Pinch Points

I have found the shade
On the hottest day this year
I have found the solitude
Where the pond waterfall splashes
Where John Martyn’s music
Plays on the Bose speakers

I can see the many apples
On the many trees
I can see the few white roses
Fluttering in the breeze
I have found the circumstantial
To settle into a calm of simply being

Knowing; well, full well
That at some time during the day
I will find disturbance
Either from deep within
Or skilfully delivered
From further without

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Christopher's Collected Works Website

Know

I could have stood tall
I could have done that more often
I could have walked further
I could have done that more often

I might still be there
I might still be elsewhere
I might still be otherwise
I might still be thankful

I may be so so far away
So far you couldn’t possibly notice
I may be so so far away
So far I couldn’t really tell

I never did play ukulele
I never did strike a chord
I never did find your drumbeat
I never did fall on the sword

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Christopher's Collected Works Website

Half A Sine Wave, Or More

Already on this summer’s morning
There is music in the distance
To compliment the waterfall
And the clear blue sky

Of late I have become absorbed
In a search for a description
A way to capture a raison d'être
For that fleeting experiential feeling

Where the shortest of times
Takes one to the longest of times
Where the ripples on the pond
Signify the continuum of existence

And so I listen to Erik Satie
Indeed I am with him
In his exquisite Paris apartment
Before we go to the pavement café

As the music moves on
So the pigeon moves on
Clearly they are less fond
Of the TMS cricket commentary

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Christopher's Collected Works Website

Half A Sine Wave, Or Less

In that time
Of less than a moment
Where only
The mysterious feeling is felt

I call it mysterious yet feel sure
That it is fuelled by longing
Where one word is way less
Yet way more than a sentence

I don’t believe that the couple
Who sat by the window
Spoke a single word
As they drank their coffee

No doubt caught up
In their very own insecurities
Where the deep, penetrating silence
Is happy to scurrilously linger

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Christopher's Collected Works Website

Nattered

Today it was
The Evening Primrose
Today it was
The scent of my own skin
With the circulation
Ever warmer
When in my bed
I did lay

My blood is going somewhere
My blood is going nowhere
My legs are tributaries
Off the old canal
My thoughts are the thoughts
Of some long-held
Misunderstandings, my temptations
Lead me to where I am

Last night it was
The sleep, or rather the lack of it
Last night it was
The dreams
With poetry’s words
Forever recurring
As in my bed
I did lay

Available on Amazon

Christopher's Collected Works Website