poem

My Poem ‘The Haunting of 14 Yucca Drive’

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

There once was a girl called “Shelby”,
Who came from a family who were not poor
But did not have a lot of money…
Shelby liked dolls,
Shelby liked teddy bears…
Shelby liked dogs,
Shelby never went to sleep at night
Without first saying her prayers.

When she was alive
Shelby was the happiest girl
You could ever want to meet
And was never seen
To ever frown or cry,
Shelby was always laughing and smiling –
However after she died
Shelby hardly said a word to anyone
And just used to walk in silence
from room to room
Through her old house at 14 Yucca Drive.

Dead, just as she was when she was alive,
Shelby was sweet and kind;
Even though she could
Only be seen most of the time
By animals and children
Shelby was always there
And could make her living best-friend
“Hailie” laugh on a dime.

The Dial family who now lived at 14 Yucca Drive
Always knew that their house had something about it –
as if it was haunted –
It was just one of those houses that
Just had that spooky vibe…
Hailie could see Shelby,
And so could the family dogs, Snuggles,
Moo Moo, Bella, and Gracie –
Bella could often be seen
looking up to a seemingly empty wall,
When in fact she was actually being
Petted by Shelby from her nose to her tail.

Shelby’s story is a sad one…
Shelby’s life as she knew it
As a happy little girl
Ended one sunny afternoon
When she ran out in front of a truck
On State-line Road…
The truck driver managed
To slam on his breaks,
But Shelby was hit just hard enough
To send her flying to the ground
Where she lay out-cold
Without even a single broken bone.

Shelby died,
Shelby went to sleep…
And when she awoke
It was as if she had just
Woken up from a nap –
Shelby had no idea
What had happened to her
Nor how much time had passed…
But slowly but surely
Shelby realized that years had gone by –
Shelby’s family eventually sold up and moved away –
Even when Shelby was given
Her one-way ticket to heaven,
She said “no thank you”
And told the angel who came to her
That she wanted to stay.

So Shelby stayed on Earth
And she remained the girl she was
Wearing the same clothes
She was wearing when she died
For years – sometimes she could be seen
By sensitive adults, as well as by
Animals and imaginative children –
But for the most part
Shelby spent most of her time
Remembering her life
When she was alive,
And hoping one day
To find the one who could help her
Move on from her sadness
And free her from her
accidental Haunting of 14 Yucca Drive.

ghost-girl-shelby

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 ‘In and Out’

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

Art is in my blood…
I have been making art
since before I knew that I could;
inspiration has been flooding my brain
since before I knew that I had
such a magical world within me
called “imagination”;
art is a part of everybody’s day,
but sometimes to find art’s true meaning
you have to stop looking
and allow yourself to embrace
the gift of pure-procrastination.

I believe in destiny –
which means that I believe
that everything that we all do
we do because we are meant to;
I believe in karma –
which means that I believe
that actions and intentions
have consequences,
and we should all try to focus
on the light in our life
and not the shadows
that want to pull us into the dark;
I believe in true love –
which means that I believe
that no matter who you meet and when
there is a heart out there
that you are meant to
give your all to,
that belongs to someone
who has always been meant to be with you
and has always been meant to love you;
I believe in humanity –
which means that I believe
that no matter how many differences exist right now
there will one day come a time
when we will see ourselves
in all our forms as what we are:
a masterpiece of form, function, and art.

Hope has taught me to stay optimistic,
even when I am surrounded by impossibilities;
poetry has taught me how to ride out a storm,
and to survive and understand life
through the magic of language and words;
imagination has taught me
that the number of worlds and realities out there
yet to be discovered totals in the realms of infinity;
love has taught me that the most incredible
and breath-taking adventure of a life-time
awaits everybody who has yet to be intoxicated
by the timeless obsession and addiction that has no cure.

We all breathe in,
and we all breathe out…
we all have things that we need,
and we all have people whom we could never live without…
we all feel inspired,
and we all sometimes feel pains of doubt…
but the most important thing to remember
and to act-out is to not stop feeling
and expressing ourselves,
because that is the reason that we are all born
with the senses that we are born with –
learning how to use those senses
to their fullest is what life is all about.

