A poem
Do not let me a burden be
out of duty, nor necessity
look only to reflect on my gift
to ease your grief if I may
on that day when all is in upheaval,
you will find my mind expressed
in words I already addressed
many times before, in my sunny days
so look to my directives,
do not let me a burden be.
Chris
A poem
Who will care for me?
in my days of decay
when they become indistinguishable
one from one another,
when I sign my name that I
no longer truly recognise, or admit
that I don’t understand
a single part of it,
who will explain it to me patiently?
not my brother or family
I never kept up connections, now my life
dwindles into itself,
unread books and mementoes on a shelf,
the refugee will care for me
that is who, the one who had to flee
everything they held dear,
it is the refugee, in their new world
that is who will inherit me.
Chris 2025
A poem
What, why and how are on the menu today
is this the way we tumble from this dizzy ledge?
no pledges honoured, ever, by vile suits and red ties
their lies echo into dead air, why?
We saw monuments to our fallen fall into disrepair
no one cares to listen, today’s menu is scripted in advance
to satisfy gluttons gorging on blood, ignore fire and flood
why? how do they not wake up?
these days, these times fly above our simplistic rhymes
the crime of indifference allows the leash its length
vacuous dolts know enough to never halt
unless we go off menu, now we must throw questions
like javelins faster further, to land in the comfort zone
why, how or what is stopping us?
Chris 2025
a poem
In the turning of the Earth,
the turning of my head over my shoulder
life hangs on gossamer threads,
I shed my little collections now
turning to the front gate and where it leads
the tender tugging at my sleeve, as I turn to wave
farewell friend, turning home into a cell,
it is not well to linger too long in that sweet smoke,
turning aside the dogmas now, hoping in the promise of light
turning night into day, turning to smile at her face
threads can fall into place, turning time into trust of self,
the last bastion falls, gate opens, turning to face the light.
Chris
Adelaide 2025
A poem
Today, today, today I’m
repetitiously walking around the block
familiar fences
shield unfamiliar families, introvert
and extrovert alike,
today,
walking softly my footsteps remain unheard
no greeting words
today…
Today for some reason
there is not another soul out walking
no birds talking
doves obstinate in silence
refrain from cooing, sparrows only flit
in alarm at my stealth,
I am an apostle of apathy
advocate for none
following sad silent lines of lost souls
around the block, again…
Today, there is no life
in me, no God to rescue my soul
water tasted odd, today
perhaps decay my moral malaise
it is like that today, pointless
displays unseen, no witness to my
moody poet passing
silent sunglasses shield tired eyes
today.
Chris
Adelaide 2025
A poem of time.
I know time changes
carving mighty mountain rock
altering courses of ancient streams,
my rock it seems is worn
smoothed by swift currents of time
moving and tumbling
into the indifferent deep ocean,
where pebbles rest easy
in times enormous embrace.
Farewelling our loved ones
rends close curtains
that drape my memories rooms
where the hearts calculations
have their own arithmetic
adding or subtracting loss or gain
to the relentless refrain
of a ticking clock
on the stern wooden mantelpiece.
Chris 2025
A poem
The times torment and test
showcasing the worst
diluting the best, we all feel
compressed
put to the test, fearful of civil unrest.
Today, sun shone
I took time for a coffee
in the busy place of commerce,
I gave permission
to allow myself small joys
guilt and shame
on hold for a few stolen seconds
for joy.
C
A poem
I feel morose, lay myself down
I have no soul
that loves me, no soul at all!
at my window
ghosts, ancestors gather around
he is blind they sigh,
when the child is ready he may see
all the love
that surrounds him, poor child.
at my window
I saw a starling startled fly away
yet I had made no move
it was perfectly still outside that day.
C
My experience in hospice.
In the hospice, I noticed
how the world
around the dying had shrunk,
down to a bedside table,
some photographs, I recall
an ornate hairbrush
on a crocheted doily…
The head nurse said
their world shrinks down around them
as they dwindle down and away
to a skeletal frame,
the feet it seemed to me
stayed the same,
I said being new, what do they do
and how do they act?
They die as they lived Chris
she sagely said,
it is all in the order of things
this shrinking down,
discarding the belongings
of a crowded life,
until the time when the room
is filled with familiar faces
only they can see,
that was a comfort for most
well, it was for me.
C
To Sabrina, a very wise woman.
A poem
Immerse yourself in art, read poetry from your shelf
try to coat your skin in beauty
pretend, if you can, that the universe has a plan
we must go with the flow!
try as you can to ignore the pleas of the poor
victims of war,
domestic violence and the epidemic of entitlement
that floods the globe,
I think you will find as the old song suggests
there’s nowhere to run
nowhere to hide.
C
Chris' Poetry 