And I

Tags

And I, creative, poems, poetry, verse, writing

And I

Just drifting through this life

Floating just above the surface

A shadow in the darkest night

Leaving neither mark nor trace

And I

A whisper on a silent breeze

No more than just a troubled dream

A memory you thought you had

But nothing more to make you scream

And I

A fleeting stop along the way

Words you felt someone had wept

Or you had read upon a stone

Something you felt you could have kept

And I

Swept away upon the tide

Nothing more than nothing more than

Ashes taken by the wind and

Blown back to where it all began

And I

© All original writing copyright Chris Nelson 2000-2021

The Burn

Tags

creative, future, hope, Love, lyrics, poems, poetry, The Burn, verse, writing

This could be the night

This could be the time

When all those thoughts we’ve come to know

Find their voice and start to rhyme,

This could be the fire

This could be the burn

The reason that we’ve come to be

Takes away the need to turn,

This could be the ending

This could be the start

When all the treasures that we hold

Melt slowly in another’s heart,

This could be the reason

Why we still remain

All the things we ever needed

Found upon a different plane,

This could be the night

This could be the time

When all those thoughts we’ve come to know

Find their voice and start to rhyme.

© All original writing copyright Chris Nelson 2000-2021

Ruffled Edges

Tags

Books, creative, dreams, faith, hope, loss, nostalgia, poems, poetry, Ruffled edges, verse, writing

We came here so

Many years ago,

Chasing the ruffled edges

Of a crumpled photograph

Its monochrome hues whispering

Hushed voices still echoing

From white-edged border to faded frame,

Days stilled by wishful perception

Of contentment borne on wings

Which hung like the slow-mouthed moon

Captured by the eye but slipping ever

Between the fingers that reached out

Lost like the hopeful,

And frozen images caught our eye

Like souls entrapped –

And did we know that ours would follow?

Or was it all a dream

The promise that we shared

With a belief in something better?

And we’ll meet again one day

When all the pictures have faded

And all our dreams have died,

We’ll visit them at night

And walk along the rows

Of all we never knew

And ponder why we came

And shred ourselves on all we ever lost.

© All original writing copyright Chris Nelson 2000-2021

‘Glass House’

Tags

creative, fiction, flash, Glass House, Introspection, Prose, short story, story, Study, writing

I woke up in the glass house, the rhythmic beat of the rain filling the spaces between my ears, its drumming echoing the beat of my heart. In an ocean of memories and dreams I watched myself float, unsure of which was which, backwards and forwards with the immeasurable tide. Each horizon – the mirror glass of the room that held me – bounced reflections of faces I would never be, and those that I had held as mine, deep into my eyes. I stared through the ages, to where this had all begun, and further, further still, to a point before this had all been some fantastical wish in a young girl’s eye. Back, back to a time before the bonds of dogma, before the settlers had lost their nomadic feet, before the chill had come. In an endless moment that flashed quicker than the fork which tore the darkness apart I saw each turn that had led to this. 

The umbilical current pulled at me once more dragging my eyes towards another mirror. This one seemed to hang like a ghost before the panes beyond it unsure of its purpose. I felt compelled to stare as if expecting it to reveal its secrets at any moment.

© All original writing copyright Chris Nelson 2000-2021

Lost Words

Tags

Communication, creative, Lost words, poems, poetry, verse, Words, writing

I lost some words today

Words that I had watched over

Like a parent

Like a hawk,

Words that I had nurtured and fed

With my flesh and blood

Held in my hands

Like gems

Like eggs,

And when in the moments between

The gunshot beats of my heart

My eyelids fell

They were gone

Like the seasons

Like the storms,

The clouds that swept from eye to sky

Which scratched the marks

Implied the meaning I had known

And held each page

Each verse each line

Like a child

Like a curse.