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My Poem ‘The Ten Thousand’

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

Every birth is a miracle…
every child is an angel…
every baby is beautiful…
every newborn is wonderful,
and it is every parents responsibility
to provide and to give without question
the love and the support that their children
need more than anything else in the entire world.

Every child is born to the parents
whom they are born to for a reason…
some parents don’t even plan to be parents –
however, I am sure that not even
Mary and Joseph knew how to be the best parents
to the young Jesus,
but they did the best that they could,
and it is not every day
that you are chosen to be
the adoptive parents of God’s son
through immaculate conception.

In my opinion, every parent of every child
is the beginning, but not the end…
in my opinion, the best parents
care so much for their children
and their well-being,
and they show their love for their children naturally –
while others try too-hard
and in the end they have to pretend.

We know from the Bible
where Jesus was born and to whom…
we know where Jesus died
and where he rose to heaven…
we know that Jesus died
for each and every one of us,
but no-one could ever know
what exactly Jesus thought about
why he was on Earth when he was a child –
however, when he saw the signs
of what was about to come
and what he had to do,
I am sure that he knew…
we know that Jesus was divine,
but he too was mortal
and could not have left this life
in any other way than like a human.

Some couples pray for the gift of a child…
some people become parents naturally
and biologically, and some are chosen
to be the guardians and the protectors
of a child by the hand of destiny and fate…
some couples’ journey to parenthood
can be long and hard,
but unbelievably worth-while…
some people become a parent early
and some become parents late…
some couples only choose their child’s name
after they have been born,
while some have had the same names picked out
for months before they even knew the sex of their baby…
some parents watch their children grow
and become amazing individuals
of whom they could not be more proud…
some couples know what it means
to have been born into a one-of-a-kind family…
some parents unfortunately out-live their children
and even have to watch as their child
breathes their last breath –
and it is to them that Angels come
to help them through the heart-break that they feel,
because to the ears of the divine
the sound of even a single falling tear of a parent
is as loud as that of ten thousand.

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 ‘I am’

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

Words are powerful;
song and prayer elevate the words
from a book and give them new life;
words are what makes something
more amazing and more magical;
when spoken from the heart
and with a true explosion
of passion and feeling
words and language become spirit and light –
they become energy,
and even on a cloudy day
can make the world shiny and bright.

The divine is always listening;
there are angels in every place on Earth
constantly waiting;
the creator of all is always creating;
there is a voice that is constantly speaking.

None of us is every truly alone;
the one true believer walks among us
and does not rule in heaven
on top of a throne;
some people in need find asking for help
the hardest thing in the entire world;
every day the barriers and the borders
of both heaven and hell become blurred
with those that they share
with our world here on Earth.

When the light of creation first shone
upon the face of the Earth
that for the longest time
had been veiled in shadow…
when God gave humanity their chance
to be fruitful in the universe’ after-glow…
when the first words were spoken
and their meaning and their message
grew and spread like the vines of a rain-forest…
when the almighty blessed everyone
with the gift of choice…
everything and everybody became the variables,
the equations, the questions,
as well as the answers,
to the most epic of tests.

I believe that when the universe sparked into being,
when the first stars were born,
when the first galaxies were formed,
when the first planets gave rise
to the first intelligent minds
and to the first open eyes
who were able to see and understand
what language is and what some words truly mean…
with that birth of consciousness
followed something…
and every day, on every planet,
the lord of heaven tells us all in our own way
that even though they are the creator
and the way of all,
each of us are meant to find
our own way in our own time,
and no matter what
know how lucky we are
to have been given the life that we know –
and through Him, I know that I am.

My Poem ‘Geronimo!’

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

What have you got to lose?
Don’t let the moment of a life-time pass you by;
if you have an opportunity to do something
life-changing then don’t refuse…
Take it from me,
your life can change in the blink of an eye,
so if someone gives you the means
to live your dreams
make sure that you be like Super-man,
be who you were born to be… and fly!

