Different Shores

MORALITY PARK

We set sail for different shores

A chance to greet new horizons

And carve a name where once was none

To plant our feet on holy ground,

We threw our maps into the sea

To trust to luck and winking stars

And casting dreams upon the winds

Our faith forever in the brine,

We sought the land birds on the wing

Strained our ears to hear their song

And when the call came from the crow

We took to task with hungry hands,

We welcomed in the virgin green

As if we’d never loved before

And set our rootless feet upon the shore

But never felt the tendrils grow,

We let our restless eyes look back

To all the things we’d left behind

And heard our past love’s whispered words:

“Come back, come back, come home to me.”

© All original writing copyright Chris Nelson 2018

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Owen or Brooke?

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War poets: a) poets who lived through times of war

Or b) poets who write about war?

I saw this poster and, for two seconds, considered writing something for it.

Then I read it and began to consider what exactly were they looking for?

Would they want a ‘war is abhorrent, causes nothing but suffering, pain and misery, and it is about time that we evolved Humanity to a state where wars no longer took place’, or would they rather a ‘war is an unfortunate, yet necessary evil, in which good will triumph, and all those who fight are ‘heroes”?

I decided that the ‘judges’ would err towards the latter.

I trust you know that my leaning is towards the former.

I shall not participate.

Gone (Light and Dark)

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I read the fickle words you wrote

Scribbled on a post-it note,

False sentiment caught in my throat

Made me gag and made me choke.

I heard the flowing eulogy

The standard one and not for me,

As standing there for all to see

You hung your words upon the tree.

I watched you talk of you and I

And look so meekly to the sky,

And as you spoke of when and why

To my replacement you mouthed ‘hi’.

 

I read the fickle words you wrote

But what more did I expect?

A heart torn open

Bleeding free –

A life cut short to be with me?

I heard the flowing eulogy

But I was only lost at sea

And ships will sail

And ever will –

And life goes on without me still.

I watched you talk of you and I

But true I never let you know

The secrets that

I hoped you saw –

And now I’m gone, forever more.

 

© All original writing copyright Chris Nelson 2018

 

Don’t Let Me Down – Chris Nelson

MORALITY PARK

Don’t let me down

Or leave me here,

Just cut me down

And disappear,

Don’t let me know

Or tell me when,

The cruelest blow

Bury me then,

Don’t let me breathe

And suffocate,

In lies you weave

It gets too late,

Don’t let my song

Hang in the air,

With words so wrong

And none to spare,

Don’t let me walk

With only hate,

Whilst others stalk

The open gate,

Don’t let me down

Or leave me here,

Just cut me down

I’ll disappear.

© All original writing copyright Chris Nelson 2018

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Mark on the Wall

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Your face

Another one pinned

To a crowded board

A transient skin

A mark on the wall

And a scratch on my conscience

A look that I’ve seen

And one that I’ve known

But never really felt before

Your face

Expression painted

Over and over

On a well worn canvas

Waiting and waiting

But never through choice

A mark on the clockface

Wiped over by hours

That never felt at all

Your face

Hung beneath the tower

Hidden in clear sight

Exposed in the dark

Waiting for the rapture

A sign that’s nothing more

Than a mark on the wall

A scratch on your conscience

You never felt before

Your face.

 

© All original writing copyright Chris Nelson 2018

 

House in the Hills – Chris Nelson

MORALITY PARK

There is a house

In the hills

Where my true love

Does lie.

Among the ferns

Shadow kissed

Her brown hair falls

In waves.

And as my eyes

Weep to the skies

I wait each day

For her dew to fall

Upon me.

Beneath the trees

In the glade

Her presence glides

In swathes.

From the peaks

Her love soars

On angel wings

I below.

And as my eyes

Weep to the skies

I wait each day

For her dew to fall

Upon me.

There is a house

In the hills

Where my true love

Does lie.

Among the ferns

Shadow kissed

Her brown hair falls

In waves.

© All original writing copyright Chris Nelson 2018

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Untitled – Chris Nelson

MORALITY PARK

Born into the night

Sharp-suited, black

Against the shadows,

Felt your footsteps

Cold and soundless

Tracking,

Each placed deep within my own,

Your breath,

Chill upon my neck

As your words swirled,

Like birds lost in the warmth

Of early winter,

Around my head,

My back sheltered by

The uneasiness of your coat

Wrapped about my shoulders,

Felt your hands eat

Into my formaldehyde mind,

Sowing the seeds for a harvest

Misted by candle-wick days

Which devoured the light

And led the Sun to its

Uneasy bed,

Born into the night

Cut from the promise of light,

Against the shadows

I felt your footsteps.

© All original writing copyright Chris Nelson 2018

If you enjoyed this, thank you! To read more please visit chrisnelson61.

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Introducing Chris Nelson ~ Magpie

MORALITY PARK

My perch it is the highest fence

My view the clearest view,

I scan the city streets all day

In search of something new.

I watch the faces passing by

The frightened and the brave,

And steal their thoughts before they know

They’re stumbling to the grave.

But never tree

Or hanging branch

Will ever hear me sing,

I move with grace

From left to right

But never on a limb.

I’ll take the shiny and the dull

And keep them in my nest,

All the doors that never opened

Now locked inside my chest.

And when at night you cannot see

The memories that you lost,

I’ll gaze upon each every one

And marvel at the cost.

But never will

I take the dive

Or sing out loud my song,

Just bob my head

From side to side

And pray that I’m not wrong.

I’ll watch the Sun both…

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Distant Shores

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I chased the poster’s dream

As it fluttered high above the breezeblock sky,

Its white-wisp clouds kissed the blue,

And even though

It was not there

An egg-yolk sun caressed the flesh

Of perfect bodies on the sand

As draped in tiny fabric slices

Their feet in silken silver grains

They let the gentle tide

Carry off the cares

They never really owned

A thousand palms

Captured in stop motion

Waved through the lens

Across the miles

And beckoned to their world

Their silent mouths too still

To whisper truths

That they would always be

One dream away from reach.

© All original writing copyright Chris Nelson 2018

Days of Nostalgia

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When we were younger

Our feet danced

To the beat of the factories

On every street,

Metal bins rattled

Voices roared

As our rain-heavy leather ball

Slapped on the wall,

And we watched our dads

As hooters blew

Stride from the heat to the corner pub

And the pull of beer,

It was always enough

To halt our game

And wonder at the marvel of what

Lay ahead for us,

As the words of our mothers

Rang in our ears

And we knew that all too soon our games

Would be lost for good,

And that the storm ahead

Was rising still

Our adult lives being forged in the mill

Despite our cries,

Sweets and penny chews

On happy days

We dipped our toes like liquorice sticks

In life’s tart sherbet,

But not for us, not yet

The working hours

Our endless time still filled with joys that

Poverty couldn’t kill,

As on the kitchen table

Our mothers served their fare

The food that always smelled so good yet

Always was the same,

And mornings came so very late

With our fathers gone

And days of school – what did we learn

But how to play the game?

And did we ever really know

What lay beyond

The streets down which we lived our days

And voices never heard?