Something Old – Remarkable Things

Tags

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?

Lay Down

Tags

age, Communication, creative, isolation, Lay Down, Philosophy, poems, poetry, verse, writing

I lay down my armour
My shield and sword
When at last I saw
What the fighting was for,
I cast off beliefs
That I’d nurtured for years
The roots of frustration
The love and the fear,
I saw with new eyes
What I’d held to be true
That nothing will change
Not the old or the new,
So I harboured at last
My pen and my words
Now certain and sure
My voice hadn’t been heard.

© All original writing copyright Chris Nelson 2000-2020

Lies We Weave

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creative, Depression, free-form, Lies We Weave, Life, Philosophy, poems, poetry, Relationships, verse, writing

The lies we weave
Hang from the ceilings
Of the rooms
We dreamed up once
Upon a time
In nighttimes held in
Hands so large and warm
We never had to breathe,
They hold us there
Afraid to move or break
The cord that winds its
Silken thread
About our limbs
Until the will to step from corners
Dies and lies in silence
A shell bereft of care,
And still we spin
Draw in those who fly
Too close or
Cannot feel the risk
We show so plain
To believe the lies we say
As if they were anything but
The web we sleep within.

© All original writing copyright Chris Nelson 2000-2020

Owen or Brooke?

Tags

Competition, conflict, history, Humanity, Philosophy, poems, poetry, Rupert Brooke, thoughts, war, Wilfred Owen

War poets: a) poets who lived through times of war

Or b) poets who write about war?

I saw this poster and, for two seconds, considered writing something for it.

Then I read it and began to consider what exactly were they looking for?

Would they want a ‘war is abhorrent, causes nothing but suffering, pain and misery, and it is about time that we evolved Humanity to a state where wars no longer took place’, or would they rather a ‘war is an unfortunate, yet necessary evil, in which good will triumph, and all those who fight are ‘heroes”?

I decided that the ‘judges’ would err towards the latter.

I trust you know that my leaning is towards the former.

I shall not participate.

Predisposed to Sadness

Tags

Communication, creative, Depression, inspiration, Philosophy, poems, poetry, Sadness, verse, writing

Dressed in the finery of night

It’s chill embrace

Familiar

Like the comfort of

A threadbare coat

Collar high

An acknowledgement

Of sorts,

Submerged below

A sea of aural melancholy

It’s welcome waves whisper

Only to my ears

Sounds of contemplation

Tiny earthquakes which rumble

A stronger pulse within my veins,

And through the sunlight

The rains comes down

To drum upon my door,

And beyond the purple

Day-bruised clouds

I catch the kiss of light,

To ask if this is happiness

This yearning for the night

The beat perhaps askew

That fills me with delight.

 

Black Car

Tags

creative, death, loss, Love, Philosophy, poems, poetry, verse, writing

Black car pulls slowly away

As silent as dreams

As long as memories,

Ambitions boxed

And locked inside

A shell that will not crack,

Turn cartwheels to the sky

Remembrances that never were

Or failed to stain the page,

Machines still whir

Grind out their song

In towers that reach cloud high,

Ledgers empty, stony, mute

Leave no trace no mark

For those now gone.

Thoughts of Other’s

Tags

Communication, creative, Philosophy, poems, poetry, verse, writing

Collecting lines

Like fallen needles

Discarded

By aging pines,

Each one placed

Upon the page

With random care,

Deliberate

As if it belonged,

Jostling neighbours

Each one pruned,

A wild garden

Of wilder, disparate

Thoughts,

Thoughts gathered

From minds

Whose visions stretch

Beyond our reach,

But define our days

As if we ourselves

Had spoken.

The Mountain

Tags

creative, I-Ching, Philosophy, poems, poetry, verse, writing

Sleep now

Your struggle ends

The gate before you

Swings open

You walk unnoticed

Through the courtyard

Of your knowledge

There is no self-consciousness

No awareness

No fear

Rest now, in security

The transition is done.

 

Winter ends

The watchers change

The watch dog that

Bites

The rat that gnaws

The black-billed bird

Which grips

There is no more anger

No future

No past

Rest now, solemn

Quiet

 Life is done.

And so here it is, the final poem in the series of eight inspired by the I-Ching.

Many thanks to everyone who has provided feedback on these poems – it really is appreciated. I hope that you have enjoyed immersing yourselves in them.

Lost in Your Pleasure

Tags

China, creative, I-Ching, Philosophy, poems, poetry, verse, writing

Sown in the dawn of a summer

So long before we knew

Our growth through waters marsh like

A reflection in the mist.

In sun-fall’s haze our birth

The harvest of our mouths

Emotions tuned – the breath of heaven

The lion calls us on.

In harvest’s cut our freedom

We know no fear of death

The magician’s cape is cast

Our souls revealed in spells.

The silence of our lives

The depths from which we grew

Satisfaction of sacrifice

Your pleasure now we reap.

 

This is the penultimate poem in the series of eight which were inspired by the eight tri-grams of the I-Ching.

Earth

Tags

China, creative, I-Ching, Philosophy, poems, poetry, verse, writing

We follow, we follow

Like horses without limits

Constrained by your power.

Dressed in garments,

Yellow to honour

We rest in the firmness

Of your will.

 

We look, we reach

The mountains of majesty

Challenging your power.

Blinded by the

Greatest brightness

We rest from the firmness

Of your will.

 

Give birth to

The ending of our cycle

Give birth to

The confines of our growth

Give birth to

The certainty

Of our death.

 

The sixth of eight poems inspired by the I-Ching.