A Poem A Day #349: Memory Box

“Memory Box” by Mark Hastings was taken from Mark’s poetry collection ‘The Dreamer and The Dream’ which was published in 2015 by Zeloo Media. Check out more of Mark’s poetry online @ http://MarkThePoet.Me – all poems © Mark Hastings ● Buy Me a coffee @ https://www.buymeacoffee.com/MarkThePoet ● Check out the merch store on Redbubble: https://rdbl.co/3xWa4Rw

My Poem “Talisman”

Something to remind you
of somebody far away -
a loved one, a friend,
someone who you think about every day...
something as simple as an object
that somebody gave you for safe keeping
and also to remember them by...
something personal - like a watch
passed down and worn on the wrist
of generations of ancestors and their descendents -
that symbolises a way back through time...
something like a mantra that is repeated
over and over again to open a door
inwards and outwards...
something like a candle that we use
when the power goes out
and we have to use the only precious light
that we have to see the path before us...
something like a photograph
taken when visiting somewhere
indescriable and meaningful
with someone who is a daily hand to hold
and a guide back to solid ground
when we find ourselves far from land...
something that gives us a feeling
of hope, optimism, as well as
a forward momentum -
because to us they will always be
a talisman.

A Poem A Day #303: The Great Detective

“The Great Detective” by Mark Hastings was taken from Mark’s poetry collection ‘The Eternal Boy’ which was published in 2015 by Zeloo Media. Check out more of Mark’s poetry online @ http://MarkThePoet.Me – all poems © Mark Hastings ● Buy Me a coffee @ https://www.buymeacoffee.com/MarkThePoet

A Poem A Day #247: Never Forget

“Never Forget” by Mark Hastings was taken from Mark’s poetry collection ‘The Eternal Boy’ which was published in 2015 by Zeloo Media. Check out more of Mark’s poetry online @ http://MarkThePoet.Me – all poems © Mark Hastings ● Buy Me a coffee @ https://www.buymeacoffee.com/MarkThePoet

A Poem A Day #233: Once Seen Never Forgotten

“Once Seen Never Forgotten” by Mark Hastings was taken from Mark’s poetry collection ‘The Eternal Boy’ which was published in 2015 by Zeloo Media. Check out more of Mark’s poetry online @ http://MarkThePoet.Me – all poems © Mark Hastings ● Buy Me a coffee @ https://www.buymeacoffee.com/MarkThePoet

My Poem “Screenshot”

Life is a livestream without a pause button...
when something happens we can't commit
every detail of every moment to memory...
life sometimes feels like it is
in a state of fast-forward...
when someone scrolls through
the posts of someone else who appears
to be living the life that they have always
wanted sometimes people can feel envy -
however life is filled with more depth
of perspective and colour
than any resolution of screen
could ever display perfectly...
when a photograph is taken
a thousand words could be used to describe
what the two dimensions apparently show -
but to go beyond a static image
and dive into what preceeded it
and what came after it
you have to look to what appears
in the background that may not be
as easy to see, but take it from me
it is there that you will see a picture's true poetry...
there is no way yet to recall
what the first face that we saw
after we were born was,
nor is there yet a way to know
what the first sound that we heard was,
nor who the first voice that
we heard belonged to;
but, make no mistake, our entire life
of experiences are all saved within our brains -
the good, the bad, the tragic, and the funny -
and if at the end of everything
each of us do indeed see our entire life
flash before our eyes so fast
that every moment merges together
into a burst of bright light,
be sure to try and do what
people do every day when they see
something on their phone
that they think is worth capturing:
remember what you can, while you can,
and if necessary take a screenshot.


My Poem “Missing Time”

Since the start of this
world-shattering pandemic
I know deep in my soul
that I have missed the sound
of a particular source of music -
a soundtrack, a beat,
a rhythm of life that can be heard,
felt, and seen within your minds eye,
whether it be morning, noon, or night:
the same pulse of inspiration
that first surged within me
at the very moment when
I knew that I was born to be a poet.

