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My Poem “The Misunderstood”

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

Everybody always looks to their peers
for a familiar face to trust…
everybody always looks to
who they seek out on a regular basis
for guidance about what to think,
what to believe, what to do,
and what is the truth…
everybody always looks to the images
that they see being presented
in newspapers, in magazines,
on television, in movies,
and on the screens that they use to
access the infinite streams of the internet –
and everybody sees some things
and everyone sees some people
slightly differently depending upon
their own personal opinions, attitudes,
experiences, and past relationships.

I believe that some things are not open
to interpretation, for example:
we are all human beings,
we all live on the same planet,
we all breathe the same air,
we all have the same colour blood
coursing through our veins –
and though we are not all the same
physically, psychologically,
or emotionally, we are all people,
we all need the same vital things
to survive, to grow, and to thrive,
and the fact is that some people
in this world have had it worse than
other people could ever truly imagine.

I think everybody needs to focus
more on what we all have in common
rather than on what divides us
and we all need to treat one another
with all the respect that we are due
through acts of selflessness,
mentoring, sharing, and coming to
an understanding that hopes to help
heal the scars of the past
so that everybody can one day
be defended and represented
by those who chose to rise above
the use of violence to settle their
problems and instead decided
to reach out and find a dialogue
of words and actions that they
hoped over time would help
to right some of the many wrongs
that have been wrought upon
the innocent, the forgotten,
the lost, and the misunderstood.

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My Poem “The Angels of Sacrifice”

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

Remember the many…
Remember the brave…
Remember the lost…
Remember the scared…
Remember the tears…
Remember the cost…
Remember the courage…
Remember the men,
Remember the women,
and Remember the children
who still wear the scars of war,
the scars of chaos, the scars of confusion,
the scars of survival on the outside
and as well as those invisible scars
that they sometimes dwell
upon silently on the inside.

Always Remember why the world is
the way that it is,
and because of whom…
Remember, embrace,
and never forget the stories
of those who suffered through so much
in hope of helping to build
a brighter future for the next generation…
Remember, respect, remind,
and renew every day the gift of freedom
by never taking life for granted,
and by never forgetting all the heroes
who have sacrificed their lives
during times of war and utter darkness
and despair who soldiered on
no matter what for all the people
of every country of this fragile world.

Today, and every day,
if you are lucky enough to be able to do so,
take a moment to close your eyes,
to think, to Remember, and to appreciate
the angels in all their forms
who have walked this Earth –
whom you may have met –
who made a difference to the lives
of everybody simply by going to
where they were needed and by helping
those in the most urgent of need.

I will Remember, I will Never Forget –
and I hope that the memory
of the lost and the fallen
will always live on
in the consciousness of everybody.

Lest we forget.

My Poem “Kids These Days’

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

Kids these days have never had it so good…
kids these days spend a lot of their time,
apparently, Tik-Toking along to their favourite songs,
Instagraming their favourite selfies,
streaming their favourite music videos
and commenting on the social media content
of so-called “influencers” who
have opinions that some young people
take noticed of and listen to
more so than even their parents,
and the majority of the interactions
that take place mostly happen
when sharing some Face Time
by using an app on their mobile-phones
that connects them over the internet
to their close-by and far away friends.

Kids these days are spoilt for choice
when it comes to choosing
what to watch, what to read,
and what they can do –
however, no matter the riches
at their fingertips, kids today
still never fail to arrive at moments
when they express that they feel bored
and that “there is nothing to do”.

Kids these days have got so much more
than what a kid growing up
in the 1980s or the 1990s
could ever have dreamed of –
however, as with every kind
of overabundance,
there is a danger that hides in plain
sight that kids these days
do not see until it is too late:
the false perspective that
appearances are what matter the most
and that you must occasionally
wear a mask to hide
the fear of nonconformity
that some kids and some adults
these days suffer through on
a regular basis.

It is sometimes hard to live
a happy life and to be accepting
of who you are in this modern
world of instant communication
and sharing of self-expression,
and it is easier now than ever
for people to attack others
and leave indelible scars
upon the psyche of innocent people
who just want to use their right
to express their feelings about something –
and unfortunately it is also easier than ever
to be made to feel isolated and alone
without anywhere to go
or anybody to turn to:
which is the dark side
of this constantly online world
that we live in.

I just hope that one day
we as a society will find a way
to demonstrate to the up-and-coming
generation that true happiness
lies in discovering how
individually special a person is
and that everybody can be
a truly valued member of the human race
by just being themselves
and by making the most of what they are born with
without judgment or alienation
because of how different they may be.

