Moments

My Poem ‘Walking the line’

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

Literally, figuratively,
physically, emotionally,
I have been walking a line
or two my entire life…
just like Johnny Cash,
near the infamous Nickajack cave
in Tennessee,
I walked the tracks of a railroad-line –
and I can honestly say
that on the beautiful morning in February,
while I was walking alongside the Tennessee river
with the love of my life
and my adoptive family,
I too had what could be called
a “spiritual experience”:
the sky was blue,
the light was golden,
and I felt more alive than I had ever felt –
I was renewed, and I did not even for a second
think to look back over my shoulder,
because all that mattered
were the moments of perfection
that I was living out in nature
and under the life-giving and incredible sun.

Walking any kind of a line
is always when and where
something life-changing begins;
walking down a road that you don’t know
is how you can discover
and learn to embrace something unknown
and completely different;
walking, and not rushing,
is how to savor the beautiful
and the miraculous things about life
that speedsters sometimes miss
because they travel at the speed of lightning;
walking has always been a passion of mine –
and I swear that you haven’t lived
until you have stopped and heard
the breathtaking sound
of the Earth when it sings.

Every day people walk the line of life and death;
every day people walk the line of light and dark;
every day people walk right and left;
every day people walk to live,
and to live they have to walk far;
every day people walk
even though every step may feel like mile;
every day people walk through all weathers;
every day people walk through fire
and must overcome a torrent of trials;
every day people walk and repent
so that one day they can be
welcomed through the gates of heaven.

No matter what demons lie in your past,
you have got to keep walking
even though there may be times
when you don’t feel fine;
no matter what baggage you carry
that you think you can’t let go of,
sometimes you have got to learn
to let go of what you don’t need anymore,
and don’t look too longingly
at the light of the past
because before too long it may make you blind;
you haven’t lived in this life
if you haven’t at some point or another
been asked to pick a side;
there is no one alive
who hasn’t had to walk away from something
so that they to walk towards something –
no matter what, no matter the time,
everybody in their life
has got to walk the line.

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My Poem ‘The True Gift’

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

The true gift of Christmas,
the best present you could
ever receive or give;
the truth of the season
you can always trust,
the spirit that you can
walk a thousand miles with;
the touch to heal all scarred hearts,
the light that shines like the North Star;
the beautiful angel who shows you
the true meaning of life
that so many have for years
been in search of;
the true goodwill of somebody
that everybody at one point or another
has been touched by.

Christmas is, and should always be,
a celebration of shared ties
and meaningful connections;
Christmas can only be Christmas
if you give without any expectation
of anything in return;
Christmas is always full of passion,
and if you are fortunate
then whatever thoughts that you think
may return to you in more amazing and wonderful ways
than could ever be mentioned;
to open your heart for another, whenever you can,
is the true message that resonates
every moment of the season.

Christmas trees; shiny ornaments;
one of a kind shared and special moments;
the miracle of rejuvenation and joy
that constantly brings to life
a story that will always exist;
the motto on the family-crest of St. Nicholas;
the true meaning of life
that is more than a myth;
giving, sharing, remembering,
meeting, living and breathing,
every thing about everything
is how you know in more ways than one
the true gift of Christmas.

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My Poem ‘GA 30741’

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

Upon first awakening, all is dark
while the air is still warm;
when drifting off to sleep
during the summer-time
is when the lightning bugs glow
in the twilight as they swarm;
when the sun is shining
and the blue sky comes alive,
when you can sit back and take your ease
somewhere peaceful and special,
you feel the most lucky to be where you are,
having the time of your life.

When you see something everyday,
when you live somewhere all your life,
you can easily take something
or somewhere for granted,
when you are happy and content,
the minutes and the hours
can seem to fly away –
however, just as moments come
and they go like a flash of light,
when we all learn to harness
the energy and the feeling of our surroundings
it is then that we can make moments
and memories last forever,
and just like our genetic memory
be forever imprinted.

I have Georgia on my mind;
I have Tennessee in my heart;
I have a pocket of dollars and dimes;
I have the light of an American angel
shining on me like a star;
I have the accents and the voices
that I know so well
echoing through my consciousness
like a choir singing in a church;
I have the distant sight of Lookout Mountain
still fascinating me from afar.

