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

Tags

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.

The Awakening

Tags

Awakening, Communication, creative, dream, fiction, isolation, Philosophy, Prose, short stories, thoughts, writing

     A wash of faces hovered above me like a crudely painted ceiling fresco. Eyes, some filled with hope, others relief, bore into me like burrowing beetles. Beyond them an antiseptic ocean of white stretched as far as my own eyes could see; but I was prone, lying like a whale slowly exhaling its last on a beach the colour of gold.

     There were voices; voices which swirled over me like bees returning to the hive, heavy with nectar. Their sweet words bounced between my ears futile in their attempt to make sense of themselves. The sounds meant nothing to me, and neither did the tones which were targeted in my direction. Did the faces expect a response? Part of me guessed that they did, but I could not fathom the reason.

     The expectation behind the staring eyes was palpable, and even my forgotten, deadened senses could taste it. As for why, well, I could find no explanation. I looked back up at the waves as they crashed and dispersed before my eyes and realised, at last, that not one of them meant anything to me.

Forget

Tags

creative, Creative writing, loss, nostalgia, Philosophy, poems, poetry, thoughts, verse, writing

If

If I

If I could

If I could forget

If I could forget these

If I could forget these things

If I could forget these things that

If I could forget these things that I

If I could forget these things that I have

If I could forget these things that I have done

I could forget these things that I have done

Could forget these things that I have done

Forget these things that I have done

These things that I have done

Things that I have done

That I have done

I have done

Have done

Done.

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.

All You Ever Wanted

Tags

creative, faith, Philosophy, poems, poetry, politics, religion, verse, writing

We gave you all
You ever wanted
And sat and watched
From thrones your eyes ignored
And now your faces
Crack like Arctic floes
As if you never knew
The price you’d have to pay
The collapse your hearts
Knew had to come
The debt you chose
A willing blindness to
And we will not
Be held to account
For all the pain
You ladle with ease
We gave you all
You ever wanted
And now our names
You spit with curses
And now your faces
Crack like Arctic floes
But come the Winter
We know to whom you’ll turn.

I took a walk

Tags

creative, dream, fantasy, Philosophy, poems, poetry, verse, writing

I took a walk
Along the street
And down the lane
Where all the houses
Looked the same,
And though I tried
Searched high and low
And far I roamed
I found no place that
Felt like home,
Past caravans
And vaulted halls
But I could see
That every door was
Closed to me,
Until I came
Upon a place
Where ships did stay
And whisper still of
Better days,
And so my feet
On boards did tred
To try to find
A place somewhere to
Still my mind,
But as I sailed
From shore to shore
I never found
Contentment far from
Solid ground,
So now I walk
Along the streets
And down the lanes
Where houses always
Look the same.