Static Dreams – and Why Not?


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Static Dreams Volumes 1 and 2 are now readily available at all good outlets – simply follow one of the links cleverly inserted below!

Both volumes contain original and intriguing stories (volume 2 includes my own personal contribution) and are well worth purchasing in any format.

Go on, treat yourself, you know it makes sense…and if you do, thank you!


Lulu (preferred option):

Both books, all versions

Barnes & Noble/Nook:

Both books, all versions


e-book only, obviously

Volume One

Volume Two


Volume One paperback

Volume One e-book

Volume Two paperback

Volume Two e-book

Second Skin


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But does he hold you in the night

Like I held you in the night

With his body laying next to yours

Like a second skin?

And does he kiss away your tears

As if they were his own

To leave you feeling pure and whole

Like I tried to do?

And when the darkness falls so hard

Is the hand you reach for mine

Although the only one you find

Belongs to him not I?

And does he hold you in the night

Like I did once before

And does he tell you all the things

I used to say to you?

And does he mean the world to you

Like you still do to me

With silent words that speak so loud

Just like a second skin?


© All original writing copyright Chris Nelson 2000-2020


Grave Lands


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I’ll race you to the Grave Lands

And meet you by the stones

Count the markers where they stand

The flesh we never knew

Dance like the glass is empty

Sand all turned to dust

Wonder at the names that stuck

Like tar upon our shoe

I’ll see you in the shadows

Your touch upon the stone

Drink your thoughts before they fall

And be with you in dreams

I’ll race you to the Grave Lands

And lay with you in dirt

Count the markers where they stand

And know we’ll be again.


© All original writing copyright Chris Nelson 2000-2020




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I’ll carve marks into my skin

And hope that you can see

Trust the cold wind with my name

To show where I have been,

Throw my arms out open wide

Watch red skies turn to black

Cry lost flowers wilt and die

To show you what’s inside,

I’ll leave words upon the shelf

Beneath the dust they’ll die

Hear the voices on the breeze

Whisper someone else,

All the things I left undone

Freeze the hands as they spin

Then slip between the covers

And vanish with the sun.


© All original writing copyright Chris Nelson 2000-2020


Some Days


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Some days

It is difficult just to lift 

My head

From the pillow;

Impossible to raise

My thoughts from the depths

In which they lie.

Some days

The strain to place one foot in front

Of the

Other aches hard;

Pain that sears like fire

Pain that leaves no scar

That you can see.

Some days

Each breath is like the very last

In bursts

Not short nor sweet;

Sucked in without my will

Chest that rises still

Then falls once more.

Some days

There are no words justs sounds that bleed


My hollow eyes;

Some days.


© All original writing copyright Chris Nelson 2000-2020




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Never really wanted much

From the world,

Or anything from you

But your love,

Never tried to take those things

That I saw,

Or anything that I

Didn’t need.

A smile was all I wanted

To ever see,

A smile on every face

From the heart,

Some may never notice me

As I pass by,

But I was here behind

The mirror glass.

Never really wanted much

To belong,

Perhaps never truly meant

For this world,

But I was here awhile and

You’ll forget,

And the writing on the wall

Will always fade.


© All original writing copyright Chris Nelson 2000-2020


Copper Sky


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Follow me,

I’ll follow you,

Follow you down

Through the leaf lattice lanes

The cold-pressed, silken steel streets

To the banks of the stream

That washed us down from

Our mother’s arms to the wailing sea,

From the copper sky

I’ll draw your scent

Etched by the march of blistered feet

And calloused hands that worked the soil

Tilled the earth like a worshipped wife

Wait for late summer’s heat-haze splendor

To draw the wheat from the chaff

And bask in your wonder,

Come with me,

I’ll come with you,

Come with you

Past the flowing fields of wheat

The fragrant factory towers whose breath

Like a fire pumps in and out

Resting our beating heart rhythm

With the solitude of its own,

From the verdant trees

I’ll catch your eye

Watch the silver scenes dance between

The gnarled bark faces of the ancients

And the heavy hung hands that drape

Hang low kissing the emerald glade

That washes like the ocean

To carry you home,

Follow me,

I’ll follow you,

Follow you down

Past the marble-cold faces

That press against the window panes

Their eyes imploring you to stay

Like the weeds between the pavement cracks

That fade with winter’s song,

From the copper sky

I’ll catch your glow

And feel its burn beneath my skin

Its warmth awakening the seeds

Which slumber safe in earthen beds

Their dreams contented like cot-held babies

But wanting always to bask

Once more in you.


© All original writing copyright Chris Nelson 2000-2020


On Islands Lost


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Into the air

The words that I

Wanted to say

To you,

Given their flight

But only when

The air was still

To you,

Into the space

Between the dreams

And what they mean

To you,

The things I said

But not out loud

The things I said

To you,

We stand alone

Our ships adrift

Won’t find their way

To you,

On islands lost

Our words will die

Can’t find a way

To you,

Into the air

All that I meant

Won’t mean the same

To you,

Into the space

The black hole void

The words that I

Could never say

To you.


© All original writing copyright Chris Nelson 2000-2020


The Guest House (excerpt) by Chris Nelson

I’m not one for ‘blowing my own trumpet’, but I hope that you enjoy this (and perhaps even purchase the book!).

Raw Earth Ink

The following is an excerpt of the short story: The Guest House by Chris Nelson, which you can find in the anthology Static Dreams Volume 2. Inside you’ll find nine dark and twisted stories written by him and other amazing authors. I hope you enjoy this little snippet.

When Duncan turned around and stepped out of the room he found himself on a jetty. He checked behind himself and saw that the jetty was long and jutted out almost precariously over the ocean, its wooden planks weather-worn and tired. With one footstep Duncan had found himself almost at the head of the pier, although, by now, he had given up trying to fix logic and reasoning to the day’s events. It was early morning once more: a warm sun had already burned the clouds from the sky and a prickly heat had begun to creep over the land…

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