A poem for the tired ones.
Waking into weariness
sinking feelings
having spent far too much
now the day
demands its fee, its payment
in pure energy…
I have drunk from Lethe
or at the breast
I never wished to be parted
from the comforting warm
and steady nourishing flow,
I know
we must pay to exist
but I am so wildly wantonly weary
that I will fold myself
and put my soul under the pillow
to wait for restful nights.
Chris P
A poem on leaving work
When asked I said “I think it is time to go”
all the signs were there
my physiology revolting against continuation
my anxiety demanded
and with trembling voice I said yes, it is time
not reason nor rhyme
on the platform refusing to board the express
taking time to bless
count my blessings, invoke my privilege
let others shoulder now
what I had carried for so very long before
they were even born,
Guilt or shame so often my closest friends
must respect the end
and banished be forever from my beginnings.
Chris P
A poem
She kept persisting, asking him
how do you feel?
how do you really feel young man?
He knows how to feel a purse
or the back of Fagans’ cruel hand
that’s how you knick
by feeling ever so lightly, artfully!
His stomach rumbles
she asks, “are you upset young man?”
no it’s just he hasn’t eaten
for over a day or even more,
her notepad poised on her knee
she says it is hard for me!
Well Miss you know that’s my trade
you have yours
I have mine..
only when he sleeps the well is deep
and so very dark
please he says, don’t leave me in the dark.
Chris P
Ah, the reflections
that in twilight
pool at my feet,
Oh, the melodic
lapping waters of me
my sea bounded
by the limitations of land
possibilities
stranded on doubts reef,
Ah, the familiar
failings and fallings
on relentless rising tides.
Chris 2024
Chris' Poetry 