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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.

My Poem ‘The Volunteer’

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

Giving blood; giving life;
giving food; giving time;
giving heart; giving insight;
giving a smile that makes someone laugh;
giving someone something
that you know they will like.

Making an effort; creating an effect;
making people look; creating a self-sustaining project;
making a plan; creating a solution;
making someone a fan; creating a revolution.

Believing in a cause; taking the initiative;
saying just what someone needs to hear
to find a hidden and important door;
seeing the truth of the world:
that everything is relative.

Acting for the benefit of others;
thinking first about the future;
treating a stranger like a sister or a brother;
being the one who will do what needs to be done
to keep things going and people together.

A true volunteer has a heart the size of the Grand Canyon;
a true volunteer is someone who instantly replies to a request
and an S.O.S. for help with a loud and resounding YES!;
a true volunteer does not think too much
about what will happen to themselves,
because they are too busy thinking about others
and about quieting the tears of fears;
a true volunteer is a person who wants what is best
for all of humanity-
and that is what makes them the great, amazing, true,
wonderful, world-changing, indispensable,
and vital, volunteer.

My Poem ‘Did’

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

There is a beautiful sunset outside my window,
I am listening to Ed Sheeran on my iPod at the moment
to give my creative spark the get-up-and-go.

I have been writing since I woke up this morning,
and my right shoulder is literally aching;
I am about to have something to eat,
but I just want to write down in words
the things I am proud of,
and the things I wish I never did.

I am proud of myself
for using my self-taught gift of expression,
and with the help of a great friend of mine
getting two books of my poems published-
the support, the love, the miracle
to be able to share my words with the world,
in the way I always wanted,
is beyond anything that I could ever have wished.

When I was a kid I was a movie-loving boy
who made up his own stories for fun;
now I am a 33 year-old poet,
who still loves films,
and who goes to the cinema as often as I can.
When I was growing up I wanted to be many things
when I eventually became a man;
but now that I am standing tall, and looking back,
I am thinking that my life
might have been easier
if I had had some kind of life-plan;
I thought I would have been married,
and had kids by now-
at least that was my boyhood, adult-arrival, expectation;
however, a few things happened along the way
that were not part of anyone’s plan-
and those are what I see looking back at me
every day in my own reflection.

I hope there comes a day
when I can honestly say
that who I am now is who I want to be;
I hope there is a day when I can say
“this is what I have been dreaming at night about”,
and then waking up and turning it into poetry;
I hope one day I will be able to say to my own kids,
that I don’t regret the things I have done,
and if I had the time to do over again
I would still do all that I did.

My Poem ‘New Beginnings’

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

Every day we all have to start again;
every day we all have to start over;
every day we all have to clear our vision
and readjust our lens;
every day we all have to make a cross-over.

There is no one on Earth who has never made a mistake;
there is no one in this world who has never been disappointed;
there is no one who has ever lived
who has been able to forget the moments
that their heart had cause to break;
there is no one of sound body and mind
who has not been willing at some point in their life
to do everything that they had to do
for something that they really wanted.

You cannot ever heal completely,
everybody carries a scar or two;
you cannot ever know everything
about life and people absolutely,
everybody sometimes feels like the life they live
is a slow-burning fuse.

Empires fall;
castles crumble;
relationships end;
every week there is a brand new trend.
Songs have a duration;
people have their fascinations;
crowns sometimes slip to cover the eyes of queens and kings;
nothing lasts forever,
because some things must make way for the arrival of new beginnings.