A poem
When I am lost
I ride from Bergen to Oslo
snow, sleet
tunnels, all on my screen
(I’ve never been there)
It helps
train tracks feel secure
they know
where they are going
I like to feel
transported.
Chris
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Category: poetry
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IG RailCowGirl -
A poem
I often wonder
what does it mean
to be truly human?
my friend says
we are part of
something significantly
greater,
I walked my street
yesterday
all the houses, cars
but no souls
sighted, at work perhaps?
or inside
musing on what it means
to be human.Chris 2025
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Author’s own A poem
Ancient Romans found use for this grey volcanic ash
the mixing, meticulously mending, never-ending
uses for this fine powdery dust,
We make canyons of from it, our pavements our feet
pounding on concrete, like my heart cracked
in crazy eccentricities, but patched up and held together,
I am deemed serviceable, functional.Walking these streets often, pavements can testify
trees might notice me passing by birds’ flitter flutter away
dogs bark, I skip half a beat in surprise,
my eyes on the cold callous concrete at my feet.
Rome preferred a more ornamental path a mosaic
even a bare earth path beaten smooth by multitudes
here it is denser, more immense yet my street
my living street is quiet as the graves of the long passed,
we have withdrawn into the dark of the modern,
plenty filled, glutted and impotent to stir, concrete will suffice
for the dull soul rushing again, late for the train.Chris P
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A poem
I have many books unread
on my shelves,
What is wrong with me?Chris
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A poem
A heavy coat
stifling
lead lined pockets
shoulders
groaning
no rest from the weight,
An old thing…
Ancient hates
mixed with the missed
opportunities
to be
a good man…
Ancient as resentment
the neighbour
was there
you pretended not to see
to avoid
conversation,
guilt adds another layer
unmoved
by your hollow prayers,
At dinner
last night you didn’t fight
the racist
let it slide
something inside dies
with each lapse,
Made an excuse
skipped
the dinner party
to watch
some crap on TV
then
Guilt descends, no chance
to make amends,
faint amens
fail to resonate,
A heavy thing
burden
rue the day, rue the day
it went away
when you were drunk
found its way
homing pigeon guilt,
I spilt
the beans
when I die, these chains
these chains
so heavyso
so heavy
so
heavy.
Chris 2025
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A poem
Because I want it so badly
it will be denied
because the talent dried
I died a little inside,
because elements conspired
every day I feel tired,
because my faith was brittle
my God expired.Seeking but never knowing
not sure where or why
I was going,
because I lacked
the courage
or the virtues of my kind,
that is why
because, because and because
the tired explanations
worn out words
fail to grasp the retreating tide
or fill the emptiness
deep inside,Because.
Chris 2025
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A song for the stars
I waited, I waited all night
for the stars
to shine, to shine so bright,
I held my head, held it so tight
to make the pain go away
if only the stars would come out tonight.
I live on the fumes of what might have been
maybes and might be,
crazy responsibilities of just being me.
I waited, waited all the dreary day
for the ghosts of regret to fade away
but the sun didn’t shine today
not for one minute, today.
I turn to the page, to write it down
tricky words can’t conjure
the past or the present away, today
I can’t clear my mind…
I’m waiting, waiting for a sign.Chris 2025
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A poem
Gentle scenes on this Thursday, this very time and place
the eternal sun warms the path
where I sweep while birds dart and wings beat air,
Take care to nurture the budding thought that Thursday brings
with love and grace, an invitation to turn and face life,
Poetry and prose repose in the churning of my mind,
I sit now to leave something behind and watch the clouds assemble overhead,
Water gushing in my pond just beyond my view
where the fruit trees all stand on this piece of land which we own in law but was never ceded,
we succeeded to divide and rule even my fish have their own country
to swim unfettered,
Thursday morning, thoughts collide and collude to create something lasting something worthwhile as a legacy…
Thursday will pass soon as well as my brief occupation,
will I be recalled or remembered at all?
that is not for me to say it should not colour my day, while birds’ flit, fish swim and fruit trees fruit,
I am here in the present, which even as I write has drifted into the past the only thing that lasts is the soil I rake and shovel,
my mind teems like that pond, yet I have gone beyond my scope in embracing hope, I found God in the sun that rises above all.Chris
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My true gift.
Socrates saw the danger, the poets
writing, evoking, conjuring
emotions
Rousing passion, defying fashion
rhapsodizing on worlds
they never visited…
I have been gifted with insincerity
writing of suffering
and love, heavens above! War and peace
all from my little street
my dogs at my feet.
I do not say anything about the minutiae
that mars my days
or the thousands of ways I bore myself
every single day.
Chris.
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A poem
My story seems unreal, A passage of timid steps, In a large, hollow hall.
Dark portraits glare and frown,
Why did I choose this skin?
Why even show up at all?
This town seems so brown, Even the leaves have fallen, In half light my shadow flits.
Why did I leave my safe room?
Why did I say your name aloud?
The air seems so thin, I spiral and dance like a moth pinned, Drugged and hating the light.
Why do anything at all?
When all my dreams betray me?
Infant, Coward, timid spirit, Words seem made to fit,That frame into which I squeeze, That world that loves me leaves me, Cold.
Chris
Chris' Poetry 