presence

My Poem “Always With Me”

Mark Hastings Poetry , , , , , , , , , , , , , 
Every day, I climb the hill
to stand alongside, to speak to,
and to hear the voice of my Dad -
as I always have, and as I always will,
because my Dad will always be
the golden light that guides my way...
every day, I feel like my Dad is still with me -
because he is;
wherever I look at a photograph of my Dad
I know that he is standing alongside me,
with an arm around me,
as he whispers his lasting wish:
"Be there for those who matter the most"...
every day, when I am with my Dad
the sound of birdsong can be heard all around,
and often times a robin or a pair of magpies
visits also and sings in a nearby tree,
which always makes me smile
at the same time that I start to cry...
every day, I tell my Dad I love him and I miss him
and I feel the touch of love
from my Dad that I always felt
when I looked into his eyes,
when in my mind I felt our unique connection -
which is why I will always remember,
and why I will always reflect upon,
what my Dad did for me
and what he will always mean to me -
and even now, every day, and forever
I know more than ever
that even though my Dad
may now rest atop the hill,
what made him who has was,
who he is, and who he will always be,
will always be with me
wherever I go.
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My Poem “Being There”

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

Being there for someone
when they are in need
is sometimes all that
someone could wish for…
being that someone
on the other end of a line
that someone can talk to,
being that someone
who someone can turn to,
being that someone
who knows everything about
someone and who has seen
all the sides of someone’s personality
and who still chooses to see
and to believe in the best of them
is someone worth living for,
is someone worth fighting for,
and is perhaps someone
even worth dying for…
being there – somewhere, anywhere,
for someone, for anyone –
is a wonderful gift to bestow –
whether it be in mind,
in body, in spirit,
or in an artistic sense –
and the power of a person’s presence
should never be underestimated,
because there is rejuvenation to be felt,
there is hope to be found,
there is love to be cherished,
there is inspiration to be harnessed
simply by making a concerted effort
in some way, shape, or form,
to reach out and reciprocate
the act of beneficial benevolence
of being there for someone.

My Poem “The Presence of Purpose”

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

The sight of the sun
is sometimes deceptive –
first thing in the morning
when you see the sun shining
through your bedroom window
you might expect to walk out
your door into a world of warmth –
however, especially during
the period when winter
transitions into spring,
most of the time,
even though there is a blue sky
above you to marvel at,
the air is cold and you can see
your own breath rising
in front of your face,
and you have to brace yourself
for what you might encounter…
There is nothing greater
than a winter morning
that features the brightest sunlight,
the most breathtaking and beautiful of sunrises,
and when time changes
and the clocks go back
because that is when you see
the most spectacular sunsets –
tokens of memory
to an evening of dreams
that you will never forget…
Every new day of every new season
is never the same as the one
that came before…
Every sight, every sound, every voice
of every moment is unique –
even though it may appear to be
something that is being repeated…
Every moment contains echoes of the past
and foreshadowing of the future –
however, it is mostly only in times
of reflection when we see
crossroads of existence intersect…
Mornings like this – mornings that instantly
and constantly inspire dreamers
and artists – are the best…
Being grateful for all the times
of unbridled peace and joy
that you feel and experience is important,
because life is about living, breathing,
being present in a moment,
and about feeling the positive pull
of having a presence of purpose.

My Poem ‘The Preacher up on the Mountain’

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

The father, the son, the messenger,
the preacher of the word of God…
the man of faith, the man of belief,
the man of love, the man of heart,
the man of song…
when they speak, when they sing,
all who hear their voice
feel their words deep within their soul
and their presence feels like
the lord-himself is speaking
to you through him…
when you are in their church,
when you are one of their congregation,
you can feel the strength of their spirit,
and you feel instantly drawn to them…
the preacher brings the words of the bible to life…
the holy man knows the true meaning of keeping faith
that God loves his children
and that he believes in them more
than they could ever know…
the man who built his own church
and who created a holy place for his family
and for all to worship in
will always be special in the eyes of God,
of Jesus Christ, and in the eyes of those
who they have shepherded throughout their life…
god bless the preacher up on the mountain.

My Poem ‘Happy Birthday!’

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

Every day of every month of every year,
today, yesterday, tomorrow, last week, next week,
before you know it, it is someone’s birthday,
it will be your birthday;
today may even be the birthday of someone you know;
today might even be your birthday,
and I might be the first person to wish you
a happy birthday – unfortunately not in person
as I would always prefer doing,
but in the form of this poem;
and as my gift to you, I happily give you this poem,
and a few reasons why you are amazing,
and just my kind of person;
and I want to show you this,
and allow you to understand why you are very important
in so many ways, in my way.
You found this poem, you found me,
for a reason, most importantly
so that I could wish you a happy birthday –
but you also came to this place and this time
and were fated to be here,
listening to me talking to you,
reading what I want to say to you,
long before I even began writing this rhyme.
You and I share something in common, many of us do;
we all have the gift of sharing
more in common with a few,
and people who you may not know personally,
but in a way they know themselves
so they also know a part of you too;
you and I both have a day when people who know us,
who like us, who remember us,
who value our existence and our presence,
choose to think of us, and do something for us,
that is precious, and it may be something
that they want eagerly to do and to say;
we all, we both, may never meet –
however, it would please me no end,
and it would make me eternally happy,
to think that one day, today,
someone, you who are reading this poem
that I wrote for you,
whether today is the anniversary of your birth, or not,
are reading this poem,
and I would like to wish you,
especially if today is your day,
from me, a very happy birthday!

My Poem ‘When I die’

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

I am sorry you are reading this now,
I wish I were alive to say this in person-
however, where I am, I do not think that
personal eulogies by those who have died are allowed;
so this is me planning for the inevitable, as always,
leaving another part of me for my friends
(who were my friends),
and for my family, for my parents-
to whom, I will always be their son.

No matter how things turned out,
no matter when, where, and how I died,
things in my life, throughout my life,
felt like and made me feel turned inside-out-
but I had a great life,
I had a wonderful life,
I had an inspiring life,
I had a blessed life,
I had a mostly-happy life-
so I ask anyone who reads this
who remembers anything about me to not cry.

There were times in my life
when I absolutely could not believe my eyes;
there were times growing up
when I was the happiest that anyone of any age
could ever be;
there were times as a teenager
when I was lucky to see each and every beautiful sunrise;
there were times as an adult
when I was never happier
than when I was laughing and joking
with my amazing sister Clare-
talking, and being in the same room,
and loving every second of being with both of our parents;
and of course spending time with inspiring friends;
and of course trying to write inspirational poetry.

I am not about to die-
at least I don’t think so.
I have considered, and I am considering,
what lies beyond death,
and what awaits us all.
I am not going to lie,
I am not in any hurry to give up on life-
just so you know;
but I am writing this poem,
because I want the last words
that people remember me by to be my own;
I want people who know me
to have a copy of this poem,
and to read it and think about me,
when they are alone and cry tears of happiness,
not sadness;
I want people to constantly be saying hello to me,
at the same time that they are saying goodbye.
I want to say that I hope to see you soon
in another life, and I hope that you will never forget me,
and I hope that this poem will keep on gifting you my presence,
in my poetry, in your life,
when I die.