A poem
See the man in the porcelain shop
crashing bashing,
carelessly destructive,
says he “admires beauty”
littered aisles testify otherwise,
He only pauses to blame
the porcelain itself for being so delicate,
so unattainable!
and on and on he goes when he’ll stop?
no-one knows.
Chris
A poem
Her music
is not for the faint hearted
someone said,
not for the faint hearted?
My ears started,
pulse raced
my hibernating soul stirred
but my faint heart
kept beating
disproving the notion
absolutely
entirely,
faint heart be damned
my ears
are crammed.
To P J H
Chris 2025
For John
We all move, instinctively, to melody, rhythm
that moves me, moves us,
we sway, stomp we glide,
Transitions when seamless allow opportunity,
to intrude, break through,
allow our heart freedom, profound
to glide, to sway on this sacred ground.
If you picture the scene, we mean
humans move between all the places we’re meant to be
places we know, if we are unhurried, unsullied
by the stab of stress and woe, we may glide
an economic expression of spirituality.
Aspirations invite review,
we have many platforms on this line
passengers know this station
seamless integration,
from carriage to platform and carriage again
gliding like my hands over silk
pleasure in the moment drives the destination
an aspirational devotion.
Chris 2025
A poem
My veins clogged with sugar and fat,
who is that?
Looking in my direction.
I pant from increasing my pace
his face looks wild.
Lungs bursting from smoke and grime
is it my time?
I will repent, become an apostle Lord
if you spare me a day.
Suddenly the sun breaks through cloud
the man brushes by me.
Oh, was I too hasty? I reward myself
with pastry, black coffee.
Who will know? I withdraw my offer
to the heavens.
Let me sit on this bench, catch my breath
don’t fear death, until you see him, I guess.
Apostle? perhaps tomorrow if it is fine
or perhaps the world may end, anyway.
Chris
A poem
I’m listening to P J Harvey,
(my good fortune)
falling in love a little
(one day there’ll be a place for us)
her voice so achingly real,
I am stricken
falling in love with any sensual soul
who soars and turns
in flight, the sheer accomplishment
to be above it all.
The litter of my life clogs my brain
ephemera, the stuff
always hinting at what my identity
when she sings, oh my heart
(one day there’ll be a place for us)
pictures us walking side by side,
It is a lie
fantasy paralyzing enticing
distracting always seeking diversion
no pain no gain!
forget the gain, the pain will come
but now I’m just in love
a little bit right now
(one day there’ll be).
Chris 2025
a poem of narcissistic self-loathing.
petulant me, petty me, pity me please please please,
projecting me, pathetic me, poor me me me.
all the places that know me, they know me, they show me
perhaps me, positive me, painfully aware yes yes yeah,
self-loathing drones never seek a target, it hovers
all day and all night, perpetually, predatorially over me me me.
Chris 2025.
A poem
Some may say you wasted your days, wasted minutes and seconds
Months and years all wasted
Some may say things
to hurt
OK.
Then there are those I suppose who waste
the world, wantonly
malicious men
my time wasting, small sin perhaps cannot console
their all consuming greed.
Chris P
A poem
We remember when the world forgets
the details, remembers the fails
the flaws, drinking and the infidelity.
Myth making in the islands where myth
was born, waves lap, typewriters
click and clack.
He was on my curriculum, she was a
footnote, a suicide
“Tragic waste” or was it cruelty?
rushing in to
fill the void where love had grown
once,
Picture them travelling to the island
sea spray
salted their lips ready to kiss,
eager to start
somewhere both ancient and new.
I do not know them, nor do you,
all we have
are words hung out like sponges
in the harbour of Kalymnos.
Chris P 2025.
for John
A poem
I can hear, if these suburban sounds abate, voices lost on the wind
swirling, whirling around my straining ears, sincere and soulful
calling out to me.
I write wistfully to honour the possibility of a world I cannot see
where all those who loved, laughed and lost are tossed on waves
of the endless air.
I don’t know if I craftily conjure these whispered entreaties
as I sip my morning coffee, mystery has its’ allure, I’m sure
if they see me then they would cry.
I sit and drink on in that reverie, knowledge seems so uncertain,
shadows of life and death a thin lace curtain blowing in the wind
like my room welcomes cool air after heat.
If we meet dear friend in that evening light, we may pass by silently
caught up in thought, unaware of how close our life strands are
seeking to connect, always connect.
Chris Papps
Glanville 2025
A poem
Everyone has a story in them
you just have to get it out, oh Lord oh Lord
poetry is irrelevent, do something
useful, why don’t you!
if your lost go find yourself, Oh oh oh
divine energy fill me please…
Why wasn’t I gifted? I grifted, drifted shoplifted
my inspirations from many nations
many stations I chose to stay on the train
daydreaming, Oh lord
if you want to write, get a cat and grab a coffee
that’s all writers need!
get up to speed, slow down and try harder
take a day off, it will flow, if you let go
don’t lose sight of your goals, you’re too focused
my god these locusts!
they plague me, oh Lord send me a balm
my arm is itching…
If you buy these books they contain the pearls
that were his eyes, the lies
we tell ourselves, poets can make it real
they cannot be trusted, I would follow him
follow her, for the words, Oh Lord
is the water warm enough in heavens ponds
I am shy, I show off in crowds
quiet and then loud, sends me some harmony!
we all have a story in us….
Send me rain Lord, I am barren, dry and unfecund
my roots die, curling around the earth
at our birth is our death
first and final
breath.
Chris 2025
Chris' Poetry 