Poetry

My Poem ‘Plane-spotting’

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

There are things that I remember
from when I was a kid
that are still so full of colour
and still so vivid and clear…
there are places that are forever
preserved within my memory
from when I was a child
that I can always return to
within the blink of an eye…
there are times when you think back
on your life and your memory
can play tricks on you
and you can accidentally and falsely
remember things that never really happened –
but, when I close my eyes
and I think back to being ten years-old again,
on a summer Sunday evening
just before the sun went down,
and I can see my Mum, my little-sister,
my Dad, and I can see my own face
being reflected in the rear-view mirror
of our family car as we prepare to go home
after a busy afternoon of plane-spotting.

My Dad has always been a train-spotter,
a plane-spotter, a car-driver,
and when he was younger
he was even a motorcycle-rider…
my Dad has always been a music-lover…
my Dad has always been the best father…
my Dad has always been of a lover
rather than a fighter…
I learned from a young age
that when it comes to deciding
and knowing what the best thing to do
in any given situation at any time of the day or night,
then my Dad is the one who always knows better.

Everybody who has ever met my Dad
never forgets my Dad –
my Dad has one of those faces
that hasn’t changed that much since he was a school-boy
growing up in his home-village of Coleshill…
when I was younger, as a family
we were always going to airports and air-shows
so that we could see and marvel
at the aircraft that we saw souring through the sky,
and my Dad always knew what every plane was
and he could tell you what type they were
with a single look…
going to places with my family when I was a kid
are timeless memories that I will never forget
because they mean so much to me…
I will always remember those moments
when I would look at my Dad
and I could see the genuine joy
that he took from being with his family
who he loved while he did something
that he had been doing since he was a kid…
whenever I see a plane taking off now,
or whenever I am flying on a plane as a passenger,
I always flash-back to when I was a boy
when my Dad would pack up the car
and we as a family would all go
plane-spotting.

My Poem ‘Scorching’

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Days like this are filled with energy…
days like this when it is hot and sunny…
days like this are what inspire me…
days like this when I am free to be,
without four walls constantly surrounding me,
are precious and they go by so fast
that sometimes I can mistake my memories
of such days as dreams…
days like this are special…
days like this are perfect and beautiful…
days like this feel wonderful…
days like this are when you want so badly
to be with the one you love…
the sunshine is so divine…
the summer air is intoxicating…
seeing everybody basking
in the bright light feels gratifying.

Poetry presents itself in infinite ways:
through colour, through art,
through temptations to the senses,
through songs, through signs…
when you know and when you have felt
the power of the sun and its energy
running through your veins,
the inspiration and the expression
that you can conjure afterwards
is worth all the dark and cloudy days
through which you have been living and waiting…
no matter if you are walking
the avenues of New York City,
or sitting on a porch
in Georgia with your soulmate –
as long as the sun is high in the sky
and the breeze is cool
the unmistakable flood of natural energy
that is all around you
can be all that you need
to fuel all that you do,
all that you think,
and all that you feel.

Our world turns silently and perfectly
in a universe surrounded by life,
light, and wonders that are so infinite in number
that they both tell their own story
and also become a part of the story
of the world who looks upon them…
days like today are like enjoying every mouthful
of your favourite meal…
days like today drive the paint-brush of an artist
and they can inspire the words
that a writer writes with their pen…
the promise of a day as beautiful as today is exciting…
days like today can get you hooked on a feeling
and on a wave of believing…
days like today are worth keeping…
days like today can be described perfectly
with a single word: “scorching”.

My Poem ‘Be’

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Somebody amazing,
beautiful, wonderful,
and inspiring recently said something
that I have been meaning to share…
a message, a motto, words to live by:
“Be You. Be Happy. Love Always.”
and “Don’t Let Anyone Get You Down” –
a gift of words, a talisman of protection,
a broadcast of hope, an optimistic way
of looking at the world,
and something that means more
than even the person who wrote
and shared this short, but powerful,
message could ever imagine.

Some things come and go so fast
within the snap of a finger,
while others endure long into the future…
dreams are made, dreams fade,
and then dreams drift-away,
to one day be captured
and dreamed again by a different person,
in a different way, on a different day…
real-life choices leave traces of themselves,
like a name written in wet-cement,
and they return to the forefront of your mind
whether you are sleeping or awake…
very few people in this world
have touched the heart of so many –
but it is not how forceful you say something
that gives a message its power,
and it is more than how strong
what words you build your message out of
that makes them so quotable and repeatable…
some times it is who is saying something
that means more than how they are saying it.

The most fragile people in this world
are also sometimes the strongest people
you will ever meet in your life…
the most caring people
are those who sleep the least
because they are too busy worrying
about the happiness of others
every hour of every day and night…
if you want to know what are
the most important ingredients
to ensure a happy and long life,
I have learned that they are:
to be yourself, to never stop loving,
and to never let anybody get you down –
and if you can do those things
then you will not believe
what you will find
and what will follow you everywhere you go,
and whatever the time of the day happens to be…
see it… believe it… feel it…
and all that you truly need will come to be.

