – to hold an angel such as you are
means more to me that I could ever say;
every “I love you” that crosses my lips
for you and only for you is my way of telling you
that I am yours forever, and that no matter where I am
there is never a second when I am not thinking about you,
dreaming about you, and loving you uncontrollably
more than I could put into words –
because you are the meaning of my life
and the light of my day,
and my heart and my love
will always be only for you.

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My Poem ‘Sound of the Silence’

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

Stars, planets, solar-storms, galactic-energy –
every sphere of the universe
produces music from a source within
that keeps them spinning
and generating their unique voice;
artists, composers, song-writers, vocalists –
every living and breathing man and woman
who has ever created something
and who has ever been inspired
to realise their lifes-work
is driven by a silent beating heart
within their chest more powerful
than could ever be imagined;
memories, recollections,
reminders of a time gone by
that just will not die
because they have no choice;
stories, movies, the eclectic soundtrack
of your childhood that is centred around
and continues to orbit
a wormhole of space and time
that continues to broadcast
and influence your life,
your thoughts, and your actions,
every second of every minute.

All hail the music of the silence;
all raise their hands to feel the vibrations
and the beat of something amazing and beautiful;
all hear the sound of the timeless;
all be entranced by the light of the light-house,
and look up in wonder at the sight
of the broken satellite;
all watch the disc of colour spin,
and allow yourself to slip back in time
to the endless summer days of golden sunlight;
all close your eyes and go on a journey
inside your mind and be carried away
by the waves of the universal
energy-current of the universe;
all listen to the crackle of the static
and then fall head-first into the vortex
that spins like an album of vinyl.

To me, silence is just music
that we haven’t yet discovered
how to listen to in the right way;
to me, music in its infinite forms
will always play throughout all eternity –
whether it is heard, or not,
the music of life can never be silenced;
to me, music is one of the only things
that can make you feel at home
as well as take you far away;
to me, all the world is a church of music
and all of humanity are receptors
and worshippers of a divine sound
that is sometimes both powerful and silent –
and that is why I say that we should all
put our hands to our chest
and proclaim with one voice:
all hail the silence.

My Poem ‘Our Time’

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

I remember every moment…
I remember every instant…
I remember every thing we did…
I remember every time you looked back at me,
I remember every time you held my hand
and gave me a reason to live…
I remember the where,
I remember and I will never forget the when…
I remember lying on our bed and stroking your hair…
I remember every memory so vividly
every time the heavenly light that you emanate
shines through my minds lens…
I remember the first, I remember the last…
I remember, and I will always remember.

I remember when we went to the movies…
I remember when we went to our first music festival…
I remember when we walked over the Walking bridge
and half-way across I asked you to marry me…
I remember when we at outside on 4th of July night
and we watched the fireworks explode in the sky,
and at the same time getting my first up-close
and personal encounter with a Lightning Bug –
those moments that were like something out of a dream.
they were to me so magical.

I remember us driving every-where…
I remember us walking hand-in-hand in the sunlight…
I remember us sitting next to each other,
and me just looking at you and listening to you
and being utterly hypnotized by you,
as you made me fall in love with you
again and again with every passing second that I stared…
I remember dreaming about you every night,
and then waking up the next morning
with you lying right besides me –
I will never forget a single day
that has made up the tapestry of our shared life.

I remember going going to your family’s church
and thanking God for gifting you to me…
I remember taking pictures of us together –
of me holding you, and you holding me
in miraculous moment of utter joy, love, and serenity…
I remember you telling me that I was yours,
and I remember me telling you that you were mine…
I remember, in every detail and depth,
every year, every month, every day, every hour,
every minute, every second,
and all the sparks of life in-between
that make the world turn for us
and combine-together to make our time.

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My Poem ‘Lightning Days’

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

Where does the time go?
Sometimes it seems
and it feels like
time is like water rushing like a river,
and like a waterfall falling off
into the great unknown.

I wish that I could live my life
over and over again –
but only those moments that I love the most
and could never let go…
because, to me, home is a place
that you could never forget
and which feels like a part of you
and where you know with all your bones.

There is no better way to travel
than to travel with someone…
there is no better person to travel with
than with the one who you love…
there is no better time to travel than right now…
there is no better destination to travel to
than to the place where your heart belongs,
and the time that you spend there could never be enough.

Over the past two weeks
I have had the best days of my life;
over the last 14 days
I have experienced moments
that literally rocked my world;
over the past two weeks
I have made memories that I will live and breath
every day for the rest of my life;
over the last 14 days
time has flown by so fast,
it is as if I have been flying
with wings as if I were a bird.

Love, family, music, sunshine,
beauty, lightning, thunder…
so many amazing things were painted upon me
as if they were a rainbow of colour;
hugs, kisses, faith, belief…
I know now more than ever
that if you leap into something
and with all your heart
that the things that will follow
will be beyond anything
you could have before believed.

