A poem
We woke up to find
decent folk
left far far behind,
their protests
faintly followed for
a short while..
So we sailed into
renamed seas
not agreeing, no never!
just being quiet
and discreetly clever.
Chris Papps
2025
No comments on We woke
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Times were always a’ changin.
A poem.
Lavic Lake Fault, San Bernadino, California. via web I’m caught
in between,
being seen
and unseen
drifting midstream.
awake
or is it a dream?I’m in between
right
and wrong where do we
belong?
in a poem or in a song
some sang
decades agoI’m holding
the rail
tightly today,
chasms
can appear
suddenly
catastrophically
irrevocablyI’m in between
living
and dead, the dread
of the void
can numb like Novocain
an active brain.Chris Feb 25
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A poem.
Art by Albert Tucker I hear the stirring in the wind, something begins
even from afar in foreign lands I hear the repressed moans released
When the quiet ones get angry, when the centre bends
maybe this is where the hatred ends.
Chris
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Authors own A poem of longing
Oh wind,
turn south
for me
whisper words to
soothe
or prove
my senses are correct,
We advise,
or direct
walk past grace
blithely
we are unwilling..
I am leaking
like a
sieve
holding
no living water
Oh wind, turn to me
kiss my brow
attentively
as limbs
on aged trees
sway so peacefully.
#poetryChris
2025
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A strange encounter
I met myself for coffee today, though at first we didn’t have much to say!
Pleasantries and weather chat, complementary about our choice of hat, we felt the moment slipping away so we both had to say it once and for all,
We love you, each other, closer than a brother, my twin perhaps? with no difference in the genes or DNA we say goodbye in better shape, agree to see other people if we must but coffee with myself is still a viable option,
Others may have noticed my solitary conversation but I am beyond salvation from the approval of the crowd, if allowed I would shun my fellow man, but I reminded myself to stay engaged so that tiny rivulets of reality can still flow.
I met myself for coffee today, it was a start some would say of something more serious or some would just sigh to see a grown man talking with himself.
Chris
2025
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A poem
Two Fridas. Frida Kahlo What lies within the heart of a human? I only see the red or the blue,
Beat on heart while callous crowds gather convinced of their truths,
What lies beneath righteous rhetoric? I only hear the cry of me, me, me
I look into my pond some days and see it grows less clear, murkier as if the air itself is saturated with sin..
Human hearts beat regardless of the worth of the vessel, or the deeds done with a treacherous hand held to the chest, proclaiming we are the best, truth is ours alone.
What does it mean to be human? If I could guess it may be better to act it out rather than stare at the sun.
What lies in my human heart? That is where poetry starts.
Chris
2025
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A poem
The omnipresent one Temu appears ordering me to purchase an outboard motor cover, I pause heretic as I am to dare question the plan.
I don’t have an outboard motor, yet now I feel less than I did before the voice of Temu spoke through its oracle Lord Instagram.
The pantheon never pauses, it watches us all day, a vigil to remind us to spend spend spend and appease the algorithms, just browsing no longer available to Google or Shopify they know I need a different device to make me feel nice?
Oh what strange Gods we have today! they accept After pay never take a day off and see more clearly our innermost thoughts and needs (available in most colours and varying speeds).
Temu I must defy you the outboard motor must remain a dream, I can only dream of when I’m on the sea again.
Forgive me my sins, and my predictable pins and you know I’m a devoted follower of fashion, food and technology that’s modern theology.
Chris
2025
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Poem for patience
Trams on Nicholson street
traffics swirling sounds, I’m bound
to their mad wheels
I want to heal
I can’t write today..
My malaise is bound to my DNA
have you tried to pray?
Not anymore, the silence stilled me
God was on hiatus..
I felt the veins in my neck beat
in that oven heat
my feet tired from treading asphalt
No
I can’t write today
will my window open wider to wisdom?
Oh who are we to even think
my weak words sink
Pebbles in a crowded pond
I am beyond..
No, I can’t write today.
Chris
Melbourne 2025
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A poem
Each day that ledge looms large
chasms cruel mouth
ready for my slightest lapse in concentration
waiting in certitude for my fall
the one I dread,
She said it was stress and anxiety
that stole my proprietry
my equilibrium another delusion
confusion of a child’s fear
Is it near?
It must be close
I’ve had more than most people I knew
those who had so much
only to fall so fast
dizzy descent into the inert
cold dirt,
The fall I dread is near
its breath on my neck and a hand
grasping for me,
The chasm doesn’t care or concern itself with details
pass or fails, my sail is torn and I’m
losing direction
drifting with little connection
we all fall, that is all..
Chris
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A poem
The behemoth bleeds
contaminated
blood seeps into streams
manipulates minds
corrupts dreams
Some fled the vile canal
to shield themselves
the rough beast crawls on,
Yeats words resonate
the centre will not hold..
Far away I
feel it’s incessant roar
inescapable
I am not interested anymore.Chris
Chris' Poetry 