time

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 ‘Thirty-six’

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

So much has changed,
so much is different…
I still have the same name,
I still live in the same place,
and for the most part
I still have the same face –
but I am not the boy who I once was…
and, as I always do at this time of the year,
I am wondering to myself,
as I stare at my own reflection:
what about me has changed the most?

These days, I have brown hair –
where as when I was a child I was a natural-blond…
these days, I take journeys to many places on my own –
where as when I was a boy growing up in my village
the furthest away from home that I went
was down to the end of the road
and to the nearest duck-pond…
these days, I spend hours dreaming up new stories
and making up adventures for complex characters –
where as when I was a boy, I… I…
to be honest, I pretty-much did exactly the same thing –
but these days when I write something
usually I am writing from the experience
of having been through and having seen so much.

I have always asked questions…
I have always looked for the meaning of things…
I have always lived my life without feeling
burdened by other people’s expectations…
I have always looked up to the sky –
at the stars at night,
or to the blue-sky of a Summer’s day –
and I have always been awestruck by what I saw,
because every time I look up I am inspired,
and what follows is always breathtaking.

All life is about change,
about transformation, and about transition…
everyone’s life begins in the same way,
and from the day that we are born
we are all on our way
to the same destination…
all my life, my parents have been there for me
and they have given me more than a son
could ever ask for –
every day, my Mum and Dad are with me
and it is because of them that I am so blessed…
when I was a boy, I said a prayer and I made a wish:
I prayed to God that I would find my purpose,
and that while searching for the meaning of my life
I would find love and happiness…
now, I am an adult –
and, as I look around myself and at my life,
I can say with all my heart
that all my wishes and prayers have come true…
I can honestly say that my life has been one
that I would never have wanted to miss –
even knowing all that I have seen and been through,
I feel loved, and truly blessed to be who I am
and to have done all that I have done…
and I am still only 36.

My Poem ‘Waiting…’

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

Waiting… waiting…
I’m waiting for something…
I’m waiting for something,
and for this thing
I have been waiting all morning…
I used to think that I was good at waiting –
for my birthday, for Christmas, for the weekend…
when I was a kid I knew that within no time at all
my favourite days of the week and the year
would come around again
and within the blink of an eye
they always did…
but, I am all grown up now –
and as I wait now
for what I am waiting for to arrive and be delivered,
I now know the true meaning of the song lyric:
“the waiting is the hardest part”…
did I mention that I am waiting for something?

I have been keeping myself and my attention occupied
while I wait, I have been doing things
that I have not done for years –
but since I cannot leave the house,
and there is no one else
who can sign for my delivery for me,
I knew that I would have to keep
my eyes from constantly
looking at the time while I am waiting…
so I cleaned – I cleaned my bedroom window,
I cleaned the dirty-dishes from the night before –
I listened to music, I sat looking out the window…
thinking… wondering… waiting…
and now here I am, writing, still waiting,
and anticipating…
my morning and my day started early,
as it always does –
but now it is 2 o’clock in the afternoon,
and I am still waiting.

Waiting for what?
What is this something that is so special
that I would stay at home all day and wait for it?
Well, it is something special indeed that is coming –
something that you could say I am connected to,
and the reason that this something even exists…
what I am waiting for is something
that I have spent a long time invested in,
and as I wait for what I hope will soon arrive
I am even starting to have flash-backs
to my first encounter with the idea
of what is beimg delivered,
and I think about the journey that I and it
have already taken with each-other –
all those mornings… all those nights…
all those words… all those internal fights.

When you are doing things,
time literally flies away from you…
when you are watching something,
talking about something,
and when you take your mind off of something,
then the waiting for something
can be a little more bearable,
and less mind-numbing –
but waiting can sometimes be a good thing…
waiting can be exciting…
waiting can also be boring,
especially if you have been
counting how much time
you have actually been waiting…
time is a wasting –
but maybe it’s not?
At least I got to do something
to fill my time while I was waiting:
I wrote this poem that you are now reading –
so at least something worthwhile
came about and was born out of
all the time that I have been waiting…

My Poem ‘Temporal’

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

There is something entrancing
about hearing the tick, the tock,
and the hidden but vital mechanisms
that lie within the wooden-body
and the beautiful face
of a Grandfather-clock –
every movement, every sound,
every second that goes by,
tells a story about how precious
and fleeting moments of time are…
in the silent stillness of an old house
when all that can be heard
is the echo of an old time-piece
there is always a special feeling
to be found in every instant of peace.

With time comes change,
with change comes choice,
with choice comes both
the familiar and the unknown,
and with the unknown comes an opportunity
and a responsibility to grow…
there is no changing the past,
because everything that you see
all around you is built upon its bed-rock…
you can’t change the future,
because it hasn’t happened yet –
but what you can do is allow the past
to influence, change, and inform
what and how the future will appear to you…
you cannot change what was,
but you can start to weave a new thread of change
that could potentially one day out-live you.

I see change… I see the wake
of the passage of time everywhere I look…
I see things that once were
that have been replaced
by that which is now the way things are…
I see walls that were once doors…
I see mirrors that were once windows…
I see the old making way for the new –
but the constant in the middle of everything
still remains: me…
sometimes we have to be like a chameleon
and blend into whatever background
wherever we find ourselves –
changing on the outside,
while an echo of who we are
and who we always will be looks up and out
through our eyes from down-deep.