I have walked over old battlefields,
and paid my respects to the lost
at memorials erected to remember the fallen –
those who gave their lives
to preserve the right of everyone
to enjoy the gift of true freedom.

The United States of America
is one country made up of fifty
wonderfully diverse states;
the heart of every American
beats proud and strong;
the United States of America
is a symbol of hope and prosperity
in so many ways;
every state of America
is a piece of an epic
and breathtaking unfinished puzzle –
and, to me, the states of Georgia and Tennessee
symbolize what makes
the United States of America truly great,
and there isn’t a minute that goes by
when I do not think of my home in 30741.

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My Poem ‘Eudaemonic’

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

A simple act of kindness
can give you an upbeat feeling;
a new arrival can instantly make you smile;
a message in a bottle is always a thrill;
a new idea is like a newborn child.

Watching a child grow before your eyes
is like going back in time
and seeing your early life
acted out in front of you;
watching a plant grow and then wilt
does not have as much of an impact
on some people as it should;
watching an animal grow so quickly,
be so active, however only live a short life
in comparison to a human being
can be a joyous but sometimes
incredibly hard thing to do;
watching the world change around you
makes you wish frequently
that if it were possible
to live inside a single special moment forever,
if you could you would.

Some days go by fast,
some days go by slow;
the art of happiness
is to make something last;
the art of acceptance
is to not worry too much
about what you do not know;
some days are filled with fireworks;
some days are spent in reflection;
some days are so perfect
that you could swear
that there were some invisible inner-workings
making everything in life run like clockwork;
some days you are just waiting
for something to grab your attention;
the art of life is to live.

There are words in every language
that are rarely used,
but still exist;
there are faces hidden behind masks
that not everybody are able to see;
there are people who win;
there are people who lose,
but who never stop
and never give in;
there are unique pieces of art
created solely to be one of a kind
and temporary – like graffiti –
that in time will fade from view
and be covered over and forgotten –
but the fact that even one person
knew about them and remembers them
makes the artist that made them
more of a magician than anything else,
because they were able to make the once seen
the thing of a person’s dreams.

What keeps me upbeat is love;
what keeps me writing is hope;
what keeps me smiling only I could think of;
what keeps me from not retreating is never doubting;
what I have always known is that
if you try to silence your doubts,
if you try to see past the illusion of walls
that sometimes feel like they surround you
that can almost feel like a prison cell,
if you try to come to terms with the fact
that not everything that happens to you
is not always all your fault –
then one day you may wake up
with a smile on your face
and realize that all is good
and all will be well.

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My Poem ‘Soul of the Summer’

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

Summer is the season of the sun;
summer is the time when everything can shine;
summer is sometimes different
in different places around the world,
it depends where you are from;
summer is when all life can flourish
and share its colours far and wide;
summer brings about new experiences,
new music, new inspirations,
re-invigoration of soul and spirit,
and it is when anyone and everyone
can get out and enjoy the beauty of the world
and see the face of nature close-up,
and if and when you can
to have a good time.

The sunlight of a summer morning,
the heat of the summer air,
the vibe of a summer spent walking,
talking, recalling, and memory making;
the incomparable and intense summer glare;
the constant mood medicine on the summer breeze
that keeps you smiling;
the summer sensation that you feel
when your skin changes colour;
the summer days spent rocking
from side to side in a hammock
that feels like you are lying calmly on a cloud
as you spend hours just relaxing.

Every summer is unique;
you can capture important moments
in photographs, memories, impressions –
but you can’t every capture everything;
every summer has its valleys and its peaks;
you can often recall a particular summer
by recalling the songs that were constantly playing
on the radio that everybody was singing;
every summer is revealing,
and it is a time to say and to do
absolutely anything.

Sneakers, sandals, tennis shoes, flip-flops;
shorts, skirts, t-shirts, low-cut tops;
shades, sunglasses, baseball caps;
sun-screen, jackets, thirst-quenching drinks on-tap.

The message of the summer in which you find yourself
is always to allow things to be see, and to feel free;
the golden season is when you can seek out and enjoy
all that the world has to offer;
the meaning of every season
is to make the most of the gift of life’s beauty;
hope is meant to rush through the bloodstream of everybody,
and finding hope in something that makes you happy
is what it means to have found the soul of the summer.

