poem

My Poem ‘The Light-years’

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

The sun is the herald
of light, energy,
awakening, and growth;
somewhere in the world
and high-above
the star at the heart of our sky
shines and effects all of our lives
more than any of us
could ever possibly know;
light can be a life-inducer;
there are some places on Earth
where because the light is different
time feels almost frozen –
a single day can feel like a year.

Nothing is ever truly stationary;
the universe, the galaxy, Earth,
our world is constantly on the move;
even seemingly empty space
is always full of something –
the mystery of the darkness
the surrounds our perfect jewel of life
too is full of shining clues;
something that happens,
even if it is light-years away,
creates ripples in space and time
that will eventually be there
at the dawn of a future brand new day.

Billions of light-years away,
billions of light-years ago,
the dark space that now exists
between the stars and the planets
was one bright beautiful light;
the universe was smaller,
life was just truly beginning;
anyone and everyone could see
the constant streams of celestial energy flow;
there was only day, there was no night;
every instant was like a constant roller-coaster
of emotions of our many senses,
and you would only have to look at a star
to hear it sing.

The bigger the universe has become,
the more that time and reality
has been pulled and stretched in every direction;
the more that life has splintered
into many from one,
everything has felt as if it were
on the verge of snapping back
because of the almighty galactic tension.

The universe has become infinite,
while life on every planet
has become finite;
as everything becomes a rush,
the more that the time we have
to truly take everything in
becomes even more precious;
there will always be love;
there will always be fear;
there will always be a reminder
that we are one of many
and yet always connected every day
and every night in the sky above;
there will always be something out there
calling to us all with a voice
powerful and capable of traversing
within the blink of an eye
the distance and the time
between every light-year.

My Poem ‘Infinitely Mine’

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

Hello, sunshine;
hello, muse;
hello, best friend;
hello, love of my life;
hello, you;
hello, my inspiration,
hello, my partner in crime,
hello, the other half of my soul
who keeps me standing –
as if our connected lives
were books and you and I
were each other’s bookends.

Even on a rainy day
you keep my fire burning;
even when the clouds cover the sky
you light up my life;
even as the world keeps turning
every time I see you
all reality stands still
and apart from your beautiful face
nothing else is as mesmerizing;
even from far away
I am always there when you need me
and I am always right by your side.

When I open my eyes you are there;
when I dive deep within my mind
you are my life-line;
when I gasp to stay alive
you are my air;
when I look at old photographs of us
I can see, just as anyone can,
that you and I are two of a kind.

We constantly wonder
what each of us are thinking;
I can look into your gorgeous eyes
and know instantly what you are feeling;
we are always sharing the same dreams
and reading the same signs;
I often picture where you are
and what you are doing,
even when we are on the phone
and simply talking –
and every day no matter the time
I am always telling you
that I am eternally yours,
and I hear and I feel you telling me
that you are infinitely mine.

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My Poem ‘Always the Starman’

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

Now it is you
who is the Starman in the sky;
now you know the answer
to the question “is there life of Mars?”;
now you can see just how much
you made us all smile
and how much you made us all dance;
now it will be the stardust of you
that will fall to Earth
and makes our minds sparkle
like the stars at night;
now and forever you will be a hero
for many and not just for one day;
now you can embark
on your own space-oddity;
now and forever through sound and vision
you will speak to us
and you will sing to us all from afar;
now that you have reached
the centre of life’s labyrinth,
and as you now look back
and touch Earth from heaven
with an outstretched hand –
from one poet to another,
this is my tribute to you,
the Starman of Magic in the sky,
who will always be the eternal
and the immortal artist of life David Bowie.

My Poem ‘Love is an understatement’

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

Could a single word
every truly describe
the sparkle of belonging
and the beautiful infinity that you see
in the love of your life’s eyes?
Is it ever possible to understand
the reason why the stars shine so bright
and yet are so far away?
Is there anything more incredible
than sharing the miracle vista of a sunrise?
What can you say when you have said so much
and yet there is so much more to say?

There you are…
there is your face that I always see;
there is my star in the dark,
there is my heart’s desire,
there is my soul-mate
who makes me Me;
there you sit staring back at me;
there I go imagining myself with you
and you with me;
there you are, my incredible angel;
there before my eyes
I see the love of my life,
and you are so phenomenal
you are beyond beautiful.

A look can speak volumes;
words only have power
when they are understood;
true love is like a flower
when it blooms;
when your heart beats for someone else
you feel like you are in the middle
of an intense emotional flood
that gives rise to tears,
makes your thoughts form
and then pop like soap bubbles,
and makes you feel like you are on fire,
and you literally cannot hold back
the rush of your blood.

