, , , , , , , ,

And when they made love

The birds fell silent

On the bough

And hung their heads in shame,

And dawn was just a

Wish upon the lips

Of others

Slow-time moving limbs,

And hands and fingers

Dance ethereal

On cloud swept

Melodies unwritten,

All reason lost to

Emotions more real

Than sounded

Words that die in cold light,

And when they made love

The ground did shiver

Temples fall

Beneath something more honest.


Summer’s Kiss


, , , , , ,

Summer had never shone

As bright

Burned into my flesh

Like a passionate stare:

A disease from which

I desired

No release

But simply to bathe

Like the naked newborn

In the visceral glow

The fluid heat

Of a face born


Un-scripted and pure

Hanging both unseen

And omnipresent

The life-blood stream

Sourced from another

To feed my veins

And breath inside

A Summer’s kiss

To linger on the lip



© All original writing copyright Chris Nelson 2017



, , , , , ,

And in the end,

When words are stripped away,

It all comes down

To how close you stand to me,

When smiles are hard

To wrestle from the World,

And days won’t rise –

Foundations formed in quicksand,

And eyes are dull,

Cataract-worn by time,

Your presence near

Gives reason to believe,

When kisses cold

Can’t melt long winter’s ice,

And logic falls

From fence to floor to grave,

I cling tight to

What I know is real

That everything comes down

To how close you stand to me.



, , , , , , , , ,

A wallflower

Still and rooted

Held fast by threads invisible,

Bare-footed and


Dirt ingrained like DNA

Seeping through veins

That know no different,

Knees tucked

Up tight beneath

A chin scuff-marked

By experience’s children

Grazes which, like timeless heirlooms,

Pass down the ages

Storm waters of our age

As older eyes,


Look no further than today,

And those judgemental

On high-borne thrones

Cast down their bones

Complete the wall

And keep the wheels

In motion.

Killed a Day


, , , , , ,

Killed a day today.

Watched potential cough

And splutter

And sink with the setting Sun.

Heard her children’s cries

From hopeful ‘wills’ to Plaintive ‘coulds’

Dissolving with the breeze,

Felt the feelings rise

Like a lover’s moon


The apathy of ages,

Imagined futures

Without the curse of

Time’s cruel hand

Tomorrow’s filled with motion.

Killed a day today.

I Knew You Better


, , , , , , , ,

I knew you better then

When days were younger and

Every door was open,

When the roads that we ran down

Were soaked with morning rain

But led to other roads,

And every virgin corner

Gave rise to something new

Something that we could hold,

Or lose inside our hearts

And evening’s journey home

Never crossed our minds,

I knew you better then

When every alleyway

Was dressed in blossom’s cloak,

When crimson veins ran rich

And pulsed with love unknown

Like corridors of hope,

When fear’s unshaven head

Stayed hidden far from sight

And never crossed our path,

And complacency of age

Swept over by time’s hand

Cast us in a shallow shell.

The Vegetarian

I don’t usually do this, but I have just finished reading ‘The Vegetarian’ by the South Korean author Han Kang.

I’m not going to attempt a review because everybody’s interpretation of her writing will be intensely personal.

All I will say is that, in my opinion, this is a remarkable book and I hope that anyone who reads this finds time to read it.



, , , , , ,

Is the world any different


Our hands and heads are bound

By circuitry,

Invisible waves that pass

Above, through and beyond us,

Weaving webs spider-like

Catching us all with a silk that we are

Powerless to resist,

In wonder gazing at the virtual


Ever expanding

Its horizons and ours,

And communication exists

In waves unseen –

Yet hasn’t that always been;

Words face to face lose meaning


So why not talk to the invisible,

The creations of wishful desires,

The imagined fulfillment of

Imagined dreams,

The love that was always an illusion

Born on the ether,

But isn’t this the world

Unchanged from when youth held promise

And dreams fell from one hand to another

And to the ground,

So we move on

Ever led by the New

Which searches just as we do,

So tell me, please,

Is the world any different




, , , ,

Mortality clung to the last of her children

Like the final days of Summer

Like the ancient oak afraid

That she would never leaf again,

Strong hands that had birthed so many

Dried and cracked like desert stone

Like the faces of the weary

Clutching to the gift she’d borne,

Her face, tear-streaked , the tracks of dead bed rivers

Cried like the silent night

Like the still-born mother’s plight

Who feared the barren curse,

Mortality clung to the last of her children

Like the death-hug of the python

The suffocating love of fear

Which choked the life from life.

Two Worlds


, , , , , , , , , ,

There are two worlds

Inside my head;

One worn weary

Through the spinning

Of millennia

Gyrating ceaseless

And out of control;

The other,

New born as you stepped

Into my view,

Sings with the sweetest

Of melodies

A tune that no Earthly hand

Could pen,

Sets spark to the tinder

That lay for time unending

Dormant like poppy seeds

Awaiting the stirring

Of my soil-soul,

Now alive

And an ancient Sun

Rises with my smile,

A joy that cannot be

Extinguished or defeated,

A joy that brings new meaning

To every moment

Each stretching sinew

Each fleeting thought,

A joy that my deepest words

Could not come close to speaking,

So I shall breathe

My other world

A world in which

To be.