Days And Confused

I could not find
A home in Gothenburg
The silent retreat at Sharpham
Clashed with football

I put the wrong date
On the writing group email
But the photograph
Of the frog by the pond was ok

Such a wonderful Tuesday morning
Sunshine in August
With Neil Young himself singing
Of the promise of a man

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Christopher's Collected Works Website

Irritation

He saws wood
He burns wood
The residual aroma
From the timber
Permeates my room

He saws wood
He burns wood
The resonating sound
From the timber
Interred into my day space

He saws wood
He burns wood
My neighbours disquiet
Caused by the timber being laboured
Catches my empathy

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Christopher's Collected Works Website

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

Available on Amazon

Christopher's Collected Works Website