The Flatshare

Saturdays are for extra slumber
and maybe some chores in the 'noon,
Those extra few hours are sacred to some
After the long, winding working week

is done. Incessent high volumed chatter
quickly comes tiresome, the laughter from a can
tedious and distracting, it penetrates
the mind and disturbs the thoughts in hand.

Night time for the owls of the world
is their own, precious to them, sacred.
The squeaking and the croaking and the groaning
steals away the quiet magic, whispers go unheard.

The mind can become cluttered and full,
like dishes and plates in a dirty sink,
things become lazy and more nasty things
take hold, a simple germ leads to more.

Something so simple as a stick of cancer
with its leaves and paper burning cooly
has such tranquil feeling. The smokey drifts
bring too retches of distaste, throats burning.

Little lined boxes make more boxes lined little,
the nature of the beast one fears. To take over
and consume, awareness just a word that exists
somewhere only known to the few.

Switch. The Light. Off.

The Point

And so to the life wonder spent
Where time too much has now gone
Days and weeks that are now months and years
lost to Mind's endless conception, but no

Pen has touched paper for some time,
The words that rushed round are silent
And the pictures of the mind disappear,
Instead filled with things and stuff

like appointments and schedules and
important things to do,
silly things and pointless activity
passing time passes, unproductive.

Only for the split second that spares
from the whirlwind of everything/nothing
comes regret and wistfulness
before another reminder of something

more important/not important at all,
Mind leads meaningless questions, no,
meaning to the tracks that are tread
and to the point if there is one to be had at all.

Welcome Back

Apologies for the rather long time since I have last posted. The months in the run up to Christmas are a very busy time for me currently at work and therefore this has taken up most of my time. Unfortunately, I also became very ill at the start of December and am still recovering. Thus it has taken me until now to post.

I won't deny that I have somewhat failed over the last few months and have let myself slide. I haven't wrote much, if anything and have drifted off the path that I should be on. However, this time that I have now been given and being on the road to recovery has led me back and I have a burning desire to be writing again.

Hopefully I shall gain a lot of material from the past few months and what they have brought to me and that I shall be back on the London (and further afield) circuits very shortly.

Here's wishing you a happy and prosperous New Year, I look forward to 2011 being a productive year that is full of good fortune.

Chris.

Atticus

Drunken hearts scribble words of cold breath while water still
Lies next to you, the beating drown amongst flattened pulse;
Risked chants backwards (stnahc deksir) and still
Long dog days are what trip onwards, a riot to live and learn
And swim past the cruel guards, strum the blues;
Big calm on strings tagged crimson, our private interlude
Where we stayed together on devil's spoke, rise and fall
Of compassion, full of distractions on the waiting line.
Take a trip out of town, to my old skin
And once your heart stops beating, a beautiful lie broken,
Only the simple things can give away the things that I have seen.

A Sunday Evening

It's already a quarter to five,
day now gone,
(mis)spent
on pointless thinking
and inconsequence.

Tissues scattered and paper scraps
trinkled over blots of wax,
dust balls side by side
are discarded in
an unwanted remains
cemetery.

Hamlet cigar tin overflows
with dispensed coppers
and silver of weighed down
back pockets
and wary days.

Life and love emptied out
and thoughts for today
are withdrawn,
put somewhere else
to forget
and not be brought upon.

Half full (empty)
bottles of wine
are shadows of waiting
for a week to end,
only to be time with you,
arguments and granting.

Unshifted and unmoved
on the dresser side
beside keys askew
and condoms and lube,
painkiller packs laid open,
foil cracked, torn inside.

Dried crusts on a plate
and hair still curly,
just another question
for mum and dad
on why life isn't
what it should be.

Folded clothes wait patiently
on the ironing board, but
we both know that first reached
will be glass and pen
to jot and drown self pities.

And come Monday morning,
when the week has not ended
and feelings aren't rested,
there is nothing to say, only
distaste boiled over,
more meaning less, eyes close
attempted rest.

While He Sleeps

While he sleeps lightly,
eyes roll and flash,
stars that burn through night
like an idea, planted in grey
floods and flashes,
subtle explosions twitch the eye
and hand jerks, body can't contain,
heavy breath takes over
bed bodyweight, shift and sigh
the day done and old now new
not forgotten but placed away.

By home, by the sea.

I was once propped up against a wall,
watching the wind rough up the sea.
Quietly puffing at a cigarette,
contemplating gulls circling downward.