I just hope that the next generation of children
will learn to magnify and show
the best of what lies within them
and not dwell too longingly upon
what they have no control over –
especially sensitive adults and children
who live with insecurities
and things that they don’t like
about themselves,
and what they think about
morning, noon, and night –
and I just hope and pray
that one day the kids of tomorrow
will know a life free of
what some kids and some adults today
worry about and obsess over
every single day.

My Poem “Pause”

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

Planes crash. Buildings fall.
Lives are lost. Time stops.
One day can feel like it is the end of the world.
Open wounds always leave scars.
Some days can never be forgotten.
Memories can sometimes feel like stars –
sometimes they feel far away,
and sometimes they can feel
close enough to touch…
the 11th of September, 2001,
is like a scar of my memory
and I will always remember
exactly when and where I was
when it was given to me.

I have visited New York City…
I have stood at Ground Zero…
I have marveled at the memorials
that are now where two towers once stood…
I have looked up at the Freedom Tower,
and every time I think about being there
where so many people lost their lives
it always brings a tear to my eye –
because I remember where I was
when New York City and the world,
and all of us who value life above all else
were rocked both physically
and emotionally to the core…
every time I think about that day
every thing that happened that day
always makes me sad and gives me pause.

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My Poem ‘The Gunslinger’

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

Waking up even before the sun has risen,
getting up and putting on his jeans and his boots,
the Gunslinger always goes to the open window
and stares at the horizon…
watching the sky start to slowly
look like the burning ember
of a timeless celestial fire,
the Gunslinger’s heart overflows
with an intense desire –
because he knows that he is getting ever-closer
to the centre of the universe
that lies where The Dark Tower of reality
stands and casts a shadow in his direction
for the Gunslinger to follow.

The Gunslinger carries many scars…
the Gunslinger has had more than one tussles
in more than one towns and bars…
the Gunslinger does what he does
because he is being guided by
the hands of fate upon his shoulders…
the Gunslinger knew, even as a child,
that he was meant to do something
monumentally important,
and that belief and that feeling
grew steadily stronger
the more the years flew by
and the Gunslinger got older.

He was a keen student of the past…
he was a man who had learned the hard way
that if you want to survive
what life sometimes throws at you
you have got to think, learn, and act fast…
he was someone who had been taught
that respect was one of the greatest virtues
that anyone could remember and put into practice…
he was already some-what of a legend in his own right,
and he was almost as elusive
as that of the sunken island that was Atlantis.

The Gunslinger drunk life as if it were whiskey…
the Gunslinger embraced change
as if he were holding the body of a woman…
the Gunslinger was a poet
but he never in his life
wrote a single word of poetry…
the Gunslinger had been waking up
for as long as he could remember
knowing that he had a destiny to fulfill
that he could not yet fully-understand.

The Gunslinger was real,
and yet the stuff of dreams;
the Gunslinger loved a good meal,
but he hungered more to see
something of the world
but which felt not-of-his-world
that he had imagined
but had not yet seen;
the Gunslinger knew that where he was
was but a way-station to where he was going;
the Gunslinger was inspiring others,
and he was being followed wherever he went
without his knowing.

He had always thought of his weapon
as but an extension of his own arm…
he had always considered his lightning-fast draw
as his greatest gift…
he had always used his finely-honed instincts
to keep himself and those he loved
from coming to harm…
finding the one place in the entire world
where he could take off his hat
and unbuckle his gun-holster
and lay-down his revolver
is what he had always wished.

And as the rose before him,
and as the dawn-chorus called to him,
and as his trigger-finger started to quiver,
and as the heat began to darken his skin,
he knew that he was reason
for all things and for everything…
and without even blinking an eye
he smiled and then prepared to head-out,
saddle-up, and race towards
that which would give him
the reason he was seeking
why for his entire life
he had always been “The Gunslinger”.

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Inspired by ‘The Dark Tower – The Gunslinger’ by Stephen King

My Poem ‘9/11’

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

The die was cast far and wide,
the pain was felt deeply and irrevocably
on that sunny Tuesday morning,
on the Eleventh of September, 2001;
terrorists to all mankind
came out of the shadows
from where they had been hiding
and made an attack
and left a lasting scar
on all of humanity,
that to this day still pains me
even now, 14 years on.

How could anyone do such a thing?
Why? Oh my god, why?
Who would think to do such a thing?
The innocent do not deserve to die!

