world

My Poem ‘Standing Rock’

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

All ground is sacred ground…
the Earth beneath our feet
has its own identity…
the world that moves silently through space,
and its spirit, is so powerful and nurturing
that it creates its own gravity
and a near-perfect environment
for all life to thrive and live…
all that breath in the air of the planet
to which we are all bound and indebted
are expected to not only take away,
but to give back in return…
our home, this world, is the home
of countless species and forms of life –
each and every-one given from birth
the rite to exist and fulfill their destiny…
some people have learned to understand
and interpret the timeless language of nature,
and they also understand that not only
does the Earth have a spirit –
so too do the trees, the plants,
the animals, the mountains, the rivers,
the seas, the fish, the microscopic organisms
smaller than the human eye can see…
every thing with a consciousness,
with thoughts, with feelings, with emotions,
with instincts, with a reason to be,
has a reason to be alive…
even a single drop of rain adds to our planets worth…
we are all luckier than we know
to live on the planet that do…
long after all the stories of our lives
have faded to dust, the Earth will still have
a billion and more mornings and nights,
Winters and Summers, frosts and thaws,
and the world will live on –
and though humanity will have gone,
we will still be ingrained in the DNA
of our home-world, and our monuments will remain,
just as the beautiful natural-monuments of Earth
will continue to boggle the mind
of everyone who is lucky enough to see
our planet’s deepest reaches
and its breath-taking, towering,
and still-standing mountains,
and epic formations –
our most special and sacred
wonders of Earth and rock.

mypoem-standingrock

My Poem ‘A Gift of My Heart’

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

My Angel, my world, my love, my light,
my heart, my soul, my day, my night,
the muse of my poetry, the magic of my dreams,
the best thing that has ever happened to me,
the one person in the entire world
who gives my life meaning,
my sun, my moon, my obsession,
my addiction, my best-friend,
I truly, madly, and deeply love you
more than you could ever know, Melissa.

I spend every minute of every day thinking about you,
imagining the perfection of your beautiful face,
looking into your eyes, holding your hands,
kissing your lips, feeling your heart beating with mine,
living and breathing as-one, forever and always,
loving each-other, making memories,
holding each-other and never letting go,
giving one-another all that we have to give.

You care so much, you love so deeply,
you make me smile and you make me so happy,
and every day with you in my life
has been the best days of my life,
and I never want to be without you,
because I see, I know, I feel,
that within you the divine light of heaven shines bright,
and every day I cherish you
and I want to give you gifts of my heart-
as if every day were Valentines day,
Christmas day, or your birthday,
from night until day and from day until night.

My Poem ‘The Ghost Train’

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

Ever wonder how ghosts get around?
Ever wonder how ghosts travel from town to town,
when they are not hanging around in cemeteries
or scaring people as they haunt a particular house?
Some ghost are haunt-o-holics,
some ghosts just can’t move on –
but there are some ghosts
who like to get out-and-about
and who like to go to other places – hey, why not?
It’s not as if ghosts need to wait in-line or buy a ticket?
While some ghosts are essentially agoraphobic, you could say,
and don’t like going anywhere
and would much rather just stay at home –
there are some ghosts, however,
who don’t want to rest in peace for too long
before wanting to make a break for it
and see the rest of the world.

There is a “train” for the dearly-departed
who choose to stay on Earth
when they are given their choice
to either pass-on or stay right where they are;
there is a train that is the fastest in the universe
that runs 24-hours a day, all-year-round,
to every corner of the planet,
that is the quietest form of transport ever envisioned –
this train is so underground
it doesn’t even make a sound.

Ghosts have a lot of time on their hands;
ghosts still like doing what they loved
to do when they were alive –
ghost may be dead,
but that doesn’t mean
they can’t make plans.
Ghosts know more than anyone
how short life for the living really is…
some people die and become ghosts
and instantly get bitten by the “travel-bug”
and in no time at all become tourist-spirits.