Inspired by this tweet:

My Poem ‘Mobile Poetry’

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

My pen has died,
its ink has run out –
but I really want to write,
but I don’t know what
I want to write about?
I am old-fashioned in some ways,
but in other ways I am very up-to-date…
I am sentimental about “the old days”,
but I also believe that you have to act
on something when you feel it
before it is too late.

Most of the time I imagine
and I daydream while I am on the move…
I write everywhere I go:
on planes, on trains, on buses,
in the middle of a bustling cafe,
or in the silent solitude of my bedroom…
what I write about I never plan in great detail,
usually I try to let the moment talk to me
and inspire me before I decide…
when I write I draw everything and everyone towards me,
I open my eyes as wide as they will go,
and I write and I create art
without having to try too hard.

Using all the tools that you have
at any given time is the key…
writing from the heart is the blood
that flows through every poet’s poetry…
writing and creating does not always have to be
strictly with a pen, a pencil, a paintbrush,
or even with the keyboard of a computer –
I once created a piece of art
on a sandy beach on the island of Jersey…
of course I will write with a pen again –
but this poem is one of the few that I have written
from beginning to end solely on a mobile-phone,
and I will always remember it as being a wonderful example
of my gift to be able to create art
and write when the need arises
to write to some “mobile poetry”.

My Poem ‘Manchester’

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

A minute of silence…
a handful of moments…
a precious gift to those
who tragically lost their lives…
sixty seconds of stillness
to remember the children of Manchester.

Only days ago
young and old gathered-together
to enjoy the music of their idol…
not even a week ago
men and women, girls and boys,
showed their love
and shared the love
that they felt for life
with one-another…
it was only the other day
that new angels were born in heaven.

Time does not stop,
but we cannot move on –
we are all still mourning the loss
of the beautiful and innocent souls
who left their homes
but who will sadly never return.

How can a father, a mother,
a sister, a brother,
a cousin, a niece, a nephew,
a relative, possibly understand
and recover from what has happened?
What can a city, a people, a country,
a way of life, a world do to make sure
that the selfish and murderous deeds
of a demonic coward that walks among us
does not win a battle in the epic struggle
that is constantly being fought
between good and evil?

The only way to keep somebody
and something alive
is to never forget them…
the only way that I know how to live
is to hope for the best
and to pray that the entire world
will one day all share
the same hopes for one-another.

After something indescribable
and shocking happens
being there for those in need
is what is the most important…
today and everyday,
everybody and everywhere,
all over the world,
will never forget
and they will always remember
the lights that went out
and were reborn in heaven,
who were born in a city
and in a country
who they will always be a part of,
and they will always remain
in the hearts and in the minds of
the people of Great Britain
and the great city of Manchester.

Dedicated to all the children and all the men and women who lost their lives on the 25th of May, 2017, and for all of the people who have been affected by the horror that took place in Manchester… you will never be forgotten.

My Poem ‘Memento Vitae’

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

Mementos of life…
Photographs of us…
Memories of days and nights…
Echoes of love…
Souvenirs of where we’ve been…
Snapshots of who we’ve known…
Reminders of what we’ve seen…
Hallmarks of home.

Hope and happiness…
Laughter and light…
Smiles and kisses…
Children who have blossomed
before our eyes…
Things to remember…
Lessons learned…
That which truly matters…
Cycles of rebirth.

Sunrises and sunsets…
Timeless songs of yesterday…
The eternal souls
of those who we will never forget…
Music that stays with us everyday…
Unbroken Vows…
Promises made under starlight…
Words of truth spoken aloud…
Miracles never to be forgotten
from the gift that is our life.

My Poem ‘Revival’

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I am alive… I am awake…
I have been revived…
I have stepped through the gate…
I have heard a voice
call to me from the dark…
last night I easily
slipped beneath the covers of twilight…
I slept… I dreamed,
and in my dreams I saw trees, I saw stars…
I saw huge flowers and enormous honeybees…
I looked through a galactic-window
while standing upon the red
sandy-surface of the planet Mars –
but now my eyes are open,
now I see the light
that emanates from within everybody…
now I hear the unspoken,
now I write the poetry
that I see all around me…
an awakening… a rejuvenation…
a rebirth… a rainbow and a spectrum of colour –
like that which follows the raindrops of a downpour –
is something that some people take for granted,
while others who are able to see true beauty
when it is right in front of them
feel empowered to see and to believe in more…
a restoration… a resurrection…
an after-life… a resurgence…
a renewal of life
can follow any and every choice that you make
to look above, to look within, to reach-out
with more that just your fingertips…
to open your heart and your hands
is to grasp the power of your own soul
and it is the means for you to bring about
a spiritual and beautiful revival.

My Poem ‘A Mother’s Nature’

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Every son and every daughter
needs a hero to look up to
while growing up…
every child deserves the best
that their parents can give them –
but the gift of a mother’s love
is so unparreleled and so pure,
and without the gifts
that only a mother can give
no child would know
what the power of love truly means…
mothers go through a rollercoaster of emotions
as they put the needs and the feelings
and the future of their child before their own…
mothers and fathers are both responsible
for the life, the caring, the well-being,
and the building of the nest
that is at the centre of their childs’ world –
however, a child will want for nothing
as long as they always have a place
to call their home.

