chrisnelson61

~ Poetry, stories and some random words…

chrisnelson61

Tag Archives: Love

Small Provincial Station

18 Saturday Mar 2023

Posted by chrisnelson61 in Uncategorized

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

Communication, Connection, creative, Crossroads, friendship, loss, Love, poems, poetry, Small Provincial Station, spirit, Strangers, Trains, verse, writing

We met when we were strangers

On platforms changing trains

Time would never be the same

No season spoke the dangers,

Our faces wore expressions

Of kindred spirit found

Our voices made no sound

No doubts and no transgressions,

We stood aside the crossroad

And looked along each way

Hoping for another day

To break the secret code,

We met when we were strangers

On platforms changing trains 

But I could feel the hurt and reins

Beneath my feet the dangers,

We met when we were strangers 

But I knew even then

That I was nothing more

Than a small

Provincial

Station.

Letters of Love

21 Saturday Jan 2023

Posted by chrisnelson61 in Uncategorized

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

creative, hope, Letters, Letters of Love, loss, Love, nostalgia, poems, poetry, Seasons, time, verse, winter, writing

He knew that Winter was coming,

Felt its ice-brushed roots

Wrap themselves around his thoughts

And choke the words

As they hung

Like swinging men

In his throat,

Remembered then

The invincible spring

That offered him

Letters of love 

Through the mail

Which fell at his feet like kisses

Pirouetted on their toes and wove

Themselves into words 

Which danced in his head

Then tumbled in passages that came

From who knew where,

The Summer when his passion

Turned thoughts like cartwheels

A windmill grinding

Gathered up things he’d never seen

And lay them like a lamb on the page

At his feet

Like a sacrifice 

Of sorts,

The surety of Autumn’s voice

As it echoed through the caverns

Emptied now

Not driven by desire or need,

The comfort of the leaves

And the colours that they spread

Beneath his feet

Within his heart

As the doors behind him slowly closed,

He knew that Winter was coming.

Only You

07 Saturday Jan 2023

Posted by chrisnelson61 in Uncategorized

≈ 7 Comments

Tags

creative, inspiration, Love, Only You, poems, poetry, verse, writing

Everything is nonsense

But you:

The trinkets and the gold,

The diamonds and the dust;

The castle walls we build,

And all that turns to rust.

The words we speak so loud,

And those we bury deep;

The things we seek to waste,

And everything we keep.

The script we act each day,

The faces that we show;

Favours that we garner,

And those we keep at bay.

Pockets filled with silver,

And hearts so full of pride;

All we show to others,

That say ‘at least we tried’.

Yes, everything is nonsense,

Nothing counts in time,

Everything is nonsense,

But you.

Time

17 Saturday Dec 2022

Posted by chrisnelson61 in Uncategorized

≈ 8 Comments

Tags

age, creative, Innocence, loss, Love, Memory, poems, poetry, time, verse, Wisdom, writing

Time turns the page,

Its benign eyes watch

As hands stretch out,

Offering the wisdom of experience

In exchange for the innocence of youth,

And we grasp at it

As if it were the only way,

As if it somehow offered up

An answer to our lives,

And how so easily we part

With all that we once knew,

And concepts such as hope and faith

Now gather dust on shelves,

That lie beyond our sight

And so far from our reach.

No More

10 Saturday Dec 2022

Posted by chrisnelson61 in Uncategorized

≈ 12 Comments

Tags

Awareness, Belief, Communication, creative, faith, hope, loss, Love, Mental health, No More, Prose, Realisation, Self-awareness, Short, Social, story, Understanding, Words, writing

I think that I have come, at last, to a crossroads; a point of uncomfortable realisation. A crossroads which leads, in every direction, to a dead end and a realisation that I have finally reached the last page of my own, personal dictionary. I have come to the point where I have used – and abused – every word that was ever known to me. I have twisted and contorted them into myriad sentences and phrases until all meaning that they might have once held has been lost, all connection to anything other than themselves distorted. As I sent each one on its way, safely wrapped as it was, like a child in a winter coat, cosseted by others to which it bore no relation, I watched it drift away. I watched as they gathered and then dispersed high, high above my head, dipping behind the clouds, never to reappear.

And, eventually, as I reached my hand deep into myself to take hold of another random collection of letters, I found nothing between my fingers, nothing within my grasp. My fist was filled with the emptiness of silence, the silence of a stilling heart.

And then the empty words within my head, the final ones that would leave me, spelled out their message: there was no more to say.

The Wrong Story

22 Saturday Oct 2022

Posted by chrisnelson61 in Uncategorized

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

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.

This Smile

08 Saturday Oct 2022

Posted by chrisnelson61 in Uncategorized

≈ 10 Comments

Tags

Acceptance, Awareness, Belonging, creative, Deception, Facade, Love, lyrics, poems, poetry, Self, Smile, This Smile, Truth, verse, writing

I wore my smile

Across the years,

It masked the pain

And hid the tears,

It locked the door

And hid the key,

So no-one close,

Would ever see.





I wore my smile

Across the years,

A heavy veil

For silent fears,

To fool the crowd

Within my sway,

And help to hold

The dogs at bay.





I wore my smile 

Across the years,

To fend away

The swords and spears,

But now I find

I cannot choose,

To drop the smile

And to be true.

