things

My Poem ‘The Ghost Orchid’

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

There are some things
that can and will
only happen once in your life;
there are some things
that come to life for a short time,
and then die just so you could see them;
there are some things
that can only be seen in the moonlight;
there are some things
that are a true, rare,
wonderful, and magical phenomenon.

There are some people
who make life worth living;
there are some people
whose presence keeps you breathing;
there are some people
who you wonder:
‘where have you been all this time?’;
there are some people
who were there all along,
and who when they are standing
right in front of you
appear as if they have stepped
right out of your mind.

There are some things
that disappear and may never be seen again;
there are some things
that reappear from out of nowhere,
like a ghost train;
there are some things
that are just waiting for the right time
to show their face again in the light,
after spending almost a life-time in the dark;
there are some things
that are secretly really other things,
but are so enigmatic and unpredictable
they could easily be mistook,
until their identity again looms large.

Secrets become known every day;
hidden music is found and played
that was once thought lost forever and forgotten;
memories return to the surface of consciousness
in infinitely different ways;
messages continue to echo,
and colours are always recurring, year after year
in the leaves of autumn
and in the flower-buds of blossom.

There are some things
that I haven’t seen since I was a kid;
there are some people
who can’t be seen, but who are always there,
and their touch can be felt like the wind;
there are some things that go,
but do return to shine and remind the world
of their ‘specialness’ in all the ways they always did;
there are some people who are like wildflowers,
who vanish, but who one day come back
and are seen again after so long –
like the mysterious phantom flower,
‘The Ghost Orchid’.

My Poem ‘It’s a tradition’

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

I love reunions;
I love keeping traditions;
I love catching up
and reconnecting with old friends;
I love being there when a friend of mine
is sharing their gift with me
live and in person,
that instantly transports me back
to a time way back when;
I love giving all the support that I can;
I love the feeling of hearing someone I know
remember me, mention me,
care that I am who they always know I am going to be:
a passionate, supportive, friend,
moon in orbit around them, life-long fan.

To forget a face is impossible for me;
to not be there when a friends calls out to me,
even from far away, is beyond imagining;
to overcome anything in my way,
to be where I am needed, is what I do;
to believe what I know and what I feel
deep in my heart and soul
is something I am proud of;
and if you know me,
then you will know that
that is nothing new.

Time-traveling is a passion for me.
I may not be able to physically travel through time,
but I have perfected the skill
that everybody has to quantum leap
back into the body and mind of their younger-self.
Time travel is not just something
that people can do in science-fiction –
it is a gift that for me is easy to do
and use to remind myself,
without changing anything
that might affect the present in any way,
what the most important things about life there are to remember,
and to hold on to them so they can’t ever drift away.

I do forget sometimes
how much I do share, and have shared, with people;
I often need reminding
who I am, and how lucky I am –
however, as soon as I hear a certain voice,
as soon as a particular song starts playing,
it is a moment for me that is beautiful,
and I again believe with every fiber of my being
that the universe does indeed have a plan.

I have always believed that traditions are important;
I will remember as much of my life,
for as long as I can, with a passion;
I am constantly learning about new and old ways
of not allowing things to be forgotten –
every day, in every way, everywhere on this planet;
I will continue to return, repeat, keep,
and remember that things and the places I am remembered for;
and for as long as I can, I will be there,
doing what I do, and keeping my own
meaningful and amazing traditions.

My Poem ‘Warmth’

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

This time of the year
you feel glad for what you have;
this time of the year
the little things mean the most;
this time of the year
some people feel happy,
and some people feel sad;
this time of the year,
for just being still here,
you should pick up a cup or a glass
and make a silent toast.

This time of the year
everyone thinks more;
this time of the year
everyone does more;
this time of the year
some people ask for less,
but give more;
this time of the year
we all need to wrap up more.

This time of the year
you can see smoke rising from country-cottage chimney’s,
and smell burning fires;
this time of the year, in some countries,
they augment their cars with winter tires;
this time of the year
it is wet, cold, and in some places in the world
they are already covered in winter snow;
this time of the year
everyone needs to have conviction and patience wherever they go.

This time of the year
we become more insulated;
this time of the year
we are infinitely more creative;
this time of the year
we write, message people,
and remember family and friends spontaneously;
this time of the year,
if sharing is your favourite art,
then you can give as much as you can shamelessly.

This time of the year
is to each of us what life to us is all about;
this time of the year
is when the days spiral away from us
and seem as if they are a few hours short;
this time of the year
is about realizing life’s wealth;
this time of the year
is about feeling, and giving someone something
to keep them going, hopeful, and warm.