for Daniel*

the country singer has gone to the city

packed all his chords and a harp

how the voice of love sings

in New York

his part in the harmony

stepping between tramways

along avenues

he finds a new stanza

picked like a flower, put

to the lips of new promise

and her meeting with soft eyed

recitals in cafes and bars

the tenderness

singing

awakening each heart


.

MChallis © 2015

'It goes on'
wrote Frost...
to understand
suffering soberly.
To breathe beauty
in an abhorrance
of decay.
To sigh bliss  
on realities
own terms.
This is to know.
--shoo.shu

I'm living off of borrowed time
Checking a watch that isn't even mine
You ask where I'm headed
I say that I don't know
You ask if you can come
As if I could've said no
You ask how I'm feeling
It depends on the day
You ask what I'm thinking
But I have nothing to say

Goodbye Mr. Chips

England 1920

I’m well in my eighties now you see
The life of a school master was for me
Brookfield School is where I have been
A private school for the sons of Englishmen

I was a young man when I first came here
For years a stodgy boring bachelors life
Then in my middle age I met my darling wife
She brought me joy my heart’s desire
Having tea and scones beside our fire

She had the faculty eating from her hand
She got me noticed and life was grand
I became the head of these hallowed halls
A part of Brookfield like the walls

The boys all loved her she had such grace
As well as having the most pretty face
I think I was the happiest man on earth
Then I lost her as she was giving birth

All alone at Brookfield in my pain
Never to take a wife again
Then the war, the four horsemen rode once more
A war like nothing we had seen before
All my old students fought for the King
After Sunday chapel as hymns we would sing
I would read my boys names who gave everything

The war it stayed for several years
My eyes burned with the salty tears
To see my boys grown into young men
Dead in battle never to come home again

But the war ended and we survived
The sons of the fathers came to Brookfield alive
My years went by until I retired
Now I lie on my bed, my time expired

I hear them talking, outside my Door
Old Chips is Dying, it’s such a shame
He had no children to continue his name
But that’s not true.
I had a thousand little joys
And they were all my Brookfield boys

You took away a childhood that wasn’t yours to take.
My younger year were spent away.
Hiding from your screams not known to be fake.
You left us alone with nothing to say
Because we couldn’t stand the sight of you
Afraid of what you might do.
You stole a life from me, too bad I learned.
I won’t let you get in my way any longer
Because the tables have finally turned.
I am going to write my own story without your blur.
I have my life planned I can do it!
Despite what you said, my life can be lit.

We sang of Sublime,
there was this dude -
and he was a rhymin'.

His name was Wild,
Bill, always went for the ****.
But- not until...

My metallic fragrance
dresses the snare,
as I danced like I didn't care.

Oh, my heart did break at times.
Hell, It was the biggest crime.
I might just wait in line.

And in the end,
I'm loved, confused with friends
My heart I'll send.

The milliner

*It was so very long ago.
The world was full of hats.
In the spring the hat maker came.
She pinned her felts and silk
to my mother’s head.
Added feathers and flowers.
My mother would be beautiful
for the Easter parade.
I tried them on when she was out.
Until my head became too big.
One hat in each box
Representing one more Easter.
Then when the chemo took her hair
We sat outside of her bedroom
The hat lady came for the last time.
She left solemn and quiet
Her eyes cast to the floor.
We all went in to see her last creation
On her head a beautiful
hat with flowers
and ostrich feathers.
Her head perfectly covered
Not a sign of her lost hair.
And that was the last time
I saw her smile.