• Exhaustion

    April 14, 2025
    poetry

    A poem for the weary

    Dense blanket placed over me, that smothering sense of feeling overwhelmed by my fatigue,
    Exhaustion in mind, body and spirit is the default setting in my software now, do I know how to reset it?
    Each soul stumbles on the path and each soul rises to continue the journey; this soul wants to stay put for now…
    The legacy of lethargy greets the retiree stuffed full of visions of unfettered mobility, the freedom to live as you ought
    That comes to nought, sadly, when you are stretched thin by noon and ready to swoon at two!
    Exhausted and deeply disappointed in the unfolding of what has passed and was meant to be, send me Lord some energy.

    Chris

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  • Feeling mostly futile

    April 13, 2025
    poetry

    A poem

    Feeling mostly futile now, found out, left wanting now

    Words won’t flow now, where did it go now, feeling futility as a life choice now

    Poets and writers, all agreed, what ever they are it ain’t me

    Futile to plead, no life to lead now, watch the world implode now

    Mostly futile, a crevice of hope? Yeah, no, and definitely defying any upward trends.

    Chris

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  • One year today

    April 7, 2025
    poetry

    In memoriam JR

    Your faith on your lips as life ebbed away
    I picture the thousand ways
    it could have not happened on that dreadful day
    One year ago
    people all praised you, yet it was never enough
    to show your humanity, or the flaws
    banished by your garrulous guffaws…
    I pause
    grief is an interruptive thought, a pause in my selfish day
    doing things my way
    I pause
    give you the blessing I owed
    the gift of friendship
    but it is so damn hard to let it go, you know why?
    it was accidental
    I pause again
    we miss you, times recalled, even the irritations!
    were a gift to remind me how large you were
    you filled every room, every bar or hall
    wherever you were you towered tall over them all,
    One year
    time cheats on us all, it must be another memory
    long drives, welcome smiles
    worth every mile!

    Thank you
    for your presence
    I always felt appreciated by you
    God we could both talk!
    that’s for sure
    Thank you
    bless you wherever you roam
    I hope you find your way home,

    One year.

    Chris April 7 2025

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  • Vulnerability

    April 6, 2025
    poetry

    A poem of “I”

    I think of those who shield and hide their own vulnerability
    at the cost of, perhaps, their humanity
    I think some shields are an illusion, I see only my own fear
    of my very own vulnerability
    I was born into a world unmarked by labels or patriotic fervor
    ignorant of distant freedoms
    ignorant of the voices urging strength at any cost, to be found
    was to be lost and humans tossed on a pile.
    At that moment of naked awakening, I was entirely vulnerable
    trusting in the love of parents and family
    We often see the consequences of neither, yet vulnerability
    is derided by some who have loud voices,
    I want to think anew now, not make do with the old norms
    accepted forms, put my defenses aside, turn and greet
    the incoming tide.
    Vulnerability reveals the places where my pain gets in, under
    my old skin, where times passage has eroded me
    Perhaps, I muse again in that passage of pain I may yet
    learn to live again, celebrating my vulnerability.

    Chris P

    1 comment on Vulnerability

  • My fig tree is dying

    March 31, 2025
    poetry

    A poem

    So long without rain, the dry Earth groans and cracks
    my face in sympathy feels like an arid plain..


    We are all waiting, hoping, yearning for some rain.

    My fig tree is dying and that is hard, it has such sweet gifts
    that put me in my mind of ancient groves,


    If we get a decent downpour, I hope it will recover and we
    will sigh and say, that is summer anyway.

    I love my fig tree.

    Chris

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  • Write something

    March 28, 2025
    poetry

    A poem for myself

    Write something of note
    Is it time?
    The timekeepers face
    had been hiding
    In stream or woods
    or oceans deep,
    Or only glimpsed in dreams
    now it is time
    or so it seems
    to say what I wanted to
    about me
    about you,
    But time has its way
    I find
    today nothing to say
    except to feel
    that hollow sadness
    deepened in time,
    in my passing no shadow
    was cast
    nothing will truly last.

    Chris

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  • Suffering no more

    March 27, 2025
    poetry

    A poem

    Peace be with you, and with you amen
    tell me friend do you suffer still?
    Dear friend by the honest ring of your amen
    I say there is no suffering any more
    if you write to a mythical being presiding
    over then you will feel pain
    never again he said, peace you wished me
    and I accept gratefully
    our shared simple yet complex humanity.

    You puzzle me dear friend, yet by validation
    I admit I had reached stagnation
    of my soul, no control over the dark clouds
    threatening every day, I suffered
    for all and even those I hadn’t yet heard
    I wept even at the word…hate.

    Friend think of it as the energy in the vine
    or in the roots of trees, doing the work
    without thinking of the stubborn clay
    or what day it is or when will it rain again?
    suffering lies in that refusal to grow
    with Gods green energy abundant to all
    so, amen again friend, amen.

    Chris

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  • I dreamt of a whirlpool sucking me in.

    March 24, 2025
    poetry

    A poem

    Swirling mad dreams awakening to screams that die in midair whirling swirling around the centrifuge the dizzying luge I spin..

    Where to begin to grasp and hold on? this world is spinning spinning like a child’s top, if it stops, we plunge in the void,

    Violence and vitriol vying to win, helpless we all look away as the wheel spin, spin, spins we are pins in an alley where the madmen own the lanes, we are wastewater spinning down the drain.

    I awoke from the dream, sweat soaked and cloaked in the tendrils of despair, am I the only one that cares? of course not but while we take time to awake the madmen who never sleep just take, take and take.

    Chris.

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  • For these times.

    March 22, 2025
    poetry

    A poem.

    Poets painters artists all
    ask why do we
    create or toil with words
    canvas or twisted strands to weave
    a thread we all conceive,

    Protest and profoundly ponder
    why humans plot
    to control and plunder, those who
    think it seems to me
    are the hope of humanity.

    Chris P

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  • New poem.

    March 11, 2025
    poetry
    What I can do in these days.
    No comments on New poem.
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Chris' Poetry

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