Remember

01 Saturday Oct 2022

Posted by chrisnelson61 in Uncategorized

≈ 8 Comments

Tags

Affirmation, creative, Heart, hope, inspiration, Love, Positivity, Prose, Remember, writing

When, at the end of your wearisome day, you finally let your eyes close and you give in to sleep, you should know that you fill the thoughts of others. Somewhere, maybe in the next house, the next street or next town; maybe on the other side of the ocean or the other side of the world, you are being dreamed of. Somewhere your face fills the vision of another; your voice echoes in their ears and the touch of your skin sends shivers up their spine. The memory of you keeps someone awake, keeps someone else safe and fills someone else’s soul with hope. Your history lives in the words that someone speaks and the world that they create; touches lives that you will never know and spreads its seed to places that you could only imagine. Somewhere, as you drift away to peaceful sleep, someone remembers your love, remembers the life that you gave to them – remembers  you. So, as you let your lids shut out the world, remember that you are always loved.

Night Bus

24 Saturday Sep 2022

Posted by chrisnelson61 in Uncategorized

≈ 7 Comments

Tags

AbeBooks, Amazon, Another Tease, Book, Book Depository, creative, Depression, hope, inspiration, loss, Love, Lulu, lyrics, music, nostalgia, Peace, poems, poetry, Prose, Publication, verse, war, writing

A short piece taken from the collection of poetry, prose and lyrics entitled ‘Another Tease’ (links at the end of the post. Enjoy!

I sat on the bus, watching the night-lit streets as they passed by like frozen, shrouded memories. The juddering, stop-start motion seemed to bring an uneasy comfort to my body, detached as it was from my consciousness. Other vehicles, heading in the opposite direction, appeared and then disappeared as if they were on some mythic quest, their headlights dull and dim below my position on the top deck of the bus, illuminating nothing but the first few steps on a journey without end. For a moment it seemed as if only they knew the direction in which to move in order to find some salvation, some respite from the pain, and yet I knew, contained within each metal box, was nothing more than one more lonely figure hoping beyond all hope that something, some miracle, would appear to snap them out of their coma.

Buildings rose up on either side of me now; giant monoliths, some pale and dark, devoid of life, tired and waiting for release, others still humming under the electric glow which gave them purpose. Their eyes stared out without seeing through the dark, and were gone again, lost to me as I moved steadily on. Their facades hung momentarily in my mind like all the faces of people I had met in my life, before fading into a sea of ashen memories. The night around me seemed to tighten its grip as, like an abandoned vessel, we sailed on.

To both the right and to the left of me roads sprouted off from the main artery down which I was travelling. They sparkled and twinkled with the hope of the newborn before even their lights were swallowed by the darkness into which, it seemed, the whole world had fallen. I shuddered as the bus lurched around a corner: not from the cold – I had long since become immune to that – but from the impending realisation that we were, at last, nearing my stop, my final destination.

And then everything was quiet, but for the pounding in my chest and the pulsing in my head. What if I were to remain on the bus? Would it eject me when it reached its destination, its point of termination, or would it show a glimmer of empathy, offer up a hand and cradle me to its heart? After all, my brain reminded me, what point was there to alighting, to leaving the bus to continue without me, if you were no longer there to welcome me home?

Another Tease – poetry, prose and lyrics

LULU

BOOK DEPOSITORY 

ABEBOOKS

ALBRIS

AMAZON

Behind

17 Saturday Sep 2022

Posted by chrisnelson61 in Uncategorized

≈ 10 Comments

Tags

Aging, Behind, creative, death, loss, Love, poems, poetry, separation, verse, writing

And with each dying breath 

That settles on the breeze,

To dip its head beneath

The horizon that we see,

Our lives become a little fainter

A little thinner to the eye,

And all the things that meant so much

Fall to the ground

Like Autumn’s sigh,

To be replaced by a growth

Whose colours seem,

To weary eyes,

A little paler in their hue

A little less impactful,

And as we mourn

The loss of souls

Whose touch we feel as if it were our own,

We step ourselves,

A little closer,

To the hole they left

Behind.

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Matthew Richardson

Published in Gold Dust magazine, Literally Stories, Near to the Knuckle, McStorytellers, Penny Shorts, Soft Cartel, Whatever Keeps the Lights On, and Shooter magazine.

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The Humdrum Epicurean

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A home for the stories and poems that got away.

SURREALITY

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(...and some I have)

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some may think I'm just a fool tilting at windmills, but maybe I'm not

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School Of Blue

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sceadugenga

words | spirit

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Writing Lostness

The Vision of Poets

The Poetic Stories of Michael33

HARLEY HOLLAND

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short stories about life

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a space cleared for sharing words well worth their share.

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a portfolio of poetry & prose by HLR

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spit, mixed with dirt - muddy words flow

Musings

What comes to me as a still, small voice in the atmosphere of daylight and evening. © Mario Savioni and Musings, 2013. Unauthorized use or duplication of this material without the consent of the author is prohibited. Small (100 words or less) excerpts or links are permitted as long as credit is given to Mario Savioni with direction to the original content. Please refrain from “reblogging” posts.

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...a world of poetry and spokenword

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herschelmann fotoblog, bestpixel-photowerkstatt-hamburg.de

einige mehr oder weniger tolle Ideen um die Fotografie und die Bildbearbeitung

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Dreams, thoughts, and experiences expressed through poetry and prose

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Songwriter / Guitarist

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