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
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
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
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.
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
A poem of resolve.
I feel the urge to sidestep the hatred lane on life’s road
It’s already clogged don’t you know?
Another spleen vented is a brick of hatred cemented
Fermented by falsehoods that tower rises higher and higher
We must aspire to simple acts, truth, kindness
And show the fortitude to do more than endure, to ensure
The tower falls for want of attention.
That is my intention, my hope and perhaps my desire, my entire being
Holds my vision forward to the light.
Chris 2025
A poem
I found
today nothing
profound
to say..
except to feel
that hollow
sadness
seeping in
deepening
delving
into times
vast vaults,
In my passing
no shadow
was cast surely
nothing of
mine
will truly
last,
nor should it
be so!
I was just
in
the
tight grip
of suffocating
self pity
and doubt.
Chris
A poem
I see Red ties
on white necks
straining
with hate and spite..
Veins
bloodless faces
no traces of intelligence
only cunning,
Red ties for rats
to build
rat empires and rat real estate,
rat deals made
with red ties rocking
back
and forth like a noose
on a gallows..
Red ties made by slave labour
to tell lies,
Nightmares are the latest
Lullabys.
Chris
2025
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