So much of life is about sacrifice –
but there is nothing more important to a child,
and nothing else that they will remember more,
than those moments of true happiness and innocence
when they were a small child
just before they drifted off to sleep
and they stared into their parents’ smiling face
as they wished them good-night.

Every form of nature has seasons,
and sometimes both fathers and mothers
have to weather more than their children could ever know…
sometimes both fathers and mothers
have to go through indescribable hurt and heart-break
just so that their children might not have
to suffer the same fate of falling
to the depths to where life
sometimes makes people go.

As with most things in life,
there is no perfect blue-print,
nor is there anybody who could honestly proport
to being all-knowing when it comes
to what is best for their child –
but the most important thing
is to always be there for your child
with open-arms, to not judge your child
for who they are, and no matter what
be the one who will always nurture.

The life of a Mom can be hard sometimes,
and it can be filled with just as many tears
as there are smiles –
however, there is nobody who has never
needed and not wanted to be loved
and understood by their parents,
and at the heart of a true mother of children
there lies a pure and eternal love,
and among everything that can sustain a child
throughout their life, truly and in every way,
there is nothing more beautiful,
nor more wonderful to see,
than the gifts of love of a mother’s nature.

My Poem ‘In view of the Trocadero’

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

You can’t beat a great seat
near a window with a great view –
whether it be a panoramic-view in Italy
that features the epic and awe-inspiring sight
of a volcano called “Mount Vesuvius”,
or the watery-splendor of the majestic fountains
of the Palais de Chaillot in France,
or standing on the rocky-top of Tennessee…
there are some sights and some places
that irrevocably stay with you.

So much art has been created…
so many poems have been written…
so many stories have been generated…
so many songs have been christened
with the identity and the inspiration
that they will always be known for…
so many things cannot be captured
with a photograph, or with words –
because no matter what is seen or said
about a place in particular
there is always so much more…
memories from childhood of a place
that we visited mean so much
because they were the first time
that we went there,
and nobody ever forgets
their first time going somewhere…
legends are built upon
the retelling of tales
and the experiences of people
who wanted the history of the world
to never forget what it is
and what it was about a place
that gave people a reason to say
why it is that they care
and what is the most important thing
about a place that they want to share.

When you are looking out the window of an airplane
you feel like you are within
touching-distance of heaven…
when you are sitting on a bench in Golden Gate Park
and marveling at the oasis
of spell-binding beauty that you see
at the very heart of the city of San Francisco…
when you are standing on a seaside boardwalk
and you become intoxicated
by all that stimulates your senses
as you become hypnotized by the sight
of the bright sunlight
shimmering on the ocean waves below…
when you are somewhere that instantly
becomes somewhere that means the world to you,
you will take that place with wherever you go…
just like the view that I have now of The Trocadero –
a small reminder of a place with the same name,
that lives on even though it is far from home.

My Poem ‘The Wilder Tower’

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I will never forget the first time I saw
and the first that I climbed the steps
of the “Wilder Tower” – the lightning tower…
I will never forget the silence that I heard
and the feeling of peace that I felt
when I stood atop the stone-built tower
that stands as a monument in a former battlefield
in Chickamauga, Georgia…
I will never forget and I could never truly describe
what I was thinking and what it meant to me
to be where I was and with whom I was with…
I will never forget what came over me,
nor how fast my heart was beating,
as we were standing and looking below and beyond
to the green-grass and to the trees
that stretch to the horizon in almost every direction…
I felt as if I had always been meant to be there,
and as if the tower itself had been calling to me
and beckoning to me all my life.

The Wilder Tower stands tall and steady,
and over the years since its construction first began
it has literally weathered everything:
from a delay in its building,
to being hit during a thunder-storm
by a bolt of blue-lightning…
the Wilder Tower is magnetic
and it is a place that draws people to it…
the Wilder Tower is somewhere anybody can go
to climb, to stop, to think,
and to call out for an answer
from whomever may be listening…
the Wilder Tower is a powerful place
to find inspiration if you are romantic
or artistically-inclined,
especially if you a young-lover,
an artist, and a poet.

To some people, a building is just a building …
to some people, a tower is just a tower…
to some people, a memorial to a battle
is just a reminder of a violent past –
however, to me, certain places have great meaning
and they have the draw and the gravity
that they do for reasons
that are sometimes spiritual in nature…
our planet – the world that gives us
all that we could ever possibly want or need –
has many places on it that will forever have a memory
imbued and associated with it
that will always make them places
that are meaningful and special…
I have stood atop skyscrapers –
from the towering Empire State Building
to the beautiful Rockefeller Center in New York City –
and though those buildings and the skylines
that I saw will stay with me forever
in my memories that I will always remember,
nothing and nowhere could compare
to the first time that I stood looking at,
climbing the stairs of,
and then standing atop of
and high-above the ground,
with my heart in my hands,
while smiling and in-awe
of the 85-foot tall
Wilder Tower.