Night Bus

Tags

Bus, death, fiction, Flas fiction, flash, loss, Love, night, short stories, story, thoughts, writing

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?

 

© All original writing copyright Chris Nelson 2000-2019

 

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Faces to the Wall

Tags

creative, faith, Fear, history, loss, Love, poems, poetry, Truth, verse, writing

The past taught me nothing

But to be afraid,

The future just a promise

Further than the grave.

The wishes that you scattered

Buried in the sand,

And all the prayers you asked for

Held in fearful hand.

Every door that opened led

One more step away,

A shoulder for our tears

How we slip away.

The days that grew in wonder

Slip into the night,

All we held within our hands

Soon gave up the fight.

And history lies naked

Stain upon us all,

Futures carved in blood and stone

And faces to the wall.

 

© All original writing copyright Chris Nelson 2000-2019

 

On a different page

Tags

creative, Different page, Life, loss, Love, poems, poetry, story, verse, writing

On a different page

Where inkmarks told another tale

She stepped across the oceans blue

Left footprints in the sand.

On a different page

Where castle walls were no defence

She held the hands of many men

Her kiss upon their hearts.

On a different page

Where trees would bend and bow their heads

She smelled of cream and oranges

Was everything to them.

On a different page

Where cities threw their windows wide

And history fell from her hands

She talked in riddles wise.

On a different page

Where honey flowed from lip to breast

And rivers ran from town to town

To quench the thirst of men.

On a different page

Where through the trees she came to me

And all the things I never knew

Were shown at once to me.

On a different page.

 

© All original writing copyright Chris Nelson 2000-2019

 

Catching Flies

Tags

Communication, creative, fiction, flash, Love, short stories, story, writing

She moved like a veil in the breeze, delicate and fragile,whispering her love between the clouds as they passed like strangers on the shore. Wisps of her hair, now chestnut, now russet, brushed the silent air, painting it with rainbow hues that scattered their love like angel feathers. Behind the cobweb curtains I shuddered, afraid of catching something that I could never hope to hold; something far beyond any expectations I may have held. I shivered, my fear the cold against the warmth that swarmed around my like an excited army of bees, hungry to feed on the sweet nectar which seeped from her every pore. Stolen glances were always enough: enough to shroud the fear of loss, of letting go what could never be held; enough to feed a dream in which to live, a fortress which I could build and rebuild as I chose, strengthened by a look or an over-heard word.

She floated, dancing on water, drifting ethereal from plane to plane, never resting for too long in any one place. Her voice, the words she spoke, swirled across the land like a nurturing blanket, and I knew that wherever they landed new life would emerge – beauty in the wake of vacuum. Her words touched my ears, kissing them gently like a dying friend, and that was enough.

If only I had known that they had been all for me.

 

© All original writing copyright Chris Nelson 2000-2019

 

Green Swallows Me

Tags

creative, Desire, Journeys, loss, Love, lyric, poems, poetry, Sailing, Search, verse, writing

With the wind at our backs,

And hope in our sails,

We left these dead shores,

To mariner’s tales.

And under your watch,

We found ourselves led,

From cold weathered deck,

To comfort of bed.

 

I charted each course,

And marked every night,

Kept count of those lost,

Or stricken by blight.

I conquered the tides,

Or so it did seem,

Kept buried the fears,

Held fast to the dream.

 

And this ship will go down,

And all hands will be lost,

And the blind will still swim,

As the green swallows me,

‘cause I never knew when,

To let go.

 

We welcomed each shore,

Set foot on the sand,

And offered our gifts,

With quivering hand.

Whilst still in our ear,

The whispering wave,

Kept pulling us back,

This wasn’t our grave.

 

I clung to my map,

With bullish resolve,

As each new horizon,

Began to dissolve,

I saw myself then,

A mast that won’t bend,

A rudderless ship,

On a course that never ends.

 

And this ship will go down,

And all hands will be lost,

And the blind will still swim,

As the green swallows me,

‘cause I never knew when,

To let go.