Time flies… time forces us to leave hours,
days, months and years behind…
time does not stop, but with the gift of memory
you can make a moment last forever…
time cannot be out-run,
no matter how fast or how far you can run –
but what you can do is make the best of the time
that you have and make the most of the time
that you share with those
who truly matter the most.

My Poem ‘Recreation’

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

The morning sun feels good…
the morning coffee is just what I need…
the mornings that I get to sit,
to look, to listen, to breath,
and to enjoy every moment of being alive
are the ones that I love…
the mornings that start a day
of reading, of writing, of watching,
and of inspiration, make me happy –
especially when the days preceding
have been cloudy, grey, and wet –
and when you have that freedom
to do what you want to do,
it is like inhaling a invigorating
lung-full of fresh-air
that makes your heart beat fast
and your thoughts optimistic,
beautiful, and clear.

Those with commitments
seldom have the time, or the opportunity,
to do things for themselves, alone…
those who live the most hectic
and chaotic of lives
dream in their spare-time
of something simple,
but yet amazing and special:
like reading a book…
driving in their car…
playing a musical instrument…
singing, as if they are in the shower…
or taking the time to walk through a garden
and smelling the intoxicating perfume of a rose.

No matter what you do, no matter who you are,
it is very important to sometimes
do something just for you –
sometimes it is good for you
to go somewhere new
that you have never been before…
sometimes you don’t have to travel a long way
to find what you are looking for,
because every place that is within our grasp
can contain the magical light of a million stars.

Recreation – any time that we spend
doing something that gives us a feeling
of contentment and satisfaction
is a wonderful gateway, and getaway destination –
like a welcome oasis that you find
in the middle of an arid desert…
what we do for relaxation –
what we do that doesn’t take much effort,
but which has the power to transport us
in our mind to a perfect, idyllic,
blissful-setting that we usually
only imagine seeing in the environments
that we visit in our dreams –
is the potent cure for any kind
of stress that we may feel…
and that is why we should all
make the time to truly do something
for nothing and no one else
other than for pleasure and recreation.

My Poem ‘Crescendo (Happy New Year)’

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

As one important door closes,
another important door opens…
as one year ends,
as one journey reaches its climax…
another year, another journey begins…
as one world sleeps, another world awakens –
and the cycle of life begins again,
similar and yet brand new…
as one sky becomes filled with twinkling stars,
another sky is as bright as can be
breathtaking and blue.

This is real life…
this is the song of day and night…
this is the orbit of the human soul –
just like the moon spinning around the Earth,
just like the Earth spinning around the sun,
just like the sun spinning
on the outer-edge of our galaxy.

Lights go out in the universe
every second of every day,
but we do not see them until it is too late –
however, it is never too late
to mourn the passing of something, or someone,
whomever, or wherever they are,
with a thought, with a song,
with a simple-but-meaningful verse of poetry.

Time passes into darkness too quickly…
stars shine, they burn bright –
and then, like everything and everyone,
there comes a day when they die…
memories remain, everything and everyone
continue to live on,
and it is a long time before something
or someone’s spirit actually leaves…
there is nothing worse than letting go of something –
however, the parting of ways with something
is not the same as saying goodbye.

Within the blink of an eye…
within the time that it takes for you to realize
what your life has all been about
and what you leave behind,
you see a shadow fall within your mind…
every second, every minute, every hour, every day,
every year, of every moment of time
are all the same and are all connected like a chain –
one leading to another, over and over,
and continuing in one direction: forwards –
no matter if you feel like you are living in the past,
there is always a brand new miracle
that the universe wants to show you…
life is a precious and beautiful piece of music
that never stops growing, evolving, and building
into the most epic of all crescendos.

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My Poem ‘Christmases’

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

Christmas is about family…
Christmas is about sharing…
Christmas is about being happy…
Christmas is about giving.

It’s Christmas time,
it’s Christmas day…
it is now when we celebrate
with presents, prayers,
mistletoe and wine…
it is now when people
the world-over are the most thankful
for what and whom is in their life
every hour of every day.

Christmas is about love…
Christmas is about thinking about others…
Christmas is about spreading a message of hope…
Christmas is about bringing everybody together…
Christmas is my favourite time of the year…
Christmas is a season, and its meaning
all culminates on one day, the 25th of December.

Christmas is about sharing how beautiful
life could be for everybody
if we opened our hearts more…
Christmas is about peace,
and if there is one gift
that Christmas should give us all
it is the understanding
that we as a species, as a world, as a planet,
are meant to live and breath
all the world’s differences and celebrate them –
because we were not born
to fight one-another, or wage war.

Christmas is about traditions…
Christmas is about symbols…
Christmas is about wishes…
Christmas is about angels…
it is so important to always keep alive
the Christmas spirit –
from childhood to adulthood…
it is so important that children
make lists and send them to Santa Claus…
it is so important to show
how much someone means to you –
even the smallest of gestures
of kindness is always enough…
it is so important to let
the ice of hostility thaw –
because feeling blessed to be alive and well,
and being thankful for the precious time
that we have, and whom we spend our time with,
highlights beautifully what
the true meaning of Christmas is.

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