Getting on the “Ghost Train”
is no problem for the no-longer-living;
if you know how to board the “Ghost Train”
then you can get on whenever and wherever you are –
all the world is the “Ghost Train’s” station;
there is no place that the “Ghost Train” will not stop,
and there is no limit to the number of passengers
it is capable of transporting –
to those do not know about the “Ghost Train”
at first it can seem like an absolute sensation.

There are many things that the living cannot explain;
there is knowledge and there are answers to questions
that those who are still breathing
are not able to understand
because they have too much
clogging-up their already over-active brains.

There is something that travels farther than a plane,
along rails that could be thought of
as if they were some kind of speed-of-thought fast-lane…
there is a way to get from anywhere to anywhere on Earth
for ghosts, and for all intents and purposes
it is aptly called by those who ride it:
“The Ghost Train”.

My Poem ‘The Stranger Things’

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

The stranger things are,
the stranger things matter;
the stranger things are what shine
far away in the dark,
and they are as beautiful and mysterious
as the planets and the stars;
the stranger things become
the more that we think about them,
and the more that we become invested
in the strange things of the world
the more our heart beats faster.

Everybody is “normal” in their own way,
and yet equally as strange;
everybody is a character in someone-else’s story,
and a figure in someone-else’s painted landscape;
everybody can be “at home”
at the same time that they are “away”;
everybody can be beyond who they see
when they look at their own reflection in a mirror
and wear within their mind a vastly-different face.

To me, the stranger things are
the more interesting they are;
to me, the longer something stays unexplained
the more intrigued and the more drawn to it I am;
to me, the stranger things in life –
the mysterious, the one-of-a-kind, the extraordinary –
are constantly leaving their mark for me to find,
like a calling-card;
to me, the stranger things –
the unknown, the questions, the fables,
the stories of aliens, fairies, and monsters –
are so inspiring and amazing,
the more I hear, the more I see, the more I imagine.

What can seem strange to one person
can seem “every-day” to another;
what can seem fantastic to a child,
or to someone who is young-at-heart,
can seem to someone with a closed-mind
like something that could only be found
between the pages of a book-cover;
what I have learned in my life,
as a story-teller and a story-reader,
is that anything and every-thing
can be a fountain and a treasure-trove
of thoughts and energy –
and that life, if nothing else,
is never boring and can be always interesting;
living and breathing in a world deeply
brings with it oracles of gifts,
and they can be found in the strangest of places
filled with the strangest of things.

My Poem ‘The Whispering Gallery’

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

Every Sunday,
bang on 10 o’clock in the morning,
the bells of St. Martin’s church
ring-out loud and far –
and every Sunday,
when I am standing and listening
in the most perfect spot
that can be found in all the city,
over time I have discovered
an amazing phenomenon…
just as every whispering gallery
that can be found in places
that are often places of silence
and peaceful serenity,
if you whisper a wish into the air,
and it is carried away on the wind
in the right direction,
then that same wish will come true one day
after having been delivered directly to heaven
by the wings of a listening angel –
and that almost silent prayer
will echo and create epic waves,
like an ocean being skipped upon by a stone,
and you will have been blessed –
even though the evidence of what has taken place
and by whom may have already disappeared without a trace.

The bells of St. Martin’s church ring for almost an hour –
the are a source of hope for many, and they have a power.
Church bells, to me, have always had a solemn beauty to them;
church bells are like the accent of a place of worship’s voice,
and I think they are wonderfully important;
church bells have a way of drawing people to them like a beacon;
you have never felt such a feeling like that
of being as close as you can be
to the breathtaking vibrations of sound
that are produced when ancient bells are ringing
and hammers are hitting their mark in a bell-tower.

The world is one big whispering-gallery;
the Earth has places on it
where the magical can be conjured into being
with the flick of a magic-wand
disguised as an ink-pen;
some people want something so much
but they are afraid to ask for help from anybody –
sometimes things can only be heard
when they are said in the first where
and at the right when…
so, I encourage anybody who feels something special
when they are somewhere,
even if that place may not look anywhere
that may be at all “somewhere to write home about”
to let their inner-most thoughts and wishes
be set free into the atmosphere
of the worlds biggest whispering gallery.