The moment that I saw you
something changed in me;
the moment that I told you
that I loved you
was only eclipsed in my mind
by the moment when you told me
that you loved me;
the moment that I first heard your voice
all that completed me
and guided me from that instant
was the melody and the lyrics of your song,
and I have replayed that magical moment ever-since;
you are my princess,
and I will always be your prince;
thinking back to the start of everything,
I always knew that our meeting each-other
and us being together was no accident –
in fact, I have proof that you were heaven-sent;
to use only one word to describe what you mean to me
and how you make me feel would be impossible,
because the only word that comes close is ‘love’ –
but just saying that Love is what I feel for you
ultimately would be an understatement.

My Poem ‘Poetry or Truth’

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

Poetry has the softest of voices,
but the loudest of echoes;
truth, just as beauty,
is in the eye of the beholder;
poetry speaks and always knows;
truth is the voice within
that is tempted to life
by the whispers of the light and the dark
as if personified by a good fairy
and a bad fairy sitting either side of your ears
resting upon your shoulders;
poetry is natural;
truth is often accidental;
poetry is limitless;
truth returns trust.

A traveler is always chasing light and time;
a detective is always chasing
the perpetrator of a crime;
two lovers are constantly in a dance with each other;
two sides of anything
always share an edge that binds them together.

When an astronaut on a space-station awakes
and they float from their bed to the nearest window,
all they want to look out and see
is the planet they orbit
and the vibrant sphere of light and colour
that looks as precious as a raindrop on a leaf;
when we all look up at the stars,
those who live among the stars
are constantly looking back at us;
when someone dies and we lay a wreath
we promise to never forget them,
even while they rest in the ground beneath;
when shooting-stars fly by
they shower us all with their interstellar magic dust.

Poetry or truth –
in my mind they are one and the same;
just as a coin is a token of currency with two faces,
dualities are how life is maintained;
truth can always be read in poetry,
and poetry writes of hidden worldly-clues;
true meaning is at the heart of everything
and it becomes even more apparent
when you ponder the question:
poetry or truth?

My Poem ‘Forest of Forever’

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

Many years ago now,
in my forest of forever,
I stopped, I stood,
I looked, I dreamed,
I listened to the song
that played as the wind blew
through the trees,
I was alone but surrounded
by ancient spirits –
even though there was no other
man, woman, or child
around to be found,
I knew that I was being visited
by the ghosts of poets
and the muses of fellow dreamers –
it was as if I were communing
with my younger-self,
as well as with my future-self
and the one writing this poem:
the one who sees
and the one who believes
that every thing that happens
happens for a reason.

As I write, as I think back,
as I use the infinite sight,
as I remember all the steps
that I have taken along my path,
I am again in the woods of yesterday
and breathing in the air
and being intoxicated by the smell of pine –
I am again standing in the sunlight,
as if I have managed to leap back in time,
and I remember all that I felt
and all that walked with me
when my poetic gift was still in its infancy,
and I can know and I can remember
things that have not yet happened
but have already happened
that I have been immortalized in my poetry.

I see in my memory a land far-away;
I see the beautiful face of the one person
in the entire who is the true light of my day;
I look in front of me and I see
the man who would be me;
I turn my head and I see a boy
with blond curly-hair
who was once and will always be me;
I see an incomplete circle;
I see an unfinished masterpiece;
I see a continuously ever-changing world;
I see a shadowed version of myself
looking at me from afar
from their vantage-point
from which they can see every incarnation of me.

I cannot hold-on to my flashback for too long
before I flash-forward again;
I continue to write as if all that was
had always been just the words
that I had written by my own hand
with my own pen;
I look out of my bedroom window
and I see a floating white feather
and I am reminded of the falling leaves
that will be always frozen in time
when I return in my mind
to my forest of forever.

My Poem ‘The First of Many’

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

They say that how you spend
the first day of the year
is also how you will spend
your last day of the year,
and vice versa;
every year for as long as I can remember
I have spent the first early hours of every year
doing the same thing
that I did the year before on January 1st;
some people make resolutions
and vow to stick by them
and repeat the same steps
over and over again like a novice dancer;
every year on day one I set out into the world
and I seek to quench
my ultimately unquenchable poetic thirst.

‘Happy new year’ is a hope for the best;
a smile and a kiss when the clock strikes twelve
at the first second of new year’s day
is like the important first move
in a game of chess;
a thought about someone else
can be like a torch
to help guide someone through a fog;
your constant companion
and your best friend
will help you overcome anything
that you may be dealing with –
and they could be your partner,
your hero, or they could be
your ever-faithful dog.

This is my first stepping-stone of hope;
this is my first promise to stay true to myself
in the form of my poetry;
this is my foray into a new future
I do not yet know;
this is my first new year’s resolution, of a sort,
and I can guarantee already
that it is but the first of many.

My Poem ‘Balloons’

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

Where we have been
and where we are going
are tied together
by the threads of our lives;
while we are enjoying a good story
we never want it to come to an end;
darkness and light ties night to day
and day to night;
sometimes when we know
we are approaching the end of a great book
we will put it down and bookmark our place
so that we can pick up one day where we left off;
however, just as every writer
must finish writing their story,
every reader must follow a tale
to its conclusion,
and when they reach the last word of the last page
promise to return to the same story again and again –
the same, but different –
like periodically catching up with an old friend.

