Tellers of Tales

Almost without waking, yet still without dreaming, almost seeming

And almost hoping, hoping, yet still not knowing reason

Also in the valleys, on the road through the black mountains

To be told of the worlds greatest thief, and his more ingenious apprentice

It is the blue-sky morning, with sun’s heat warm and rising

It is the great humanity, shared by those who love sharing

And the days are ever better, and the nights reserved for singing

Mingling with the poets, whose life is of all the seasons

We are jingling two together, for the two together dreaming

From Christopher Sanderson's Ireland Poems
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Family Familiar

They’ve travelled from far off states to sample seas where heaven waits in their search for roots and equilibrium; to sample life at outdoor’s gate, with rippled blues and mountain views

Harbour all of great escape, her silver greys and spreading ways, to taste the salt of getting laid; sons and daughters, husband and wife, returning to the water, returning to the later life

Sun, sea, breeze and looping light, feeling good and feeling right, rolling wrists in free-on full-on sight; of the beach, as of the day, as of the ways of the wilder night

Travelling far, from way off states, to sample just where justice hesitates

From Christopher Sanderson's Ireland Poems
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Fleeting Glance

The upright, round column, of interlaced horizontal slate, hand crafted with genuine irregularity, gathered together in a truer than the eye can see line, form and fragmented colour arrangement

A black, blacker than the bog that first laid it down, or blacker than the miner who dragged it to the worlds surface, from those thousands of fragile feathered seams

A grey, a faster grey than the silver-shadow motorbike that led us off the ferry, a time for the leather clad rider to engage himself before speeding off towards the mountains

A fitness for purpose, more fitting than any machine made tripod, or foundry-cast firmware, or futuristic furniture; the irregular becomes regular, the fragile becomes firm, and the truth is we passed in too short a moment, we thus have one more reason, or need, to return

From Christopher Sanderson's Ireland Poems
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Ferry Cross The Irish Sea

Even as I begin to think about ethics and morals I wonder that it has taken me so long, in my life, to understand that my mind may also have some givens, some inherited roles for me to follow

And as I remember yesterday’s doubts, as to my ability to have organised such a complicated set of arrangements as is required to take a vacation over the sea to Ireland

Then, as that hour for departure approaches, the latches, the linkages, the cogs, the wheels, the clutches and the gears all become a muddle; only the ethics and the morals hold off the panic, only they help to keep self-destruction at bay

Where I am now influences where I will be this evening, where I will be this evening influences where I am now, where I am influences the choices I make, between how I am now, and how I might or may be then

From Christopher Sanderson's Ireland Poems
Read free in Ibooks on Itunes here
Listen free on soundcloud here
Watch free on youtube here
Read and download for free from ISSUU here

Percolate

In the hollows of the wind

Half quiet of night

Immersed in nature

A jubilant hermits book

Good time before sleep

Reverberations of secret worlds

Hold on; remember skin

The half smiles of love

So desperate to share

From the Kindle collection at Amazon 

Upright & Laid Out - Love of Cherry Red