Everyone at some point in the life has made a choice
like that of jumping off a cliff…
everybody, everyday, lives every second
on a dream, a hope, and a wish…
everybody in their life searches for an answer
to show itself as if staring
at the scanner of a radar-dish…
everyone, everyday, loses something of value to them
and it is at those times,
even as an adult,
that we know and we relive
how we felt when we were a kid.

There is a world out there
just waiting for you
to introduce yourself to it…
there are things happening
beyond the bright-blue yonder
that eclipses anything captured
in photos on the internet…
there are people to meet who will make you smile…
there are numbers to save
that you will want to put on redial…
there are sights that will take your breath away…
there are perfect memories waiting to be made…
there are places that the world wants to show…
there are secrets that the almighty want to be known…
there is a time when you just have to close your eyes,
let go, and take a leap into the unknown
while shouting at the top of your voice:
Geronimo!

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 ‘Morphine’

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

Everybody would do anything
for the one they love;
anybody would do everything
to take away their loved-one’s pain –
even get down on their knees
and plead for relief
from God above;
there is nothing worse
than not being able
to help someone in need
who means the world to you;
there is nothing more harrowing
than having to see your loved-one
wince in pain and then cry out
for someone to give them something
to take away the agony
that shoots through their entire body
when they move.

Some fights cannot be won alone;
every battle leaves scars;
some people go through things
that hurt them more than anyone else
could ever possibly know;
everybody sometimes needs a hand to hold
to guide them through the dark.

Every day is a test;
there is no one
who has all the answers to every-thing;
nobody knows what day will be someone’s last;
when things become so tormenting that we start crying,
we all start to ask to the question: why me?
and we just crave for a long and peaceful rest.

Sickness is hard on all those
who are effected by it –
family, friends, and especially
on the one who is sick;
to me, there is nothing
that is as infuriating
as seeing someone taking their life
and the life of someone else for granted;
there are times when we all wish
that we could just let go, drift off, and dream;
there are times when we all find
the pain that we are feeling too hard to bear,
and we all need to be given a dose of morphine.

My Poem ‘The Mermaid’

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

Before writers started looking
above the clouds and imagining
the wonders of creation
that may live on other worlds,
orbiting around other stars…
before philosophers started dwelling
on the burning questions of human existence…
before any child ever dreamed
about setting foot on another planet…
before rockets, before planes,
before trains, before cars…
before there were countries with governments
led by the will of presidents…
the ancient seven seas of Earth
were believed by many to be
where the most amazing and fantastic,
supernatural and magical,
being and life resided –
and there must have been many
a sea-faring captain of a ship
who must have stayed up all night long
dreaming about capturing
a mythical creature from the ocean depths.

Epic and gigantic monsters…
tentacled behemoths…
giant and colossus monstrosities…
the nightmare characters of those who spent days,
months, even years, battling the forces of nature
over vast expanses of the oceans of the world
hoping to come face to face
with the unseen and the undiscovered…
in the days when and where dragons were thought
to live on the literal edge of the Earth…
gods of all names, sizes and colours, were worshiped
and had monuments erected in their honour…
when the possibility of traveling to another country
on the other side of the world
was so incredible to think of
it could only be the stuff of fantasy…
it was in the days before
the world fought itself in war after war
that everybody believed there was more to be found
than anybody had ever seen before.

Even in this day and age,
even in this decade and century,
we are still discovering life on our planet
that for some reason or another
had remained hidden and secret in seclusion
and were only the spoken or written word
of a story told and retold
by people who claimed to have had
a first-hand close-encounter;
every day something extraordinary
has a light shined upon it
and the knowledge of it actually being
a living-thing is so miraculous
it creates shock-waves;
there is no more powerful reminder
of the infinite possibilities of life
than nature – and there are countless times
when that fact has been abundantly clear;
everywhere you look,
every day around the world,
even today in the 21st century,
we are all surrounded by images
and iconography of myths that still live on –
be they leprechauns, dragons, epic crusades,
or a beautiful green and white mermaid.

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