 

© All original writing copyright Chris Nelson 2000-2019

 

Arm Around Your Waist

Tags

Control, creative, Fear, Love, Obsession, poems, poetry, verse, writing

Arm around your waist

Snakes like a disease

Fingers seeking flesh like clean air

And welcomed like a cure

Love’s touch draws patterns in the sky

Dances like the pure

Swirls curls with kissing clouds

And gathers in the shadows

Holds them close love’s cherished thoughts

Carves out cliffs with initialed tags

Brings the ancient to their knees

And boughs will bend to touch the ground

Before love’s floating fire

And all of this

The sweetest curse

A time that lasts for such

A fleeting eternity

Yet burns a hole that will not heal

Above our heads

Beneath our feet

An arm around your waist.

 

© All original writing copyright Chris Nelson 2000-2019

 

Walk Away

Tags

creative, death, Ghosts, Longing, loss, Love, poems, poetry, verse, Walk away, writing

And when you leave

Don’t turn around

Or leave the door ajar,

Just walk away

Without a smile

Don’t look me in the eye.

I’ll strip away

The years between

And hold them in my hands,

The days we stole

Without a word

And meaning in a glance.

I’ll carve them all

Into my skin

The hours that we shared,

The joke we knew

Would always end

When laughter turned to tears.

So when you go

Don’t blow a kiss

To ease you on your way,

Just walk away

I’ll watch you leave

Through gently drowning eyes.

 

© All original writing copyright Chris Nelson 2000-2019

 

Points of Wonder

Tags

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

Shapes of angels

Dance behind your eyes

Like constellations in the night,

Points of wonder

Promises wrapped in cloud

Offer up such sweet delight,

Dreams that live quiet

Come alive for me

Reveal themselves in coloured strokes,

Soul-salving hues

Which burst with meaning

Deep beneath my well-worn cloak,

A song that sings

Life into this heart

Which beats with purpose all for you,

A love that breathes

With your body’s sway

And makes each day for me brand new.

What Use Are My Words?

Tags

Communication, conflict, creative, Creative writing, Depression, faith, history, Inequality, Life, Love, poems, poetry, politics, Principles, Progress, religion, Truth, verse, war, Words, writing

What use are my words

If the shells still fall

From black-heart open skies

And bombs still separate limb

From torso

On a whim?

If lover’s nights are torn asunder

Each phrase of love declared

And punctuated by the rifle’s kiss

As bullets fly through skies

To deafen out the

Infant’s cries?

If families fractured fall apart

Their bodies as their homes

And stuffed in ragged bags

They walk on paths anew

Hopes and lives askew?

 

What use are my words

If every judgement still

Depends on colour, race or creed

And not on who we are

Those who act so blind

Injustice our own kind?

If passion is fuelled by hatred

And shouted from the stands

Evolution’s backward stare

Feet that stomp and pound

Like we never left the ground?

If all that we can show

Is intolerance and hate

To mask the failings in ourselves

To stick within our clan

And say this is the Plan?

 

What use are my words

If all that we believe

Serves not to heal but pull apart –

Words lost behind the rhetoric –

And sets us off to goad

The wrong way down the road?

If our deities stand toe to toe

As we become the baying throng

Applauding every blow

Forgetting that it’s all a game

And they are all the same?

If faith is lost behind the mask

And we think ourselves the show

Where Glory resides in riches

And ceremony makes us tall

Hidden safe behind our wall?

 

What use are my words

If those who shout the loudest –

The basest of our kind –

Earn mandate over all of us

To wield the sharpened sword

And cut the final cord?

If none of us is equal

And power comes through privilege

Whilst on green fields they scheme

To hold on to the wealth

Through division and through stealth?

If birth outweighs our merits

When change is just a word

And nothing brings a greater good

As islands we shall ever stay

To never see a brighter day?

 

What use are my words?

 

Pearl

Tags

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

Our kisses melt

Like summer toffee

Rich and sweet upon

Our petal lips

Which trace lines of love

Beneath our floating feet

As words slip slowly

Like silent snowflakes

From our honeycomb mouths

And you, the pearl within the shell

That is our life

Iridescent, a lustrous light

That pulls a glow from

Deep within

And I, the coral at your side

That watches you

With eyes of fascination

Constant and true

Basking in the wonder

Of you.