We all sometimes look at our own reflection
and do not immediately like the face that we see –
though someone else may look at the same face
and see the face of unparalleled infinite beauty;
we all should remember that a mirror
can only show us a distorted image of how we appear,
and the only true way of knowing
who the world sees when they look at us
is to go to the one person who knows us best
to describe us and tell us who they see
and what about us they most revere.

We all have reasons for what we do;
certain things and special people
have an indefinable gravity about them;
we all love people in our lives
in ways that we show every day,
but we sometimes feel a need to prove;
we all leave many clues;
I, myself, could never deny
an unbreakable connection –
once made, never severed –
because, just like the bound pages in a book,
bound people are linked forever
because that is what was always meant to happen.

Some people rise and fall by the resonance of a voice;
some hearts beat in perfect-time with other hearts,
and even when they are far-apart from one-another
they constantly sing “see you soon”;
falling in love is uncontrollable
and it is a fundamental instinct without choice;
all stories have chapters and twists,
beginnings and endings,
and some have a pace and a depth to them
that is as vast as space;
and though its true meaning and message
may not be as blatant as a telephone ringing,
the best thing about any story
under any cover is one that you can hold,
walk with, and even tie to something,
and is that which you should never let go of –
because once a story rises too high out of reach
it will become someone else’s,
and slowly drift away like the wind
carrying away a balloon of your own making.

My Poem ‘Keeping Mum’

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

I knew that this day would come again,
I knew that the moment would come
when I would write a new poem –
but today, now,
in the silence of Christmas morning,
after opening some presents,
I am sitting here in my room
unable to stop thinking…
I am thinking about my own Christmas Angel,
I am thinking about what this day
in particular means to me,
and I am thinking about my parents –
both separated from each-other as they wake up,
both deeply in love with each other,
both wanting so much to hold one-another,
both together and apart
who have had to go through so much.

As I sit here thinking about my Mum
waking up in her hospital bed,
as I flash-back to the moment
when the reality of what was happening hit me
and I cried and I held my Dad,
I must admit that I do feel sad,
and I just wish that there were a way
for me to stay hopeful
and to keep my faith
that my Mum will be alright
without feeling upset.

I have been going through
several stages of shock at-once
over the last few days
since I heard the news that devastated me
and clouded my thoughts;
my Mum told me that:
“we have to take every day as it comes”,
but, even though she is right,
I just feel like it is going to take me a while
to find my own way of accepting everything
and move forwards –
however, I guess that when any person
who we love is sick it is always tough.

I know that I need to be there for my Mum
now more than ever, because right now
is when she needs me the most;
I know that when I see her later
I am going to want to cry,
but that is not what she needs
or would ever want;
if I never had the light of my life
to guide me through the darkness of uncertainty
then I would feel truly lost;
I would not be here if it were not
for the people from whom I came from;
I am staying hopeful,
and I will never lose hope or give up,
and I will not allow my Mum to lose me,
and no matter what happens
there is nothing and no one
who will ever stop me
from keeping my Mum.

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My Poem ‘Perfect Beauty’

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

There is nothing in my life
that means more to me than you;
every day of my life
will always be beautiful
because I will always have you;
there is no one in my life
who has seen me for who I am
as much as you;
every day for the rest of my life
I will truly madly and deeply
always love you.

I wish I could hold you;
I wish I could kiss you;
I wish there were never a second
when I wasn’t with you;
I wish there was a way
I could touch your beautiful face
with my fingertips
and never have to leave your side,
because there isn’t a moment
when I do not miss you.

All that we’ve been through,
all the poetry and the inspiration
that brought me to you,
all those afternoons that I spent
dreaming at the base of a tree,
all that you had to go through
to finally find me.

I lose my breath,
my eyes burn blue,
my heart beats
as if it is moments from death,
I fall more and more in love with you
every second I look at you;
I see your face,
I daydream that I am with you,
I can still remember running my fingers
through your beautiful hair
that to me feels as soft
and as light as lace;
in my mind I travel the universe,
but when I come home from the stars
I always see the most beautiful miracle
that I have ever seen
every time I look at you.

When the last word is spoken from my lips…
when the last poem is written by my own hand…
when the moon finally covers the sun’s light
for the last time and I fall
below the dark veil of an eternal eclipse…
when my spirit prepares to leave my body
and the light of heaven elevates me
to something more than a man…
when my time of life ticks beyond the clock
of my last Earth-bound hour…
when I am lying in your arms,
and when you are lying next to me…
when in my mind I climb the steps
to the top of my own Dark Tower…
when all that I see, hear, feel,
and all I could ever want
and all who I have ever wanted is with me…
that is when my life and your life
will come together as-one
and everyone alive will see
the light of us both shine,
and I will be eternally complete –
because I will be with you,
my perfect beauty.

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