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Sunday, 17 November 2013

Almost Lost

Smile
Eyes of love
Eyes
Wherever you have been
Here you are gathered
Precious
Full of surprises
Flowers, petals, columns
Stroked mechanics, pistons
Love awakened by love

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

Saturday, 16 November 2013

Down To

I don't have
Much money
Is there nothing else
We could talk about

I once loved you
My dearest honey
It’s there as a clue, to why
You went out on walkabout

I'd rather it be sunny
Than always raining down
This filthy lucre; it’s not funny
How she keeps us falling out

Still, as long as you’ve
Spit your dummy
There sure ain't nothing
Else we can talk about


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

Friday, 15 November 2013

Bundle

Stéphane Mallarmé is known
As the poet of nothingness, yet his poem Sigh
Breathes with, conjures up the all of our life
Alongside the bargain

The might of the all of our nothingness
All and nothing, associates absolute in life 
He gave it his all, but
Nothing came from the wanton cry

Would that the yellows and blues, past hues
With their dues duly forgiven, be riven from
The posts and the protestations, sensationally
Lost in the symbolic cost of a burning goodbye


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

Thursday, 14 November 2013

Surest Love

It’s her surest love, that’s what she’s surest of
He’s home to stay, he’s never gonna go away
Then her sad refrain - he’ll soon be back again

Tell me o surest love, what are those words you say
Your song only yesterday, he’s never gonna go away
Then that railway train - will he ever be back again?

Hear that mellow blow; the horn and the piccolo
She’s lost her surest love, downtown he’s a gigolo
With her he’s left his stain - will he be back again?

She mourns the loss; gone to the Lesbos Isle from Kos
She’ll paint again, from lover’s love she will abstain
She’ll still feel the pain - ever will he, be back again?

The boats faraway have sailed, he’s left no mail
His muse and his minder, over the seas to find her
Remind her of heroes slain - never going there again


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

Wednesday, 13 November 2013

Towards Ink

Through the gauze blind of the inset kitchen window I see the soft warm light of a lamp, left on all night, beside a footpath in the frosted garden

I had woken early, read Mary Oliver’s poem Wild Geese, not that I was lonely, almost the opposite; yes quite a bit more than at one

The peace of the plainsong I hope will stay with you, as I wobble, play with the place I choose most often to wander

I wasn’t in need of a response, or was I? Do I no longer contact myself, clearly, internally, with my needs; did I ever? Do any of us really, truly

One spoke of the lovely poem. One spoke of walking in the snow, from returning her sister to her home, late in the evening

The bed was cold, the room was cold, the house was cold, the sleep was cold; I was not warmed by the cold; my warmth came, from the togetherness of their words


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