Out of Sight

Tags

Communication, creative, Dependency, Depression, lyrics, Out of Sight, poems, poetry, verse, writing

Well I don’t think that I

Can take this anymore,

When I’m lying here again

On the kitchen floor,

With a drowning heart

And the bottles all dead,

And the countdown ringing

Echoes in my head.

Outside in the black night

Where the voices still ring,

Each one a bit louder

To mask out everything,

But later much later

Beneath blankets they crawl,

In stuporous dreaming

Denying the fall.

And when the Sun comes around

See the time’s just the same,

Don’t reach too deep inside

To find someone to blame,

Close your eyes to the day

And hold on to the night,

Keep the cellar door locked

And the demons out of sight.

Well I don’t think that I

Can take this anymore,

When I’m lying here again

On the kitchen floor,

With a drowning heart

And the bottles all dead,

And the countdown ringing

Echoes in my head.

© All original writing copyright Chris Nelson 2000-2020

Different Shores

Tags

Belief, Communication, creative, Depression, Different Shores, faith, hope, isolation, nostalgia, poems, poetry, Roots, verse, writing

We set sail for different shores

A chance to greet new horizons

And carve a name where once was none

To plant our feet on holy ground,

We threw our maps into the sea

To trust to luck and winking stars

And casting dreams upon the winds

Our faith forever in the brine,

We sought the land birds on the wing

Strained our ears to hear their song

And when the call came from the crow

We took to task with hungry hands,

We welcomed in the virgin green

As if we’d never loved before

And set our rootless feet upon the shore

But never felt the tendrils grow,

We let our restless eyes look back

To all the things we’d left behind

And heard our past love’s whispered words:

“Come back, come back, come home to me.”

© All original writing copyright Chris Nelson 2000-2020

Here We Are

Tags

creative, Here we are, poems, poetry, verse, writing

Here we are

Caught in the space between

The mountains and the abyss

With no path up

And no stair down

Eyes above and

Eyes below

A jaw that snaps

Clicks and bites at every move.

Here we are

The dirt beneath our nails

Our holes a prison’s comfort

With no true words

And false faced grin

Eyes above and

Eyes below

The trap that snaps

And holds us in our limbo.

Here we are.

© All original writing copyright Chris Nelson 2000-2020

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

Don’t Let Me Down

Tags

Communication, creative, Creative writing, death, faith, isolation, poems, poetry, Relationships, verse, writing

Don’t let me down
Or leave me here,
Just cut me down
And disappear,
Don’t let me know
Or tell me when,
The cruellest blow
Bury me then,
Don’t let me breathe
And suffocate,
In lies you weave
It gets too late,
Don’t let my song
Hang in the air,
With words so wrong
And none to spare,
Don’t let me walk
With only hate,
Whilst others stalk
The open gate,
Don’t let me down
Or leave me here,
Just cut me down
I’ll disappear.

© All original writing copyright Chris Nelson 2000-2020

Apple Cart

Tags

Apple Cart, creative, poems, poetry, verse, writing

Upset the apple

Cart again

And watched them tumble

To the floor

And from my perch I

Saw you fall

With nothing to catch you

Anymore

And as the thorn dug

In my side

I let the rose sink 

To its grave

This tower that I

Built on sand

The remnants of all

That I crave.

© All original writing copyright Chris Nelson 2000-2020

Blank Eyes

Tags

age, Communication, creative, death, dream, free-form, isolation, loss, nostalgia, poems, poetry, verse, writing

He stares at me with the resignation of a man
Who knows what is to be,
Blank eyes
Cold-grey like a quarry
Dis-used,
Abandoned,
Reflecting the past like faded notes
On a calendar,
On a piano,
Its tune familiar like a face
I once knew
Appearing through the mist
Like a bird
Lost on its journey to find the warmth
Of a new day rising
In the East,
In the South,
He stares at me like a shadow
As if all he sees is beyond me,
Through me,
Pasts and futures bound with weeds
Wrapped in the inevitable,
And for a moment
A second at least,
I recognise those empty eyes,
The greying, decaying stubble
That sprouts on his face
Hides in the cuts of time,
And withers like forgotten fruit;
He stares at me as if he wants
To watch me pluck each orb,
Replace it with my own
And see me as I am;
He stares as if, at any moment
I will know him
Then watch him walk away,
He stares.

© All original writing copyright Chris Nelson 2000-2020

House in the Hills

Tags

creative, faith, House innthe Hills, inspiration, Love, poems, poetry, Relationships, verse, writing

There is a house

In the hills

Where my true love

Does lie.

Among the ferns

Shadow kissed

Her brown hair falls

In waves.

 

And as my eyes

Weep to the skies

I wait each day

For her dew to fall

Upon me.

 

Beneath the trees

In the glade

Her presence glides

In swathes.

From the peaks

Her love soars

On angel wings

I below.

 

And as my eyes

Weep to the skies

I wait each day

For her dew to fall

Upon me.

 

There is a house

In the hills

Where my true love

Does lie.

Among the ferns

Shadow kissed

Her brown hair falls

In waves.

 

 

© All original writing copyright Chris Nelson 2000-2020

 

Untitled

Tags

creative, Darkness, Depression, Lost, night, poems, poetry, Untitled, verse, writing

Born into the night

Sharp-suited, black

Against the shadows,

Felt your footsteps

Cold and soundless

Tracking,

Each placed deep within my own,

Your breath,

Chill upon my neck

As your words swirled,

Like birds lost in the warmth

Of early winter,

Around my head,

My back sheltered by 

The uneasiness of your coat

Wrapped about my shoulders,

Felt your hands eat

Into my formaldehyde mind,

Sowing the seeds for a harvest

Misted by candle-wick days

Which devoured the light

And led the Sun to its

Uneasy bed,

Born into the night

Cut from the promise of light,

Against the shadows

I felt your footsteps.

 

An older poem that has appeared before but vanished!

© All original writing copyright Chris Nelson 2000-2020

 

 

The Bells of Saint Mark’s

Tags

creative, poems, poetry, The bells of saint Mark's, verse, writing

And I heard the bells of Saint Mark’s

Their plaintive cry counting the distance

Like crows on the wind

That stretched between us

Each solemn tone a landmark

On the horizon that I could never reach

Each echoed silence a hollow

Where all your words lie naked bruised

I hear that the winter bites hard where you are

Its vampiric grin suckling the life

From the earth and the sky

And you

Yet here beneath a sun that grills the soil

Parches, carves wrinkles into skin

Marks the places where you once were

I feel only the cold

The door you left ajar deep

Inside my soul

And I shiver at the loss or at the knowing

That the shape you left

Will never fill

With sound or warmth or hope

And I stand in the shadowed frame

Of the window

Which reaches out like an old man

Dying in the night

In the moment that he realises

The loneliness that has always been

His companion in the dark

And the light

And across the town across the plane

Still rings the sound

Of the bells

Of Saint Mark’s.

 

© All original writing copyright Chris Nelson 2000-2020