A poem
The afternoon
teeters
on the edge of evening,
I sense
time pouring out
of my cup,
steady streams of minutes
mounting up
my life’s, afternoon
is nearing night.
Morning’s gift squandered
by a clueless child,
the man now in his shadow
hears birds flutter
his heart is racing now
day is waning fast,
Oh, how beautiful is the afternoon
enough time perhaps
to savor the golden hour.
C26
A poem
Beyond weary platitudes
poetry lingers,
out of reach of my ingratitude
beyond mean calculations
poetry lingers,
wrapped in bloody cloths
soaked in tears
of a thousand internal shocks
of closed doors and locks,
Poetry lingers,
in the pause between short breaths
exhausted, depleted
both victorious and defeated
exultant for no cause
built only to follow laws
we pause and find
poetry lingers in the human mind.
Poetry lingers
in the light of her eyes
the hope
that it never dies, the yearning
for meaning
in dark halls where the silver balls
once stood
only the remnants remain
and in the debris of our pride
deep inside,
poetry lingers.
Circles radiate on the ponds’ surface
the swans glide through
as reeds dance in time
to the winds low moans, there on the bank
we sat once
as the world rolled on and over all
who spoke out
in their long-lost shouts
poetry lingers.
CP26
A poem of the soul.
A soul must be elastic to withstand the incessant pressure
of life’s king tide, the push and pull
as moons minions make the struggle corporeal.
Wind teases the water’s edge in rippling circlets where my feet
cool in the quiet stream, it is no wonder we equate
rivers with our dreams,
Soul or limb all our very being is under duress yet we express
ourselves in poetry or verse, we are eloquent
in our anguish.
C26
A poem about poetry
I walked those gracious groves in a kind of awe
as if I had never seen a tree before!
and because at home mine was winter bare
I became heady with the glare of pure light through leaves
becoming a child in wonder again,
Each knotted trunk was an encyclopedia to me
explaining life, love and pure poetry,
each leaf that danced in the soft autumnal air
reminded me of my own tree, now bare.
C26
A poem of time.
Saturdays slip by into
Sundays,
melding into Monday
only to find
Tuesday has been and gone,
Wednesdays
hold the line, bisecting the week
until Thuesday
breaks the hold opening
the door for Friday,
when I sit
thinking of it all as a passing parade
my usefulness fades,
time accelerates
and slows down at the same time.
C26
Ageing poorly, poor me!
I know in my deepest core,
what a bore,
what a chore it is to see me,
what a bore
it is to be me, I see it clearly
roles reversed in time
now the old man just whines,
that deficit
of deep generosity she has
is a scarcity in me,
I don’t know how to stop the slide
my hull is careened
waiting for a higher tide,
what a bore
to be self-obsessed and learning
how awful you really are.
C26
an ode to her
Around the concrete corner
catatonic crowds wander by her,
she stands still
refusing to cry, another blow landed
on her humankind,
shivers imperceptibly ran down her spine,
Crowds shuffle
automatons absorbed in their anhedonia
bring it on!
she muses inside
while the human tide
has risen to impossible highs, now
she can only sigh
at the faint fleeting cries,
Hey! I heard her say sharply
let’s go
we don’t have all day, we don’t have
all day.
C26
Generational poetry.
When I hear kids proclaim or
say, you had it easy
in your day
I recall we had,
spy thrillers, cold war killers
dark alleys
trench coated man looms in the night,
We had mushroom clouds
on her our mind
always a distinct possibility,
U2 recon flights
over us day and night
dreaming, or trying to to picture
aged fingers
on the nuclear triggers,
Now I’m older
colder
perhaps?
when I hear it said
it was easier
then,
Berlin Wall,
Cuba calling in April
Hammer and sickle
or the Iron Eagle
dropping bombs indiscriminately
on left or right,
I suppose
now in repose,
each generation feels this way
that’s the price we pay,
the bill
survivors are left to pay after
all our friends
have gone
away.
C26
A poem
When you get around to it,
when you
focus on the detail and the trends
the key indicators,
no matter how you read the data
its’ all gone to shit
hasn’t it?
C26
A poem of passing.
Peace passing by
I turned
to embrace it, but passing time
made me miss the
possibility, of, perhaps genuine
soul connection,
Peace passing in repose
I wake
freezing finding my feet stone cold
my empty bed
this sense of dread
alone in a room,
While joy is ever evaporating
under the fierce climate
where do we turn
to find peace as our world turns
burns,
In a deep well
or
shallow pond there lingers
memory
of pain distress and din of war
seeking to bless
yet pushing peace to one side
to fall into the void
we made,
Our names soon fade
in fierce winds
fanned by man’s cruel hands,
disasters designed
signed off and ratified
while a child
cries,
Unable to recognize
in their eyes
peace passing by.
C26
Chris' Poetry 