Home Thoughts From A Broad

Where do letters sit

In the hierarchy or the continuum of our lives

If in that four AM correspondence

You had your eye on the main chance

Did the outcome you hoped for come to fruition

Is the letter a commencement of a two-way communication

Is it voyeuristic to look back on our own sensual words

To insinuate on other peoples most intimate writing

Are we out to show love, or care, or to set our stall out

Make the newly shared arrangements clear and unequivocal 

Does the letter establish any form of contract

Could it be counted as part of the foundation

On which all other relationships are assembled or interlaced

Do we, by committing pen to paper, make any other commitment 

Does the pace and certainty (with the time for thought)

Give the parchment more gravitas than the spoken word

When we whisper ‘I love you’ are we aiming for it not to be overheard

Are we to be so bold as when we seal the envelope with a kiss

Having left the words ‘I miss you’ inside for eternity

The spoken word, the written word; what precedes them? 

Do our first chanced glances look for the make of the fountain pen

Do we feel for the weight of the stock

On which our lovers future scribes will be formed

Are we required to have been lovers

Before our true feelings can make their way to the postman

For him again to deliver the myth of physical offerings

Into your consummation of their erotic suggestions

Is this the end of the letters journey

From wondering how you are

To making it necessary to take your underwear to the cleaners

Is this the culmination of literary thought

Pencil stains, pen & ink & semen

Mail that sails by itself, nude through the ether

Cut It - Love of Perfumed Grains of Dust

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

Ambient Wind

I was caught by her power

How she never had a frown

Until then I had forgotten

How to smile

A walk among the ether

Tiptoes at the deserts edge

More sensations than our senses

Could that day absorb

She was as heavenly air

She was as purified air

She was as soft submissive sand

I was no longer her frigid rock

Cut It - Love of Perfumed Grains of Dust

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

Bombardments 30

Daydreams

Before daylight

Half open playtimes

Before the end of night

Cut It - Love of Perfumed Grains of Dust

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

More Than Half Way

She had it in her mind

In the delirium of first light

That one ought to take cover as a lover

Secretly share conjugal rights

Declare ones soul outside his skin 

Soak up her others tobacco in shadow

Then to tread barefoot

Naked, without alarm; armed 

With no more than her inquisitive smile

Cut It - Love of Perfumed Grains of Dust

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

Stéphane Mallarmé

I wrote out his poem

On the Saturday morning

With fountain pen & purple ink

It was to be my new creative habit

I had bought his book

This poet of nothingness

One day earlier in the week

I must remember the inspiration

By lunchtime 

I had determined

To email a facsimile

Of the aforementioned creation

To an old flame

An ex long-term partner

However, I didn’t have the time

I was already more than half an hour late

We hadn’t spoken in ages

The parting was acrimonious

Laden with unrequited love & hate

She was from an Island, I am a country boy

How to begin, I was thin

On ideas I let the wheel steal

My thoughts; the past excesses

Led me to opt for simple stresses:

I think of you

This poem

Makes me think of you

I don’t know why

But it’s true

Most days

I think of you

I don’t know why

But it’s true

Seventy miles later, off

The motorway, onto the A road

A load off my mind, to find I’d found

An opening, an introduction to please her

Evening and night passed slowly by

If only I could be back home, for there

I could decide whether to remain quiet

Or to outreach; the poet’s embraced words to share

Awake by half-past five

Ready for the Sunday drive

How many times to ask or realize

Should I dare, or would I be criticised

The mail was sent by noon

Soon I was wondering: was it right

Was it the liquor that left me feeling tight

The light was on me, and I was, over the moon

Is it fair, to play separate tunes

To mix & match Virgo and October

Is it over, if it all goes awfully wrong

Is it better to sing duets of the joyful song

My conscience played along, I was weak

Yet also admirably strong, no longer in doubt

The words were out, out and about in the ether

Trying their best to meet her on favourable terms

I checked my inbox almost immediate

There was no return. On the hour, every hour

I powered up the text, nothing to detect, suspected

A failing internet; what to expect, she was past regret

As if we’d never met; O let me let her go

No, check just one more time, ring and test

The telephone line; the operator, in a tired voice

Says, sir, everything is fine, maybe the user declined

To acknowledge your call, that’s all, that’s why

Transmissions don’t always go through, blocked

Off by the ethernet’s boys in blue; she doesn’t know

How true my words are, she doesn’t know, how true

One last time before retiring to bed

The screen shows a solo email left unread

From dead to alive, I jump and jive, thrive on

Her every word, driven to distraction, my reaction

To read between the lines, try to define, seek

The hidden reverb; it’s late, I can’t concentrate

I hesitate; she will have to wait, until the morning

When the daybreak dawns and with a clearer mind

I find how simply matter of fact

Was her truncated, dispassionate reply

Why then would I ever need to wonder why

She doesn’t know, she didn’t ever know, what to say

Cut It - Love of Perfumed Grains of Dust

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