Old man approaches, wind battered drunk;
flatcap askew and squinted glare.
Red faced, a coastal living story:
days of work, whisky and violence.

Sandpaper hands rub together, he
removes his cap, crunches between
hands; when he speaks, voice of a thousand
cigarettes and yells from football stands.

Offers a greeting, "Hello son, fit
is it yer dein oot ere, on
a day like 'is?"  A harsh whisper soft
behind roaring skies, gunkit mettle.

I tell him; "Simply I'm passing time,
watching sky and sea in skermish,
patiently waiting for some
resolution to come between them."

He laughs: a hearty sound full of joy,
unexpected beside grimaced
facade.  He sees the shock I hide.
Try to hide.  He sits against grout and stone.

Together we watch outward for a
time, held in quiet reflection;
angry sea tumoulous, throws his weight
around, spoilt child temper tantrum.

Boats and birds scurry round him, attempt
to calm him, they look to me like
toys and rubber ducks splashed round
merrily Baby Jesus' bathtub.

A timeless moment between us both,
inside a still split second, shared
by between tick and tock, where unmade
thoughts fade and newborn choices replace.

Broken by a thing so soft as the
blink of an eye, frozen intro-
spection to fraught extrovertion,
and the strangers beside one another.

Cigarette passed, hands sheltered flame
and the clouds of our smoke sail up.
Slowly, then faster, caught up by the
rush of the howl, torn inwards and apart.

Two silhouettes in the fading glow,
the watching parent has changed;
Never another word spoken til the
last puff of smoke; simple nods exchanged.

And off he wanders down the path, with
warm glow of the booze and the salt
of the air inside him, and outside
I stand, gaze fixed firmly on the shore.

To clarify...

To avoid some confusion that seems to be happening, Candles Of Death is not a serious poem.  It was written in about five minutes as a bit of fun for me.  Please don't try to deconstruct it as it might be a bit of a waste of time. Or do anyway, out of interest.

Candles Of Death

Something a little light hearted and surreal:


candles are burning a little too quick for my liking;
from the shop for only one pound,
what more can one expect?

apart from, dwindling light and wax only serves to remind
how quickly days, weeks diminish
before years have passed.

but it's too early for one to think of mortality,
but then there are always those gone
so young and so fast.  then gone.

but i am young so my thoughts are always fleeting, aren't they?
always so quick to move on to new things
shiny and fresh, cat with a toy.

corner catches me again, i watch the wick burn further
and my mind trips back and the clock ticks
a chorus to bring forth death.

A Moment Of Your Time

Just give me one moment, of this time,
To ask some questions that trifle my mind,
To what you say and how you do, all of
it contrieved, thoughtless, confused.

If it wouldn't bother you so, could you
Explain to me where it is that you're at?
Coming here with statements pure mad folly,
senseless patter, misunderstood chat.

What's missing in your mind, soul or heart?
Words jaded, muddled and falling apart.
Confusion and questions drive us all,
steering to me seems to be way off mark.

Is it strange to miss part of this world
out of your picture, in blinkered vision?
To throw something out into darkened cold,
A place you avoid, where you subtract addition.

My sense cannot make of who you are,
That cannot feel warmth to one other the same,
Your mechanics so broken and reason
so fallic, recycled words ingrained.

What will it take to make you see, this
life is waste, filled with misguided notion?
Happiness is key, and it won't be found
with your eyes and heart kept firmly apart.

Question living, an answer simple,
All the pieces laid out in solution.
No mystery lies, shrouded round in cloud,
Just let go, to take heed your world

And let enemies that seem like close friends,
Fall away and disperse, so that distraction
can find his purpose, and clarity will follow
to you: see the world, see me, see you.

No need to be on outer quays, let
loose without restraint, and heart a heavy let
go: of bitter days, strange ways of insane.
Find clear concience and faith, change this place,

Escape.

Ode To You

give merriment and give joy,
silky contours that trace the light
delicately curved, ready to hand.

the centerpiece of the social,
the years have waited for this;
liquid enriched, bring walls down.

a figure of cheeried times,
afterwards reside in life renewed
waxed stalk burn, satisfied brand.

a simple significance,
light reflect in corner stood
your own society, vicarious to ours.

I Am #1

I am new in baby blue,
shrink wrap just removed.
Colours twinkle round me.

Zemblem

Wake up from this dream:
stuck down space bar keys
and childhood songs in head,
frantically looping.

Clocks tick by in silence,
filling rooms with purpose
that drives us forward,
answers not yet found.