Lightning bugs…
lightning explosions of colour
brought upon by exploding fireworks…
lightning nights…
I will never forget a moment
of those magical lightning days.

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My Poem ‘In memory of’

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

One of the greatest things
you can do is remember;
one of the most touching things
you can do is to not forget;
one of the things that grounds us the most
is a memory that holds us in place
so that we don’t drift away –
some memories are like anchors;
one of the things that has stood the test of time
still remains the greatest archive
that could ever be envisioned…
and that place is a world,
and that world is our beautiful planet.

The lands of every country on Earth
are speckled with the graves
and the monuments of the lost and the fallen;
every society and every religion
remembers their people in different ways;
perhaps one day the only thing
that will remain of humanity on Earth
will be which still remains
engraved on worn-out vertical tablets –
electronically? solar-powered?
Or, perhaps, on good old-fashioned
marble and stone?

Humanity has changed and continues to change;
mankind is moving forwards,
but still continues to remember
and embalm that which to them is sacred;
humanity has the means to be
at-peace the world-over,
however some cannot live
unless there is a fight to be fought
and a war to be waged;
mankind can only be blamed
for what it has done and for what it still does –
every-body has to sleep
in the bed that we all make.

In my time here on Earth,
I have learned that some things
can be put off until tomorrow –
however, the most important things,
the people who we love and who love us,
should never be side-lined,
nor ever ignored;
I have learned more than once
throughout my life that, no matter what,
each and every one of us in our lives will be hurt –
however, that which becomes a part of us
we were gifted with so that when we need it
we can draw on something as powerful as a memory
to pick us up off the floor;
as I have lived, learned,
and occasionally lost,
I have slowly understood life more –
and I understand why there needs to be a hell below
just as there needs to be a heaven above;
I, personally, hold on with all that I am
every day to my memories
that I still return to when necessary…
when I need to leave my own monument
which is always anchored to the place,
or to the person, where, or to whom,
it was created in memory of.

My Poem ‘April Hours’

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

It was a Sunday morning…
it was a day of rest…
it was a day that began
with a beautiful dawn’s calling…
it was a day when a great many things
from around the world
peaked my interest:
there was the Royal visit of William and Kate
at the Taj Mahal –
a wonder of the world built as a monument to love…
there was the news-reports of the Japanese Earthquake –
a powerful reminder, yet again,
just how incredible and sometimes destructive
the forces of nature are.

I must have spent an hour or more
just looking back over photos and memories
taken and spent with the love of my life,
who I just cannot get enough of;
my thoughts and my imagination
danced around in my head –
fluttering, pulsing, flashing with excitement
like a handful of fireflies caught in a jar.

I was sitting in a cafe
when a mouse ran across the floor –
some people were so shocked and surprised
by the mouse’s sudden-appearance
that they immediately ran for the door…
I, however, just stayed where I was
and looked on at the commotion with awe
at just how much panic could be caused
by something so harmless and so small.

Blue-sky and golden sunshine
was the order for the day…
being a Sunday, all that I could hear
were the chimes of the church-bells
as they played;
being as it was a weekend,
there were more people out and about…
me being me, I could see and I could sense
inspiration in every direction
as if it were a pheromone
that I could somehow smell.

The month of April is significant to me
in lots of ways…
the month of April for some
is synonymous with rain showers…
the month of April has always been
filled with days of colour, growth, and change…
and of course a very special birthday…
the month of April,
the month of the calendar year
in which we are now living in
is like a flower of power
that blooms over and over again
more beautifully with ever passing April hour.

My Poem ’35 years’

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

It’s been 35 years
since I first saw the light of the world…
it’s been 35 years
since I first made my first sound…
it’s been 35 years
since I first heard
and tried to say my first word…
it’s been 35 years
since I first looked up to the sky
and I saw the very first sculpture
that formed in the clouds…
35 years of thoughts,
35 years of dreams,
35 years of memories,
35 years of the Earth and me.

When I think back
there are things that happened
that now in retrospect
seem more like a dream than reality…
when I remember where I once was,
and with whom, it sometimes feels like
a story that I am thinking about writing,
or something that may one day be
the inspiration for future poetry…
when I see photos taken when I was a child,
or those taken just a year ago
on a bridge high above the Tennessee river,
every memory to me feels like
they just happened yesterday…
when I think about how things have changed for me,
and for everybody around the world,
I sometimes find myself speechless
and unable to know exactly what to say.

I cannot thank my amazing parents,
Bernadette and David Hastings,
for all that they have given me
every day since the day that I was born…
I cannot thank my beautiful fiance, Melissa,
enough for giving me the gift
every day of unlimited and unbounded love…
I cannot thank my loving family enough
for the smiles and for the world of happiness
that continues to refill
my floor-less ocean of emotion and happy tears…
I cannot thank everybody who I have known
throughout my life who have shared
moments with me over of the last 35 years.

