Droplets of joy

Thin subliminal sounds of the ocean
Wave by cascading wave
Trickling harp by trickling heart

Darkness by the absence of artificial light
Darkness brought on by the closure
Of the once so certain, certain part

Super longevity; in this small four walled room
Super sized becomes the brevity
To ones own past times memory cart

from 

Elbowed Out - Love of Listening to Michelangelo

Christopher's Poetry collections can be found on iTunes and on Kindle by clicking the highlighted links

Bedhead

There is a warmth, a certain serenity

As if the star sign of Saturn alone should bring such piece

A carrier, a vessel to fill with echoes, a universe to populate

With dreamed up memories

That oscillate among eons of beautiful visions

In the future, to try to recollect these instants

Yet never again to truly trespass on those clouds

No more to instill that voice of endearment

Fearful of making the call

Under the ominous threat of rejection

Instead to read the chapter on depression

Settle on a preference for melancholy

Hang her scented lightness of cloth on every resonant passage

Celebrate the star sign that brought thought transference, and
Ultimate joy, before I wake up and smell the coffee

Shower, eat, drive, meet, return

To sit for a further day, at that place, where the ether

Can carry the birdsong, where the effervescent passages

Of time past and time present are able to wander 

Undisturbed - gentleness in being personified

from 

Elbowed Out - Love of Listening to Michelangelo

Christopher's Poetry collections can be found on iTunes and on Kindle by clicking the highlighted links

Absentee

Dare to break the spell

Purge the myths

Where the words wallow so frequently, so easily, so secretly

Set up the clandestine meeting

In a matter of fact sort of way, no more to it than that, no false 

Expectations, no hidden agendas, no place for truth or beauty

A map of California stretches across the table top

Was this his destination? 

That shadow of a man, how imperceptibly we carry our shadows

Dare to break the spell

Purge the myths

Of the doubtful doubts of insincere, and secret, easy, re-creation

from 
Elbowed Out - Love of Listening to Michelangelo

Christopher's Poetry collections can be found on iTunes and on Kindle by clicking the highlighted links

Mounds

Eight minutes the difference

Maybe climb the hayrack

Sit in contemplation

Drink a settled pot of tea

Thousands of times upon the waking

In or out of halfway dreams, where

Could the bare breast have came from

Heaven it is, only to know

Extrapolations, spent-fuel

Misfired imaginations

Overheard presentation of

Tree lined incantations

A single star, in a sky

At once so far away

Before a slow red sunrise

Turns on the weary day

Plagued by indecision

Fearful of derision

Indebted to the men

Of youthful circumcision

All across the frost filled grounds

All the way to fanciful minds

Thoughts plaid full

To the brim of fair silken mounds

from 
Elbowed Out - Love of Listening to Michelangelo

Christopher's Poetry collections can be found on iTunes and on Kindle by clicking the highlighted links

Rough

I have killed

As a fifteen year old youth I worked in the local slaughter house, earning pocket money for the summer holidays, picking up enough cash for Friday nights at the YMCA. A discotheque where I splashed on Brut aux de cologne before it became a mass consumer commodity. I splashed on scent to cover up the stench of blood and sweat, and fear; the fear of the cornered sheep who knew, from the ambient noise and the putrid smell, that it's time would very soon be up.

My time also done. The highly flighty young girls entirely unimpressed with my disk jockey selections of Pink Floyd, Frank Zappa et al. They breezed off to more soulful & romantic liaisons; who knows even to find a little bit of rough.

Not that the rough boys ever worked the slaughterhouse; no, mostly the rough boys were cowards and bullies, synthetic tough guys with no real fibre or backbone, or steel in their makeup.

They were the sort of boys who worked best in gangs, or who took their strength from their weapons of choice. The sort of young men who might have tried it on with me, until they heard that already I was a killer

I had killed before

All of that was a long time ago. I only mention it now, as we collectively undress.

More as a point of disclosure, to let you know of what I was once capable. It took a while to learn to stand up to bullies. Perhaps less time to move on to the more expensive aromatics. I hope that gives you some certainty, perhaps increases your expectations, of my future intentions.

from 
Elbowed Out - Love of Listening to Michelangelo

Christopher's Poetry collections can be found on iTunes and on Kindle by clicking the highlighted links