Turning blades bring power,
igniting bulbs inside,
bringing wisdom to task,
keeping country's form.

Flashing images haunt
the heart's desire,
kept unwrapped, silenced;
never accordingly used.

If glass were to smash,
would it ever be known
by eyes unseeing,
or heart unfeeling?

Fond reverie remains,
by all maintained, and
empty gazes are met
by the purveyors of

zemblanity.

Eleven

Poets scream out for the missing letters
from society that just doesn't care anymore,
the classic circle peg and square hole
of the disaffected youth that no longer cares.

From out the shadow of children comes forth
adult shells dispossessed with no meaning
and at a loss to speak forth the words untold,
playground dreams traded for a world spiteful.

Unwelcomed and unwanted, nothing left here for
the ones pulled through these gates thrown open,
left no choice nor any feeling, to be amongst
angels fallen, minds distracted from what should be.

Resented and torn, time can only steal souls away,
bodies wither away with minds and dreams long ago,
forgotten ideals long gone along with them,
only bones remain and dust, and words tell everything lost.

Empty Verse

here in vain, standing in rain
here in jest, revered at best
here in lies, a truth I cry
here in now, keep me proud.

never am gone, speak strong
never falter, keep it for
never guessing, keep asking
never trusted, concience fled.

i always ask, questions pass
i daren't dream, mind stays clean
i lose myself, heart of stealth
i forth weary, eyes are bleary.

love is here? never i feel
love is false, simply a choice
love is changing, identity misfitting
love is bleeding, take my leaving.

Shutterblinds

Shutterblinds close,
And I can't see you.
Hidden and unheld beneath.

Darkened smoke,
All that captures my eye.
Painted radiators glisten.

Hold your breath,
Let silence penetrate.
Leave behind now, shout and glare.

Pull away now,
Leave me be at peace.
Solitary pleasure now wanted.

Last Moments

Stare out of that window and listen to stupid songs while I try and tell you why things might be alright.  Sat on my bed with the same shitty music in loop down low while the rain spatters off the window, the light casting thin shadows over the wooden floor.  The heat of the day has passed and the cool of night is drawing in, blue skies clouded over and now all there is is grey.

I sit tentatively behind you, wanting to put a hand on your shoulder but i feel you recoil from just the thought passing through my head, as if you can tell what i'm thinking.  But somehow you still don't hear the thoughts that rush through my head whenever you're around.  The quickest of flashes sets off a rush of different memories, like a kid who hangs on the bars of a roundabout that has been spun with all his might before jumping on,
his fingers gripped so hard, but the force is simply too much and he can feel himself slipping away.  Fear rises in his stomach and through his throat, as if he's going to be violently sick, but the thrill of it all is what doesn't stop him. 

But you don't sense any of that.

The pitter patter and the soft beat are all that keep us together.  The distance between us is more than just a few fingerlengths and I can feel you moving away with every second that ticks past.  Your head is turned away but I can still feel your eyes on me, although I know they gaze out the window and that you are actually far away from here.  Thoughts elsewhere, caught up in the non-present, in a different situation and a different mood, a different time, a different place and a different you.  I wonder if you're thinking about me, about us and what we could have been.  if it had been different for us and if we hadn't gotten to this place here, in this room, sitting alone with each other on my bed.  I hope that you do, but I feel like I'm in the presence of death.

The empty longing for something that has passed, the void inside and the colour has drained from everything around, the sound has muted and the world has detatched itself from you.  The things that you once saw are gone, the little things that made you smile and feel connected, ripped away and now things of misery and dark.  Happiness is so bleak now.

I place a hand near your side and already it feels wrong.  So awkward and confused and I feel a pain through my stomach, as if something is pulling me from the inside out.  My head is confused and I feel all the energy coming from out of me as I use it all to will you to see me, here beside you.  To see me as you once did, to just turn round and understand again.  For everything to be as one and for the colour, the sound and the warmth
come back to me.  Only you can do this and as I watch you, I feel it all slipping away.

I let out a quiet sigh.  Not from frustration, as words like that feel like I'm blaming you.  I'm not here to place blame, I'm here to tell you, to make you understand.  Why can't you understand?  Maybe if we just sat here for the rest of time then it wouldn't matter.  Time almost stands still right now, so maybe we could be stuck here forever anyway.  The world wouldn't notice if just the two of us slipped off together to be in our own little world.  Nothing to get caught up in, nothing to distract, only the two of us frozen in time.