My Poem ‘Too Close To The Sun’

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

Just like Icarus’ wings of wax,
everybody has something precious
that keeps them flying;
just like Achilles,
nobody is completely invulnerable –
even if they believe themselves
to be blessed by immortality;
just like Adam and Eve in the Bible,
there is nobody who has not looked
at something and has not been tempted
by the prospect of tasting and trying;
just as our eyes can only see
the light reflected back at us,
nobody should ever mistakenly believe
that they know or may have seen
everything that there is –
because just one step beyond the horizon,
above the clouds,
past the silver crescent of the moon,
there lies knowledge and wonders
that number into the realm of infinity,
improbability, and endless possibility.

There are times when our minds
can feel like a cave of echoes;
there are times when our memories
flash-back to life
like the lightning of a thunder-storm;
there are times when a brand new song
can be composed and heard
as the leaves of trees rustle
and as every-day objects
become instruments as the wind blows;
there are times when a heart
can be broken and then remade again
in an instant –
it is a moment that many mothers and fathers
have felt simultaneously
when they heard the first out-cry of life
from their newborn.

It is better to risk and fail
than to fail by not ever taking a risk;
it is better to take a chance
than to have your chance
at something taken away;
it is better to see what happens
than to live a life
as if ticking off things
on a check-list;
it is better to grasp
and fill a moment of time,
even if with a world of silence,
or music, than to watch a clock
tick down to the last second of the day.

Most great discoveries
are those that you have to dig for;
most great adventures began
by taking a running-jump;
most great relationships came to be
because the feelings and the connection
that you instantly felt
eclipsed all those that had come before;
most great myths were written,
and most great stories were inspired,
by those who chose to throw caution to the wing
and consciously flew too close to the sun.

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My Poem ‘Hold on’

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

Hold on tight,
don’t let go;
why couldn’t last night
have been an endless night?
Why do I have to go?
I can’t hold back my tears;
I can’t hold back the flood
of thoughts and memories…
I can’t hold back my hand
from touching an Angel’s face
as she lays asleep besides me;
I can’t hold back the emotions that I feel
when I hold my soulmate near;
I can’t hold back,
and I do not want to move an inch away
from the only light in the dark whom I see;
I can’t hold back how complete I feel
and how happy I am
when I am looking at my sleeping-beauty –
and then suddenly she opens her eyes and smiles,
as she looks right at me.

I want to hold on to her and never let her go…
I want to kiss her lips and let my love for her show…
I want to stay awake all night long,
just in case I wake up in the morning and she is gone…
I want to lay my mark on her skin,
so that forevermore she can look upon it
and know that she is always going to be my only one.

I stroke her cheek…
I whisper “I love you” into her left ear…
every second I hold her in my gaze feels like a week…
every thundering heart-beat in my chest
inspires every silent falling tear…
time is precious, words are unnecessary…
every tingle that I feel below my fingers
is to me like a miracle of God…
I don’t want to move a muscle,
but I know that the moment will come when I must…
I feel like I am the luckiest man alive,
because where I am feels so heavenly –
even after my instincts tell me
that I will soon have to pull away and let go…
I still continue to lay my hands
and my eyes upon my eternal sunshine,
and with great tenderness I promise
to continue to always and forever hold on.

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My Poem ‘The Hummingbird House’

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

Standing in a room
surrounded in every direction
by flying hummingbirds;
the childhood dream
of a little girl walking
through a vast field of yellow daises
beneath a cloudless bright-blue sky;
standing on a green hilltop
looking down at your home below;
the adventure of a not-yet
grown up boy’s life-time,
and a return to a place
that he knows so well
it is almost as indelibly under his skin
it could almost be a tattoo;
on a cold winter’s day
the light shines differently
than it does at the same time of day
during the summer;
people change just as much as the seasons do;
a simple act of kindness can be something
that some people hold on to for luck
like a four-leafed clover;
when you become intoxicated by a moment
time goes wonderfully slow.

Dreams are our life’s internal movie-theatre;
our dreams are like the software
that runs the most powerful super-computer;
emotions are our way of interpreting
the meaning of what we see,
what we hear, what we feel,
and what we think;
all of our memories share and are
connected to an infinite number of mutual links.

Two different people
can look up at the same cloudy sky
and see two radically different formations;
a hundred people can be in the same place
at the same time for many different reasons;
a thousand people could each give you
a thousand and one different answers
to the same question;
all of human-kind begins anew
a different cycle every time
there is the rise of a new generation.

A house made of glass tells no lies,
but at the same time is precious to the touch
because of what it is;
a rose is one of the most beautiful gifts of nature,
but it also has the means to protect itself;
to me, someone with a thousand books to read
is richer than someone with a thousand dollars to spend;
a dream that has come true for you
is also known by another name: happiness;
heaven is a story that has no end;
everybody and anybody who has ever stopped
and stood, and who has ever looked
at a beautiful sight with an open mouth,
knows intimately what it is like
to have been inside a hummingbird house.