chrisnelson61

~ Poetry, stories and some random words…

chrisnelson61

Tag Archives: Falling Sleet

The Wrong Story

22 Saturday Oct 2022

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Acceptance, Communication, creative, Falling Sleet, inspiration, loss, Love, poems, poetry, The Wrong Story, Understanding, verse, writing

It was the wrong story that leapt up and out at me,

From the page that I saw behind your eyes –

Its tumbling words sang to me as if I were the one,

The only one to whom they spoke.

They wrapped themselves around me like a Winter’s evening shawl,

A warmth and comfort my insides craved,

A tale unpicked for me.

And as my mind began to weave and tangle a missive in which to grow,

My eyes closed blind to those I saw and

Nurtured futures fruitless.

I turned and spread each leaf before me reflecting as I did,

On every word that I planted there,

And every root that you pushed deep.

And only when the stems had grown and twisted every one,

About and through my aching frame,

Did my eyes, at last, loose their lustre –

And only then did I recognise that,

The story I had read was wrong.

Something Old – Remarkable Things

06 Saturday Aug 2022

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creative, Falling Sleet, Mind, Philosophy, poems, poetry, Published, Remarkable Things, thoughts, writing

The pulse of a wing on the wind,

The print of a foot on the sand,

A Sun-borne wink on a frosted morn,

A halo-ringed moon, pure and full,

First kiss of the day

Last word of the night.

The breath of the newborn awoken,

The memories of age newly shared,

A waterfall cascade shimmering stone,

A desert thrown mirage horizon blurs,

Soft-whispered sounds

Looks that speak love.

The caress of the wave on the shore,

The towering ice-hearted peaks,

A beast in the full flight of chase,

A life-spewing forest of green,

Eyes that say nothing

But mean all the world.

And if none of these things are written,

Do they simply just cease to exist?

Mistakes

26 Saturday Mar 2022

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creative, Demons, Falling Sleet, Inertia, Mistakes, poems, poetry, Silence, verse, writing

An old poem today…in case we forget…

In death-darkened doorways

They hide

Watching, waiting wishing

For you to pass their way.

Like gallows ghosts they gather

On night-blackened scaffolds

Their kisses hovering above you

Falling like poison from the clouds.

Cancerous clinging their hands

Enwrap you

Holding to you, inescapable, inexcusable;

These mistakes you made.

It’ll be lonely this Christmas…

13 Monday Dec 2021

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Another Tease, Books, creative, Ebook, Falling Sleet, Lulu, Paperback, poems, poetry, Publications, Reading, short stories, stories, The Beautiful Silence, The Candle Game, verse, writing

…without a good book to hold (or, failing that, one of mine!). So, in  shameless act of self-promotion, (and hoping that at least one person out there has picked up on the festive reference to the ’70’s group Mud) may I be so bold as to draw your attention to a few books that might be perfect for those last minute gifts!

Falling Sleet – a collection of poetry

LULU

AMAZON

BOOK DEPOSITORY

ABEBOOKS

ALIBRIS

EBOOK

The Candle Game and other stories

LULU

AMAZON

BOOK DEPOSITORY

ABEBOOKS

ALBRIS

EBOOK

Another Tease – poetry, prose and lyrics (perfect for a non-festive sing-a-long)

LULU

AMAZON

BOOK DEPOSITORY 

ABEBOOKS

ALBRIS

The Beautiful Silence and other stories

LULU

AMAZON

For lovers of Amazon I can only apologise as I have had some issues with the links! I can assure you that all of the books are available through their site.

Happy reading one and all!

In Love With You

20 Saturday Nov 2021

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Tags

Christianity, conflict, creative, faith, Falling Sleet, In love with you, inspiration, Judas, loss, Love, poems, poetry, Relgion, verse, Viaticum, writing

This is a poem taken from my collection ‘Falling Sleet’ which is available to by at various online outlets (Lulu, Amazon, Blackwells).

It is also now available as an e-book (simply click on the link below:

https://www.lulu.com/en/gb/shop/chris-nelson/falling-sleet/ebook/product-6eqy99.html

I hope that you enjoy it.

This is the reason

That I came here

And suffered

At their hands.

The reason that

I stayed here

And followed

Scriptures road.

This is the passion

That flows in me

The blood and

Sweat and fear.

At times to see no

Other but you

My hope my

Life my fare.

And was I blinded

Eyes scarred to see

Eclipsed from truth

Meant for me?

Fell so far from grace

Another hand

Lost to me

In your eye.

This is the reason

I stayed for you

Impure

Love you knew.

The touch, your tear

The one I knew

A kiss of

Death from you.

Another Tease

28 Saturday Aug 2021

Posted by chrisnelson61 in Uncategorized

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Tags

Another Tease, Book, creative, Depression, faith, Falling Sleet, fiction, flash, flash fiction, hope, inspiration, Love, lyrics, music, poems, poetry, Prose, Publication, short stories, stories, The Candle Game, verse, war, writing

Firstly a huge thank you to everyone who has purchased either Falling Sleet or The Candle Game. I hope that you are enjoying them.

It gives me great pleasure to announce the publication of my latest collection of writing Another Tease:

‘Another Tease’ is a collection of poetry, short prose fiction and lyrics covering themes as diverse as love & war, faith & loss and hope & depression. The lyrics have no melodies – each one is left open for the reader to create their own interpretation.

ISBN: 978-1-329-16251-8

Available now via:

LULU

As soon as the book is available on other platforms I will post more!

I hope that you enjoy reading!

And now, a couple of ‘teasers’ –

Watching Dreams

Watching dreams

Evaporate like tears

In the warmth of another,

Sun-bleached streaks

On a bed of sand,

Wanting to reach out

Clutch and grab

At Youth’s fresh resolve,

Mold it to age’s wisdom

And stride once more,

Sight-scarred eyes

Life-bleached and hollow

Stare blind at passing time,

Hands that sweep so quickly

Unforgiving, so cold,

And floating on the wind

Dream’s lost fragments fly

To settle on another,

Sun-bleached streaks

On a bed of sand.

The Interview

When they had asked me what he had been like, the man with the knife, all I could say was that I couldn’t really say. He had been, to my mind’s eye, nothing more, or less, than average.

      He had stood at average height; not discernibly taller nor shorter than myself. His hair had been worn short, but neither cropped nor shaven, and his eyes, well I could barely remember the colour of my closest friend’s eyes, so that line of questioning drew a blank.

      What of the colour of the man’s skin? I could confidently say that he was white, but boasted a tanned face; or had that been a more olive complexion? It was difficult to say with any degree of certainty.

      Distinguishing features? He had a knife: a response that solicited a look which could have been annoyance but equally disdain. No, there were none that my sapless mind could recall.

      He had been, the man with the knife, nothing more than average. His accessory had been all that made him stand apart. His unremarkableness reminded me only of myself.

      In fact he might as well have been me.

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