I mourn the lost;
I am mindful of the loved ones
and the family members
who were left behind
and who still struggle
to live and to move on,
as if nothing happened;
I still believe that the entire world
is still understandably shell-shocked;
I have been to Ground Zero,
I have stood in the place
where the shadows of
the World Trade Center still remain,
and I can honestly say that being there
where so many people lost their lives
had a profound effect on me:
the new Freedom Tower
and the pools of remembrance
that are now in place of what was once there,
in memory of the indescribable tragedy
and the massacre that took place,
will always be to me
sacred and holy ground.

I have flashed back to that day
every year since 2001;
I have imagined myself where I was,
sitting in front of my TV,
watching the news reports
of the true American horror story unfold;
I have wished many times
that what happened on that day
could somehow have been prevented
by some miracle of heaven;
I have watched the echoes
and the repercussions of what happened
on that day spread and effect
everyone and every country around the world.

I am a man of many words,
but even I struggle to put into words
the sadness that I still feel
about all the people who died
in New York City,
at the Pentagon in Washington, D.C.,
in Virginia, in Pennsylvania,
and everybody who has lost their life since;
I am a man who believes
that things happen for a reason,
but I cannot, nor could I ever,
nor could anyone for that matter,
give me an acceptable justification
that would make my confusion
about the murders that were carried out
on that day in any way lessen;
no deplorable and horrific act of terrorism
like that which played out
in front of everybody
on the 11th of September, 2001,
to me could ever make sense;
I will never forget;
I will never allow the fallen to be forgotten;
I will always hold on to the memory
of my unforgettable brothers and sisters,
as I hold up my hand
and feel my heart beating in my chest;
I will always remember
the day that will always be known as 9/11.

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My Poem ‘Stimulus’

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

It’s amazing how incredible
love and light can make you feel;
it’s unbelievable how fantastic
the thought of being with someone
can make the world feel truly real;
it’s breathtaking to realize
where a genuine and involuntary
choice has taken you;
it’s good sometimes to think before you act,
because everything that we do creates an echo
that always comes back to you.

There is no one alive
who does not wear a scar or two,
however some people’s scars
are more prominent than others;
just because someone is scarred
doesn’t mean that they aren’t beautiful;
if someone truly loves you
then when they look at you
any imperfections that you may see
when you look at yourself in the mirror
they will not and cannot ever see,
because to them you mean more than anything,
and what makes you who you are
is their timeless and ever-lasting forever.

The people who love every second
of being with the one that they love
do not need anyone to tell them
how they feel about that perfect and amazing person,
because their feelings are not only deep
but they are also as clear as the smile on their face;
the people who listen to music,
and the people who go to concerts,
where every word and every sound
reverberates into a person’s soul,
know that there are things in life
that are so important to them –
however sometimes they are the only one
who knows why and what they mean;
the people who live every day
waiting for their one true love’s kiss
know that some things are hard to put into words,
because their power and their influence
is the most phenomenal of all stimulus.

My Poem ‘The Game of Life’

Mark Hastings Poetry , , , , , ,

Life is a game –
or so it can seem, feel,
appear, and sometimes sound like;
life is a game,
that is full of players, users,
journeys, questions, and answers –
and as I get older and wiser,
and as I happen upon one person after another,
and as I have encounter after encounter,
I see people playing a game
that they might not even be aware that they are playing,
or participating in;
however, I see things that most people
might not think to think about, or look for:
I see plans, strategies, intentions, and manipulation;
people are generally creatures of habit,
and when I see someone doing something
that they do not always do
I know to prepare for a change in the pattern
and in the behavior of someone or something I know
that I might not completely have seen before.

Life is constantly changing –
however, the rules of life stay the same and cannot change;
life is a constant moment
that is continuously taken for granted –
as are people, and that is why life and time
can sometimes feel like a cage.

There are always different lives, different sides,
and everybody is dancing to a tune;
there are people of all colours and kinds –
there are some people who feel like their best in the sun,
and there are some people who prefer to be out all night
and bask and even howl wild
while under some kind of influence
under the light of the moon.

Light, and dark;
night, and day;
Clown fish, and sharks;
dies, and cards;
snakes, and ladders;
extremes of colour
that appear more vibrant
in a world that shifts constantly
through every shade of grey.

People can get used;
people can get hurt;
people can get treated one minute
like an exciting front-page story,
and then the next they can be relegated to yesterday’s news.

As someone who watches the world,
as someone who watches people,
as someone who wears the scars of a battle,
like someone who has been cut by knife,
I have seen so much,
I have felt so much,
I have done so much,
and I am starting to understand so much,
and though I do not wholly believe yet
that all the world is a game of players,
I do believe that someone people
are actively playing a game
that to them is a way of life.