Polaroid #1

do you remember

the fleeting cries

and the taste

of burning candles

burrowing through

the senses and

the pills in your hand

like jelly beans

lying on top of

a sleeping city laughing

and the rats

scurrying below?

The Ballroom Dance

Smiles that are extended from across of this here

Are what leave tightening air between the two

Of you.  Smiles left wondering what to think when

they look to you and find nothing but love that is spent.

Effected outsiders are what leave the insides destroyed

The further you pull away and behind the laughter

Of the boys and the girls who spend the whole day annoyed

Inside their heads, they hold the leftovers of what they are.

Encoldened touches and dying intentions of anything asked like

Beats that are dropping out of rhythm and are just noises now

As footsteps carry you away across the ballroom floor

Crowds are what swallow them whole, nothing to anyone, anymore and somehow.

Without the hope that was once around what is there left to expect?

To live without the necessary quintessentials and absolutes,

The selfish nature of those from which our nature vicarious

Sparks have all but left us starved and babbling, incapable and uncomprehending.

Passing Time

Look inside
Those cracked glass frames,
Full of water stained meaning
Through moonful glare, playful words.

Fast asleep,
The others play away in carnivals,
Run for miles amongst elongated blades
With hiding messages toy, still born fancy.

Placed palms
Grasp for more uncertainty,
Numbers slide through blackened sand.
Exchanges thrown, playtime's over, and time for home.

Insipid idylls
Stained alongside yesterday's photos,
That only 'retro' cameras can make
Nostalga's young dreamers have fallen away from this.

What's Left Behind

dirty bowls 

strewn on

letters unopened, insides untold

with crumbs on matresses

and sheets 

discarded

artifacts left untouched

glisten on sheets

black where celestial

bodies would above 

travel

faint ceilings with whisper,

heed rasping angels

breezing song call past

exposed limbs, blood 

colden

shadows of apparitions, 

an overexposed negative,

the photonic residue strains

an echo that 

penetrates

wind chimes playful and

cloudbroken, sun shimmers

hope in between eyes closed that

are missing the warm breath beside.

Mythonies

Waves of sound strung up, wrestled and tangled
Tendrils rising out, distressed and grasping
Oncoming traffic driving forward, colliding
High top balloons crashing, ripping through air to the ground.

Light fluctuating, sharp and distilled
Shoot through dialated passages, never unseen
Caught and trapped travelling messages
Streaming golden roads outward.

Clench palms with fists of fury
Bound with coloured string, suspended stacks
Inside negative whites that take up room,
this space is not empty, cluttered only.

Headshaped blurs, over sensed realities
filling to the brim with misunderstood focus,
Noises of crescending drums and crashing symbols'
Senseless ramble, glass to the wall and the fly uncaptured.

Red check that block on black
Pukka Pads on which scattered ideas are spent,
like woken from dreams of love and loss, of anger and loathing,
and of empty wanks left lost behind.

Hello Reader,

For those of you having a look for the first time, welcome to my blog.

Just a bit to explain myself (for those of you familiar with my blog, feel free to skip this post).

I am a writer based in London and this is a platform in which to display some of my works.  I would love your feedback, whether you are just passing or a regular viewer.  You can do this here or via my Facebook page the link for which is on the right hand of this page.

I would also be interested in hearing from you if you are also a writer or someone based in the creative industries.  I would love to get involved with projects with other like minded people, such as film makers or those based in independent theatre.

My writing is quite diverse although the pieces on here are based in prose and mainly poetry at the moment. However if you are interested in screenplay and such like please get in touch.

I hope you enjoy what you read, but if you don't (or if you do) please feel free to pass on some constructive criticism.  Also bare in mind that this blog does not consist of my complete range of works, so again if you are interested in seeing more or anything else, get in touch.

Many thanks,
Chris.

Cellos and Choir - June 2010

the symphonies of dreams
that i still long after,
while i hear your shouts and screams
and beg for the life i long for.

scarlet wounds and the over thought,
leave me with broken chairs
in a room long lost and the spirits
that roam, discarded souls bared.

ask me a question and you
can only live for a dream.
ask me for solutions and i
will only ignore your needs.

the tune that you swallow
and the apple that you grab,
leave pictures in frames
that leave lines empty and sad.

ask me not what i can do,
for only cliches can follow.
so ask me nothing,
and sirens blare in fellow.