My Poem ‘Two shores, One river’

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

It all comes back to you;
it all comes back to us;
no matter how hard and how far
I throw my dream-stone
through the air and into the unknown,
the only thing that comes back is love,
and the only one who I see is you –
because to me you are my universe;
in all my life, I have never met anyone
more beautiful than you,
and no matter where I am
or what I am doing
I only want to make you happy
and to put your feelings and your heart first.

To me there is a star of Earth who shines brighter
than all the light of the universe combined;
my heart will have your name tattooed
and emblazoned on it until the day I die;
every minute of every day I have you on my mind;
to me, you are the most perfect angel
anyone anywhere has ever known,
and it is to you, and it is my love for you,
that my soul travels with,
that makes me want to break-free and fly.

Music was the highway that we traveled by
to find each-other;
our endless love is what keeps us together;
you and I have our own world that only we share,
and within it there is only the sunshine
of the most breathtaking
and the most beautiful summer weather;
every day that I have been blessed
to have you in my life
has made me happier than I have ever been –
and, to me, as long as I am with you,
and as long as we are together –
as we are going to be forever,
life could not possibly ever get better.

Our universe has no end;
our love knows no bounds;
the perfection of us
can be glimpsed and can be captured
when a picture of us smiling together is taken
and reflected back through the mirror of a camera lens;
to me, there is no image in the collective vision
and memory of existence that could ever compare
to that of you and I with one-another,
standing on a bridge connecting two shores of a river,
looking longingly at each-other,
and holding hands.

I love you, Melissa!

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My poem ‘A world of poetry’

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

People sitting in the sun;
people on the phone;
people having some time alone;
people, a family sitting down
and having a picnic for their lunch…
Birmingham, Victoria Square –
June 9th, 2016, 12.04pm…
I am sitting here
basking in sunlight
with my notebook and pen
capturing a moment of time
with words that are inspired
from this moment of inspiration…
I am looking out and seeing
every kind of person –
tourists, friends, business people,
artists, sun-worshippers, and many more –
and at every instant
I am almost blinded by fascination.

A sudden breeze decreases the temperature,
the sun becomes less intense
because of a momentary overhead cloud-cover…
a sudden realisation of time
motivates everyone to move again with a purpose…
and then another sudden burst of energy
gives everybody a gift of focus.

A falling white feather,
as if an angel had left behind a token of heaven…
I sit, I watch, I see, I feel
a wave of something indescribable engulf me…
I see, I watch, a world of poetry…
I feel connected to everything…
I feel the world moving…
I feel like I have just taken
a bite from the fruit of the first tree…
I have always known
that poetry is the world,
and the world is poetry.

My Poem ‘Head-phones to the soul’

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

On a long journey somewhere,
or while simply sitting on your bed…
on a road-trip to another country
or to another state…
while looking at and listening live
to a band on a stage…
or while listening alone
as you walk through nature…
music is the beginning, the end,
and the giant leap to an amazing new adventure.

Portals to new worlds can be psychological,
emotional, visual, and audible…
some doors only require
your undivided-attention to open them…
some worlds can be both big and small…
just as to see some things clearly
you need to look at them through the right lens,
to hear something life-changing
you need the right means of translation
in order to listen.

Music means more to people than even they may know;
music is capable of stimulating transformation
in people in more ways than can ever be conceived;
music was born at the beginning of everything,
and each and every one of us
has been dancing and listening
to that universal soundtrack all our lives,
and as long as life continues to exist
we will be living in the resonance
of that timeless cosmic echo;
music, like any kind of magic,
needs to be witnessed and heard to be believed.

Music is universal,
but it is also personal;
singers sing,
but they also need to hear;
music has been changing and influencing lives
in ways that almost supersede
the natural and the biological;
when musicians play their voice can be heard
by those light-years away, as well as near.

