London Calling

That artist

Who had porridge, a pot of tea, and cigarettes

For breakfast

On his way to purposeful acid etchings

He walked beside you

You walked beside him

Such a pity it was virtual reality

Even on the Outliers

That cab driver

Driving through pouring rain 

To reach

The museum with a radiator

She walked beside you

You walked beside her

Tied up in the domesticity

Of getting to somewhere

How many artefacts

You say too many to count

Yet too few

To grant you solace

Don’t go there do I hear you say

To the field, or stream

Or bluebell woods

Where time will have taken its toll

The book is on order

Wait patiently for now

And remember

The rush is always inconclusive

Available at Amazon

Christopher's Website
for his Collected Works

Observations From A Room

A past

Which only you know in its entirety

Such a random collection

Of experiences, such as

Wiping the apprentice's steel-clad bench

At the end of a made-up working day

Meanwhile, you photograph the dawn

A blue-black sky with traces of burnt red

As seen through the bare skeletal tree

You remember the farm with three brothers

Across the main road

With highway repairmen and cycling upsets

It wasn’t meant to be a list

Neither for that matter an invitation

To anything other than your own interior

Where walls and windows are your doors

Wrapped all around you

To give presence to your present

That broken hand-made vase

From an art market in Greenwich

Too delicate for my clumsiness to maintain

The warm radiator has warmed the chair

Which has taken many years to understand

Or to come to terms with

To use the light of the table lamps

And sunrises

One glows as one dies

Under a sky

Cleared of angst and anger

If ever there was such a thing

Let it rest now

Brought to an end, by nothing more

Than the bottom of a page

Available at Amazon

Christopher's Website
for his Collected Works

Ritual Behaviours

Also, this morning

The tide landing on the shore

Before the hotel guests have risen

To stroll down the promenade

In search of the Western Morning News

The printing presses

Having been plugged in and primed

Somewhat in the dead of night

Their servants, or masters

The journalists

Having put their work to bed earlier

The church stands empty

Empty and silent

Waiting for the prayers

Of absent congregations

Who nevertheless, occasionally need

These pillars of faith

With their prayer bowls

Of pebbles, flowers and sea water

With their dank, damp graveyard

Collections of yesteryear

And all those many other years

From so so many generations before

Soon we will board the ferry

And cross the river

To land on the seafront

Of a town also just awakening

Yet not for some, especially those who wonder

What is the purpose

Available at Amazon

Christopher's Website
for his Collected Works

Before Dawn Arrives

There is a darkness

To the five AM rising

A silence, which some might say

Is due to it still being the middle of the night

There is a freedom

To the earlier start

An ease, which is hard to pin down

Other than life feels easier

No need, none whatsoever

To run hither and thither

Instead to calmly fry the beans

And tip them slowly onto the buttered toast

No change here, from solitude

Or with bookish contemporaries

For to be alone is to be alive

Knowing just how good it is to exist

Yet it is not moorland

Out the windows behind me

Neither a rolling sea

To pound my coastline 

I am in the urban landscape

Singing about the urban spaceman

I am in the comfort of my homestead

Thinking of what on earth to say next

Available at Amazon

Christopher's Website
for his Collected Works

A Picture Paints

The room is warm

Even at this early hour

I could easily drift off

To who knows where

But I don’t

Instead I take out a pencil

To scribe these few words

On the cusp of daydreams

The prints are from Egoiste magazine

Bought in an outdoor market

In the old town of Bilbao 

Where we also tasted tapas

Indeed in some of the bars

We watched the ham being sliced

Due to one enterprising soul realising

That this would make for fine entertainment 

Another photograph is of the sea

The promenade at Whitby to be precise

At the time of the World Music festival

Where Buena Vista Social Club played

The room is warm

And you might argue

That it is filled with memories

From further away yet closer to home

On the long wall images from Skye, Shetland

And from birthdays; also, on the far wall

My own pastels; so so many hours of pleasure

From so so very long ago

Available at Amazon

Christopher's Website
for his Collected Works