Remaining Time

So so much is behind me

So so little

Seems to lie ahead

Yet only two-thirds

Or four-fifths

Or some other fraction of my life have passed

So how to climb aboard a now train

How in future to look on each day

With a new destination in mind

Yet, most often

A journey without travel

A railroad without tracks

Being everywhere

Whilst going nowhere

Which sounds like a sound plan

Simply to be

And simply to do

With unknown boundaries

To be walked along

To be adorned

With the adjectives of love 

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In Every Place We Make Our Own Space

I don’t remember the bedrooms

Or the stairs

At Ten Brick Row

I am able to recall even less

From Whiteley Terrace

Not even the front door

So it was The Crown, at Birdsedge

Where clarity began

A snooker table, a football field

Back though into a vacuum

At the White Door

Room dividing curtains perhaps

Rotcher is clearer now than then

It was a King Crimson party

In a 1930’s semi-detached

Sadly not to last

On to two houses

A family half in half

Then an upside-down arrangement

A bedroom with a door

Onto a lane going nowhere particularly

Then finally, in this phase of life

A council house, with a window

Up above the front door

Which somehow

Probably pretty well inebriated

I would climb in through

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Meanings

A road which begins

At Five Lane Ends

So not really a road at all

But a lane

Yet a lane which goes all the way

As would a road, and maybe even beyond

Half-a-mile or so

Down the road, or lane

Over a wall

Into a big field

Edged by trees

Which we climbed

Whose broad branches

We swung from

And also we jumped from

Our stage post

From self into self

Through social interaction

We usually came at the place

From the opposite direction

Meeting up in the village

Then trekking though

The farm yard

Past the barn

And dam

Up through the silver birch plantation

Over tufted ground

To see the huge Plain trees

In our playing field

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for his Collected Works

Doubt Of Certainty

 Why would you not believe

Unless there was something in it for you

You know

That, what’s in it for me, modern mentality

Similarly

Why would you believe

Unless, you know

Just to edge your bets

So

As you lay on the bench

And your alter-ego

Stands in the church

Both of you

Deep in contemplation

Meanwhile the scientist waves his wand

And turns water into wine

(It is a fairly old trick but still works)

At the same time someone in the congregation

Asks Bill Withers’ widow

Is it still

A lovely day, lovely day, lovely day

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for his Collected Works

Play

 Where shall we go now

Where shall we go

We can go almost anywhere

Where shall we go

What shall we do now

What shall we do

We can do almost anything

What shall we do

Why shall we go now

Why shall we go

We can ask any question

Why shall we go

When shall we do now

When shall we do

We can be where we are

When shall we do

Available at Amazon

Christopher's Website
for his Collected Works