My Poem ‘Fever’

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

There are places in space,
there are moments in time,
there are faces, there are rhymes,
there are things that happen,
there are people who are who they are,
there are things that draw your attention,
there are an infinite number of multi-coloured stars
that brighten, enliven, and make your life feel
as if it is complete,
there are links that form
that give strength to weak.

Some may look at the landscape of a war-zone
and see desolation and a reason to doubt
the longevity of life on our planet,
while another person looking at the same sight
may see it as an opportunity to rebuild
and to reinvigorate, and to heal old wounds
and to put long-lasting hope into the mortar
and the stone of the newly relaid foundations
and draw lines of inter-connectivity
into the very blueprints of what is being rebuilt.

Anything can happen at any moment;
anybody can imagine anything
when their senses are brought to life,
like a spark to a fire;
even a single word can have lasting importance;
even a single glance and a look
can quickly evolve into desire.

A flash of light and colour;
the touch on your skin of a gust of wind;
the sound of a voice that always pulls you into
a magical world of wonder;
the feeling of euphoria that true love brings;
the way that things are,
the way that the many faces of the universe inter-work,
the way that even the smallest of actions
can have the most life-changing of powers,
is what will always be as things are forever –
and that is why it is always important
to cherish, to take care, and to kindle an idea,
because it does not take much in the right hands
for a single thought and dream
to take over and spread like a fever.

My Poem ‘Living the dream’

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

Morning. Silence.
Blue sky. Sunday.
Sunshine. Green leaves.
The sound of flying birds and bees.
People having breakfast;
people cutting their lawn;
people still in bed
enjoying a well-earned rest;
people opening their eyes to the daylight;
people opening their mouths wide with a yawn.

Church bells ringing;
friends cycling;
music on the radio playing;
somebody somewhere
on the early morning ocean
sailing, loving, breathing, living.

Walkers, runners, riders,
painters, daydreamers, photographers,
embrace every moment of light and feeling;
diners, parishioners,
attend the same place of worship
and break bread together to prove
that they believe what they believe;
pilots, para-gliders,
balloonists, sky-divers
take to the air and defy gravity
and live the dream of touching the worlds ceiling –
people who just want to step away
from the rush of the world for a short time
and feel the amazing and the rejuvenating energy
of total and utter release.

People experiencing awe;
people feeling wonder;
people traveling far;
people feeling hunger.
I look at the world
and I see depths of colour;
I listen to what I hear,
and I hear sounds
from every length of the sound spectrum –
from water-drops in a pond
to the joyous explosion
of a child’s laughter.

Life is important;
life and purpose is individually indefinable,
and yet understandable, tangible,
as well as miraculously magical;
life can only be lived once;
life and dreams can sometimes be indistinguishable;
life is living and not worrying
about the things that people sometimes say
and the things that some people do;
life is reading, feeling, sharing,
and witnessing the dream of life come true.

My Poem ‘Short but Sweet’

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

All moments are precious;
first thing in the morning
every second rushes by like a train;
no matter what it is,
everybody remembers their first;
in the fresh and bright new morning light
the energy in the air is amazing
and addictive and always goes
straight to your head.

I like to start every day
by listening to a song or two;
some people like to wake up
and immediately connect
and engage with the world
that never sleeps and is always up and ready;
I like to begin my day with a poem of my own,
writing for a small few;
some people like to go for an early morning run,
a walk, a coffee from their favourite coffee shop,
to make sure that their day begins with a tone
that makes them extremely happy.

Morning time can feel like you are a skier
on a snowy slope heading down a mountain
faster than you can think or perceive clearly;
in the middle of the day,
some people have time to take a break
and enjoy a brief siesta of mind and body;
in the afternoon, time seems to move much slower
and can at times feels as if
the hands of the clock are standing still;
in the evening, at the twilight of the day,
is when you truly have the time
to make things happen –
and if you are not doing anything in particular,
before the end of the night and the day,
you soon will.

One day is always different from the previous,
and the day that will follow will also be
its own day with things occurring in it
that will always be synonymous with that day’s date;
every opportunity that presents itself
is almost over as soon as it begins;
there is never any limit to how much happiness
you can generate;
no two experiences has a true identical twin.