I want to put my arm round you, to pull you close and to whisper in your ear.  To take hold of your body and pull it close to me, and to take these covers of mine and hide us from the world.  We can still have our own blue skies hidden under the sheets and we can pretend there are no grey skies now, or there will be ever again.  The sun can always shine for us, if only you let me show you.

I would make you a queen and I would worship at your navel, kiss you tenderly and delicately brush your skin with my tongue and with my fingertips.  Slowly breathe onto you all the soul that I have, yours to keep and treasure and to do with what you will completely.  I hold that picture in my mind, you like a statue that I can keep with me, and i fear now that it is all i will be left with.

The sun is disappearing and the room becomes dimmer.  It feels like the air has become stagnant and bitter, it no longer wants to be here either.  My arm aches but I dare not move it, to break the moment or the silence.  I know the second that I do that everything will be over, like a signal for the end and that will be all we ever have together.  That I'll never see your face again and the few minutes afterwards I will sit and watch the bed where
you sat slowly lose the shape of you and turn back into nothingness.  Just another piece of cloth which hangs onto even more meaninglessness.

But you don't even wait for it.  Something has happened, the air has been unsettled and it awakens you from your dream of elsewhere.  Or maybe you just decided that it was time to rejoin the rest of the world, your world, the world where things are different and I'm no longer part of.  I feel under the numbness inside me a tearing feeling that rips through my whole body, the pain is almost immense already.  I dare not think what it would
be like without this numb feeling.  You move to get up and almost like a jolt my arm reaches out to grab you.  You barely turn your head and mumble something that I can't quite catch before you move away and my arm drops beside where you just were.  I look down and watch your shape slowly start to disappear as you walk away, each step further like a molecule shifting.  I can't bare to lift my head and look.

My mouth is desperate to open and say a thousand things, my whole body stings and is unable, breath sticks in my throat and all I can do is tremble.  I watch the shape and the shadow from outside that is coming for it, to take it away and to join me in solitude.  To taunt me, to hurt me.  To be my only friend and companion, the only thing that is left for me in this world and to take the shreds that are left of me and envelop me whole until there is possibly nothing left to leave me with.

There is a thump of a door closing and I am truly alone.  My hand is stroking where you have been and I slowly count the touches that I have left before it disappears.  I close my eyes.  The music has stopped.  In the distance, I can hear the traffic and somewhere there is a bird singing.  These things would have brought me comfort, but now all they bring is sorrow.  The song is not one of happiness, it is a solitary cry into the evening sky.  I hear
stuttering breath and the sound of material being touched.  And then everything stops.

A quiet click, and then the music starts to play again.

Start Again

Another hot and sweltered white light night.

Ideas stifled like the air that clamours.

Thoughts and the world are silent together.

Dreams overtake and leave solitary confinement.

Eyes and ears hold out intently and wait.

Nothing passes or speaks and patience is only left to wain.

Tiredness doesn't always mean sleep, only leaving.

Remained restless exhaustion, cracked covered serendipity.

Nights used to be filled with unruled thoughts and dreams.

Now an only friend has gone, no understanding is left here.

In a shrinking space, every soul has gone.

Drowning in dreams and the journey towards tomorrow.

Trapped in today as it fades, stuck between the two and exhasparated.

Random images pass and fleet, memories of yesterday.

Childhood and climbing trees, tightly wound roundabouts and playgrounds of the free.

Secret clubhouses and the top of the world, forests of secrets for intrepid souls.

Lazy days under marshmallowed skies, then and now.

Ultimately the prettiest things converge into indecipherable mess.

Never yet learned to untangle, to grab the fly on the fence, nor to understand.

The walking asleep and the unaccepted shrunk downs.

Future dreams that remain in the past.

Every moment unrealised waiting for discovery and elusive enlightenment.

Down in the basement, the gutter and the mud.

Heads are tilted upwards to castles in the sky.

Night Work

these are the building blues,

punk purples and the raving reds

that pulsate the beat, 

through aqueous break smoke glides

the surface, spilling out

the all-dancing, drinking, drug-fuelled

high tops and roll ups.

optics amplify and beats equalize,

sonic cartwheels burn,

a travelling beat train 

of instruments, driving progression,

halcyon haze leads clamour and

glamour through concrete arteries,

sweat and smoke, catcalls and yells.

garage tab pick up, black cab drop

to approaching crecendo and euphoric

rapture, intoxication ceaseless,

something worthy to believe in,

one night only and tonight, 

the visionaries are cued to play,

the children's song drums out.