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 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