Concussed by mornings
sharpened light
grasping cotton silence
each breath was tentative
alone
without the other
that shadow fragment
of a once upon a night
recalling synaptic responses
she knew
he had departed
but to who
or where
tears where of no consequence
why shed them
fuck memories
and fuck those
who fucked them
paper cuts once
more painful
than the striating
marks on the heart
each ventricle incised
life a blood force
poured as if from
an unblessed chalice
closing eyes
cannot make you hide
slow each breath
coax intuition
to help
it is going
yield and go
fear of life
the greater threat
even with her
whisper kisses
Events have occurred , political intrusion by government Trump or May that have dissolved our lives into a caricature farce that is dark and sadistic so I wrote this…
curious
in a time I never realised before
those blindly blinking
people
heads down
could be swallowed up
by forces unseen
and never know
monuments fall
governments tirade
without distraction
I was a beggar in life
seizing the moments
that never seemed to come often
thoughts and a voice
but nobody would listen
media’s bluster
without so much as
whisper
of human account
cut me into wounds
moral abstract slices
of nevermore and decay
will we be saved
on this exhausted hulk
called earth
or will I shrivel
into that carbonised carapace
and tomb
that is called death
they told me about the garden of love
which I knew never existed
just like the dew settles
a feeling came over me
reaching touching feathery leaves
someone lurked in the darkness
a glimpse a furtive shadow
i needed to draw out of the gloom
no fee to be paid
as wallet forgotten
my fingers picked a rose
holding it aloft to the sun
shadow emerged reaching also
for the rose
sunlit face exquisite beauty
naked radiance for me to see
entranced entwined enthralled
in a boiling swell of passion
i was consumed
infused with the flowers and trees
the garden in this garden
i would remain
many stories can be untold
but this one cannot
i belong to that once furtive figure
no more in the density of foliage
but with me
together as one
Together always
22 years of marriage to be celebrated
An Irish film that looks to be very good and one to watch
sweet seminole land
lost to those who came
a fallen Orlando Reeves
left only his given name
to what becomes
a city of attractions
and life
pulse pulse pulse
history now bound and woven
to pages of dusty books
to a place where love can shine
or so we thought
that lone gunman
with whatever hatred came
pulse pulse pulse
a beat a rhythm
where lovers dance and kiss
hatred spread its dense fog
leaving many fallen
ones we will not forget
and share our hearts throuhgout
pulse pulse pulse
hard sugar stars
affixed in the firmament
lighting with their pride
our every day
gutless form of
grey flannel
and bowler hat
tapping briefcase
with finger
pencil callused
autocratic directions
of how the
shapeless should fit
tailors chalk on cloth
decisive lines
to trim or sew
mouths stitched so
neatly shut
limbs severed so that
the fall of material
should be so suitable
old money new money
contra entries
that become the washerwomans
laundry
in colonial towns
with brighter sun
and sweated brows
grey flannel choke
and soft eton tones
cruciform stretched
with benefits denied
g&t cold pink lemonade
taking canapes on landscaped lawn
take a bow doff your cap
grateful for what you
don’t receive
inbred subservience
of the golden age
long shadows
keeping us in the dark
mouth torn open
begins to shout
blood on lips
blood on tongue
strike a match
to cauterize
and light the beacon torch
flannel shadows
cannot keep us hidden
or denied
we have voices
as we are many
and you are few
copyyright Chris Lawrence
defined and documented
blue binding no longer black
posey vest and wrist restraints,
in this bed unable to move
she was selfless in her care
and he so sure of fear,
shifting his backside slightly
legs splinted with sticks,
they had not spoken since
was it love
his mind versed it against
that boiling sensation in his gut
acidic rot sure it would calm,
she believed in the
discernment of spirits
and that sweet ignatian way,
will , desire whatever,
time had no identity any more,
clocks calendar all abandoned burned
ashes to choke his chest
and close his eyes,
she would face the flames one day
of his wrath or something more,
for now his lot
was on this mattress ,
wounded with pride and body
he could not polarize his thoughts
to agree with hers,
all joy had left him
swept away in blood pain and tears,
waiting for the next moment of torture
