time

My Poem ‘The Muses’

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

The muses visit me early in the morning;
the muses tuck me in bed last thing at night;
the muses bring alive to me a painted drawing;
the muses make me smile after learning something
I never knew before with sheer delight;
the muses come to me when I am having a shower;
the muses sit next to me
when I am watching a film at the cinema;
the muses listen to my thoughts and talk back to me
through my imagination for hours;
the muses sit facing me
and whisper to me when I am having my dinner.

The muses sit around the table with me
when I am in Starbucks having a coffee;
the muses ride along with me on the train;
the muses are guiding me and picking out interesting finds
every time I walk and look around a bookstore,
and even before I read any of the books
they are already talking to me;
the muses are always a close fellow passenger
whenever I fly on a plane.

The muses helped write, helped produce,
and they also perform and they sing
on every one of my favourite songs;
the muses influenced the creation, the sculpture,
the inspiration of every piece of art;
the muses have kept people motivated
when they are on a journey that is sometimes confusing and long;
the muses will keep the stars in the sky shining
at the end of time, as they have done from the very start.

The muses introduce themselves to children from the day they are born;
the muses walk, talk, and show us things when we dream;
the muses can go anywhere they want
and do not believe in restrictions, borders, walls, or laws;
the muses are more ubiquitous than you would believe.

The muses see all of time and space
and they understand every bit of it;
the muses were the universe’s first poets;
the muses are known for their quick humour
and their lightning-fast and incredibly creative wit;
the muses sometimes even take the form of animals and pets.

The muses never sleep;
the muses are always on the move;
the muses never have to stop and eat;
the muses are always at the front of every line
and never have to cue.

The muses are whom everyone consciously or unconsciously daily uses;
the muses are why everyone closes their eyes and then chooses;
the muses are whom no one refuses;
the muses are all-powerful, all-knowledgeable,
all seeing, all doing –
so if you ever want to know something,
or if you ever want to ask something,
24 hours a day,
ask the muses.

My Poem ‘Elements’

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

Out in the elements,
wrapped up in a big coat
to keep out the cold of the wind;
outside, walking, experiencing a wave of deja vu,
as if doing something that you once dreamed;
the leaves fall all around you;
birds fly from tree to tree;
people off on an adventure race past you
in cars and on bikes;
as you make the most of every moment of freedom
that are so precious,
but you don’t realize how much
until they fade away,
as the light of the day begins to dim.

You can only, truly, speak with clarity
when describing, sharing, and reliving,
an experience that either just happened,
or when recalling the details and the emotions
of a memory that have become the paradise of your life and mind;
you can make things up as you go along,
but there is nothing better than to draw
from that which you already know,
from which you could never be blind.

Earth did not just flash into being in an instant;
the world did not become what it is over night;
even nature was once young and innocent, like an infant;
the beauty of the universe was something that was there
at the moment of creation, but it could not be seen,
felt, perceived, reflected upon,
until the rise, the evolution,
and the question of origins was asked,
by the first of infinite forms of intelligent life.

The smell of a newborn baby;
the aroma of a beautiful flower coming into bloom;
watching someone float in space free of gravity;
seeing the light of the sun at dawn;
glimpsing the light of a full-moon
through the window of a room;
the heart-pounding rush of jumping off a cliff
and flying instead of falling;
thinking about every new horizon and possibility
as an adventure, as well as a calling.

A gift, a present;
a lift; a season of significance;
an important time; a beautiful moment;
a peace of you never to be left behind;
a confluence of life, fate, destiny, karma,
thought, emotion, and reality,
and its connected and miraculous elements.

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.