© All original writing copyright Chris Nelson 2000-2021

Sketch – 1

Tags

Character, creative, Impressions, Prose, Sketch, winter, writing

The winter had never bitten so hard. Birds that had drifted in huddled like scared children awaiting their next disappointment, wondering if they had strayed too far north. Somewhere a broken Sun was hiding, hoping against all logic that its hiding place would remain a secret and that it would be freed from its eternal curse: cold, warm, cold – the cycle never seemed to have a happy conclusion.

In a framework he sat, impervious now to the cold which had splintered first his skin, then his bones and finally his will. He sat, framed like a priceless artwork, a portrait within a landscape, invaluable and, as such, unvalued. The winter held no more terrors.

© All original writing copyright Chris Nelson 2000-2021

My Hands Tied

Tags

Creation, creative, faith, Love, My hands tied, poems, poetry, religion, verse, writing

And did you think

I wouldn’t care,

To watch you burn

What I’d lain there,

Or did you think

I wouldn’t see,

With my hands tied

And yours set free?

I took a seed

In time a spark,

And drew from night

Light from the dark.

I grew the Earth

Above it all,

A place for dreams

To catch your fall.

Upon the green

Deep in the blue,

I fashioned life

And all things new.

I birthed the tree

The vale and hill,

The swirling tide

And night so still.

And when I held

It in my hand,

I breathed you life

To nurture land.

I gave you all

In faith and trust

A wasted gift

You turned to dust.

And did you think

I wouldn’t care,

To watch you burn

What I’d lain there,

Or did you think

I wouldn’t see,

With my hands tied

And yours set free?

© All original writing copyright Chris Nelson 2000-2021

Trapped

Tags

age, Alzheimers, creative, death, dementia, loss, Love, nostalgia, poems, poetry, Trapped, verse, writing

Did you miss me

When my smile died

And my mouth would not move?

When the light that burned for you

Flickered low and, starved of fuel,

Fell silent still behind

Dead eyes?

Did you miss me

When you held my hand

And felt the skin replaced by ice?

When you looked beyond the veil

To gather moments to bring me back

To capture all that you

Had lost?

Did you miss me

As trapped behind the glass

My cries fell like snowflakes?

Did you miss me then

As much as I missed

Myself?

© All original writing copyright Chris Nelson 2000-2021

I Would Have Loved

Tags

Communication, creative, I would have lived, loss, Love, nostalgia, poems, poetry, verse, writing

I would have loved you then,

Your tumbling hair

A cascade of words

Around my heart,

Your silken skin

A sliver of hope

Amidst the dark,

But my eyes had not yet opened.

I would have loved you then,

Your precious lips

Their berry-sweet taste

Against my own,

Your endless eyes

Welcome drowning pools

In which to dive,

But my heart had not yet thawed.

I would have loved you then,

Your gentle touch

Warm electric glow

Against my flesh,

Your turning back

Sign for me to say

Deep hidden words,

But I knew I was too late.

© All original writing copyright Chris Nelson 2000-2021

As It Ever Was

Tags

age, As it ever was, creative, Depression, hope, loss, nostalgia, poems, poetry, time, verse, writing

And when at last the dust

That had crept into our eyes and

Scratched its frozen images

Deep within our hearts and minds

Began to fall

Did we find that we had found

All that we were looking for

The prizes and rewards that we

Had promised ourselves

So many lifetimes before?

Or did our vista still contain the

Dreams that we had always known

Were nothing more than that

No more than the pictures that we

Had painted with the hands

Of children fleeing from the night?

And all the promises that we had cast

Like yarrow stalks, now pebbles on the beach

Had given up their secrets to the sea

And washed themselves with the briny tears

That we had shed so freely

Thinking that they would be gone

Spent like the pennies we cherished in

The youth we dreamed away so soon

Before we learned to mourn its death

And let the black sank deep within

A storm that never passed

The ghost of all the days we thought

Would one day come to life

And take our hands

And lead us to all that grew on trees so near

So far from reach

But now through thinly veiled eyes

The scratches fall away

And through the sinking mists we see

All as it ever was.

© All original writing copyright Chris Nelson 2000-2021