What I love about writing
and what keeps me coming back
to the blank page time and again
is the same thing that I miss
about sitting in a café
surrounded by people,
before the days of mandatory masks
and before compulsory social distancing.

The thrill of the unknown,
the magic of the instantaneous,
the order and the chaos that to me
always made sense and which I could
always easily pull into focus:
all that being an artist is all about...
you can't plan for it, you can only create it
when you feel it within you boiling away
with such ferocity that you know
it is about to explode -
which is why artists need to capture
what occurs to them before
whatever idea forms combusts into dust
and becomes as spectral as a ghost.

I yearn to go back in time...
I wish that I could return to a place
at a point in the past where and when
I truly believed every moment
would always last...
I still cannot believe that we are all
living in the world that greets my senses
and compels my thoughts
and my emotions so overwhelmingly...
I wish that I could do something,
I wish that I could write something,
I wish that I could imagine something
that might serve to transport
everybody away from our current stark reality -
perhaps to a moment of peace, joy, and love
that the world once enjoyed,
or to a time in the future when I know
the memory of our current present
will not be as potent.

I have personal places
and I have particular times
where and when I return to within
my thoughts and within my dreams
that mean the world to me
that feel so close to me that I could
reach out and grasp them:
perfect moments the like of which
everybody has, which we all would do
anything to get back to,
which we never stop missing
and which are among life's
most precious of blessings.

My Poem “A Summer Like No Other”

The Summer season is usually
a time that most people
look forward to and plan for…
the Summer is usually when
people have once in a lifetime
experiences that they
have never had before…
the Summer season is usually
when people spend most of
their time outdoors…
the Summer is usually when
everybody is smiling
from ear to ear and embracing
the rays of the sun
that seem to shine a light
on certain aspects of life
that inspire moments of awe.

The Summer season is supposed to be
when people enjoy certain examples
of beauty as they come into bloom…
the Summer is usually when people
like to take their time
when talking to one another,
face to face, instead of feeling
like every interaction is just one long zoom…
the Summer season is supposed to be
when people feel optimistic,
and they are generally in a good mood…
the Summer is supposed to be
when most people are singing with joy
and not crying because they had got
a bad case of the blues.

This Summer has already been filled
with so many examples of good news,
as well as the ultimate example
of bad news which we all know about
which in truth has felt like
one long, continuous, and engulfing
cloud that has been the epitome
of a bad dream that has
unfortunately come true…
this Summer has been one that
will forever be etched upon
the psyche of everybody
far into the future…
this Summer has been a time
in the lives of everybody alive
that will be something spoken about,
chronicled, and remembered as a
Summer when the whole world
had to do what they had to do
to protect the most vulnerable
and to preserve as much as possible
for the next generation…
the events of this year
will haunt humanity like a spectre,
because this year has felt like
a Summer like no other, and memorable
in most cases for all the wrong reasons.

My Poem “Pool of Contemplation”

As I sit looking at the ripples
upon this pool that I have been
familiar with since I was a child,
I contemplate so much about what I know,
about what I don’t know,
about what has happened, about life,
and about what will happen
when all is said and done
and when the world feels like it has been
put back together after such a long
period of feeling as is if
the seams that held everything together
were beginning to become undone.

I know this place…
I have stared into this water
more times than I can remember…
I have a connection to this place…
I once sat down and painted this very pond
long ago when I was a child –
and then, just as now, I felt compelled
to see and to find shimmering
sources of inspiration, of connection,
of that something about nature
that feels indefinable, magical,
wonderful, and phenomenal.

There has always been something
calming to me about staring
into a pool of water…
there has always been something
ethereal about the thought of
what may be found within the depths
a puddle, a pool, a pond, a river,
a sea, an ocean –
beyond the surface, below the waves –
where nobody can venture to
without external oxygen
or without an imagination,
to explore things that have
a life of their own,
where things remain unseen
until they are explored,
and where things which always
spark into life
the fire of inspiration:
things that I always find
whenever I look
into a pool of reflection
and contemplation.