A song can be like a seed
that explodes to life in your mind
and blossoms like a tree in spring;
a song can be of a time,
or timeless and forever
and never get old;
a song can be simply a way
for somebody to tell the one they love ‘I love you’,
and the one who made it
may never truly know how much happiness
to other people it will never stop bringing;
a song can be a life-line and a life-saver,
and when heard at a particular time
a song or a piece of music
can override all of your senses,
as if the instruments
that you are listening to them with
are head-phones to a divine soul.

Head-phones to the soul

My Poem ‘In memory of’

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

One of the greatest things
you can do is remember;
one of the most touching things
you can do is to not forget;
one of the things that grounds us the most
is a memory that holds us in place
so that we don’t drift away –
some memories are like anchors;
one of the things that has stood the test of time
still remains the greatest archive
that could ever be envisioned…
and that place is a world,
and that world is our beautiful planet.

The lands of every country on Earth
are speckled with the graves
and the monuments of the lost and the fallen;
every society and every religion
remembers their people in different ways;
perhaps one day the only thing
that will remain of humanity on Earth
will be which still remains
engraved on worn-out vertical tablets –
electronically? solar-powered?
Or, perhaps, on good old-fashioned
marble and stone?

Humanity has changed and continues to change;
mankind is moving forwards,
but still continues to remember
and embalm that which to them is sacred;
humanity has the means to be
at-peace the world-over,
however some cannot live
unless there is a fight to be fought
and a war to be waged;
mankind can only be blamed
for what it has done and for what it still does –
every-body has to sleep
in the bed that we all make.

In my time here on Earth,
I have learned that some things
can be put off until tomorrow –
however, the most important things,
the people who we love and who love us,
should never be side-lined,
nor ever ignored;
I have learned more than once
throughout my life that, no matter what,
each and every one of us in our lives will be hurt –
however, that which becomes a part of us
we were gifted with so that when we need it
we can draw on something as powerful as a memory
to pick us up off the floor;
as I have lived, learned,
and occasionally lost,
I have slowly understood life more –
and I understand why there needs to be a hell below
just as there needs to be a heaven above;
I, personally, hold on with all that I am
every day to my memories
that I still return to when necessary…
when I need to leave my own monument
which is always anchored to the place,
or to the person, where, or to whom,
it was created in memory of.

My Poem ‘Intro’

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

An entrance, an introduction,
an opening, a beginning…
where to begin is seldom an option,
what to do when you start something
is like being a knight
standing nose-to-nose
with a fire-breathing dragon…
most of the time
we enter something
in the middle of a story –
we mostly never come into something
at the very beginning,
nor at the absolute end –
however, we are always equipped
with all that we need
when we first enter into the world,
and it is only as time goes by
do we learn and pick up
the implements and the defenses
that we require to save us
from getting struck down
or devastatingly hurt.

Everybody’s life is an epic adventure.
In times gone by,
heroes heard the calling
that they had been waiting for all their lives
as if it were as distinctive and alluring
as that of the call of a song-bird.
Whether a cowboy or an outlaw
in the old-west of America,
or an astronaut on the cusp
of the final frontier,
the boundless unknown of a wild open space
holds the potential
of fulfilling a life and a dream come true
that constantly brings a smile to the face
of those who live for the spark
that dwells where the land leaves no trace.

Most people are first exposed
to other worlds through stories;
most people first feel
the touch of the divine
when the veil of heaven
falls right in front of them;
most people can only believe
what they can see;
most people are not truly
awake to the world
until they have been fully awoken.

The best of things
begin with an insatiable sound:
a beat, a melody, a voice, a keystroke –
the contact of two separate things
connecting and intertwining;
there is nothing as jaw-dropping
as seeing a lightning-storm happening
in the dark clouds above
that looks so beyond understanding
and like something that only God
could be the reason for,
because it is so breathtaking;
the first things of anything
are always the ingredients
and the building-blocks that will grow
like the snowflakes that settle
and cover a mountain-top with snow.
You may be young,
you may be old,
you may think that you know
all that there is to know –
but, believe me,
everything that has happened up to you
until now was nothing but the intro.