Life can seem long when you are living it,
but short and brief when recalled and remembered,
and what is said can sometimes have a half-life
comparable to that of a birds tweet;
life is meant to be made the most of…
so dive below, and reach high and above!
You can do so much in such a short space of time –
so don’t forget to cherish
every unforgettable moment,
especially those that are short and sweet.

My Poem ‘Time Capsule’

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

One of the great things about poetry, and poems,
is that they are time capsules;
one of the greatest experiences for anybody to be
is an archaeologist, a digger, a finder –
a person with a question, searching for an answer;
one of the great things about capturing moments in time
is that one day in the future
you can accidentally unearth an old poem, a faded photo,
or a small gift that someone bought you,
and instantly know and remember where and when you were
at a time in your life, and in someone else’s life;
and, to some people, the pieces of time
can be like rocket fuel,
and one of the greatest things about being a writer,
like me, is that I know that I will always
have a wealth of memories in the form of living
and breathing mental pictures, and in notebooks,
filled with thoughts and emotions of mine,
that will someday number so many
they may even fill an entire library,
and I sometimes wonder what people will say and think
when my own words and experiences
are read and come to light again in the future.

I always wanted to leave something for other people to find,
a question that only I could answer –
when I was a child I even made my own time capsule
and buried it in my garden,
and for all I know it is still there;
at my school, we also buried a class time capsule –
however, what someone will find one day of mine
I cannot tell you, because unfortunately I do not remember.

The memory of the world is fluid;
to leave our mark, we need to make our own monument;
things can easily be forgotten,
and can quickly turn to dust,
if you do not etch them into reality
so that they cannot be rubbed out or undone –
and in that way they will always be
a seeing stone, a crystal ball,
and a bubble of time that will never burst.

When you read this,
remember that this is me who is writing this;
whoever you are,
remember and keep alive this moment,
and reread this poem of time,
and please keep a hold of your own memories –
it is one of the most human of things to do,
and also one of the most natural;
if you want to keep something for a rainy day
so that you, or someone else,
can rediscover it one day,
make it the thing that at that moment
is your life-long and your most precious wish.
Leave things behind you like breadcrumbs,
and keep going, and everything you leave behind,
of you, will be its own time capsule.

My Poem ‘Momentous Momentum’

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

The momentous momentum of life
means something different to everybody
who feels it and experiences it;
the breathtaking fast-paced world
can seem too intense sometimes,
especially when trying to adapt
to the constant changes that happen
that may seem impossible and as hard
as trying to dodge the oncoming flight
of a bullet from a gun;
it is only the very young who have the luxury
to not have to worry about
what is going to happen next,
and because they know no better
if they were asked by one of their friends
to jump off a cliff they would in a heartbeat;
it is only as we grow older,
and start looking back and reminiscing about the past,
do we start caring about the passage of time,
and how important all the days of your life were
when you were blessed by love, friends, family,
and the golden light of the sun.

Children have no perspective,
because most perspective is born
from the marrying together of experience and meaning;
adults have the gift of knowing right from wrong,
and yet they still make the same mistakes over and over again;
children have all the energy in the world,
they could outlast anyone in a marathon,
but because they have so much drive and passion
it is hard for them to focus on just one thing;
adults find it challenging most of the time
to simplify their thoughts and their lives,
because, more so than a child,
their thoughts are always at the mercy of their emotions.

Your life is not short,
unless you choose to shorten it;
your choices become complicated
the more that you think;
your life is supremely important,
and you are constantly making a difference
to your own life, and to other peoples lives,
even on the days when you do not think
that what you are doing
would be anyone’s definition of something exciting;
your choice to get out of bed,
to think about another person,
to do something for yourself, and for someone else,
is something that you learned at a very young age
when the thought of looking out the window,
running out the door, enjoying all the time
and moments that you didn’t even know you had,
was absolutely awe-inspiring;
and even when you think that life
could not possibly do anything anymore to surprise you,
something will happen that will be profoundly enlightening,
and it may be something akin to an eternal puzzle,
that you might spend the rest of your life deciphering.

Never be frightened of your feelings;
daily embark on a personal mission;
remember as much as you can of what you see
and the moments in which you are living;
embrace the rush of inspiration,
and take every opportunity to think outside the box,
and without even realizing it at first
you will be a part, and enjoying,
the wondrousness of life’s momentous momentum.

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