Writing,
Scribbling down,
Such choices we make,
Edging the sliding doors of life,
Running, walking, or turning away,
How odd, these bold decisions,
Life-changing options,
Not bold at all, taken on a whim,
And yet, yet, they guide, hmm,
Saturating our souls, hearts, our minds,
With more permanence than we know,
Can ever know, for who can know,
What will become of us; any of us?
Are we indelibly tattooed, all of us?
Perhaps, and fate and destiny are dust,
Lives become intertwined, tightly bound,
Inextricably linked, so, so tight,
Through little more than pen and ink,
And on we flow, downstream,
Not, going with the flow, no,
Only ‘dead-fish’ go with the flow,
But ‘current drifting’ observing,
Before plunging beneath the surface,
Tugging the legs of the serene swan,
Playfully, cajolingly, teasingly,
Before emerging, drying off,
Thinking, choosing, acting,
Scribbling down,
Writing.

© Paul Chafer 2014

My poem was inspired by the poem below by Amanda FH.

We Are Art

The choices we make
The life-changing ones
Are indelibly etched on our hearts and souls and skin.
Every decision is a making, a changing,
I am tattooed
And so are you.
Let's compare our pictures
And tell each other stories.
Make notes on me
I'm still a choice
Waiting to be branded
Let your ink flow.

I used to zip, round
Little School corner.
Metal sparking from the road.
Throttle wound back
For a swift attack:
Excitement on overload.
The brave foolishness of youth,
Slickly defying, gravity’s truth.

I used to roar, round
Young-man’s corner.
Tyres squealing in the night.
She’d buck an’ slide,
Giving a rough ride:
My experience holding her tight.
Pulling through, going on our way,
Looking forward, to yet another day.

I used to charge, round
Middle-age corner.
Knee scraping along the ground.
Holding my breath
Kissing, cold, death:
My fear becoming unwound.
Somehow, I gathered her sweetly up,
And continued drinking, from life’s cup.

Nowadays, I never know,
What’s around the corner.
My biking days are long gone.
I don’t get my thrills
From near-miss spills,
And the years roll on, and on.
We travel a straight highway, so it seems,
But me! I’m still cornering, in my dreams.

© Paul Chafer 2014

I remember much
Too much it would seem
But some things are better burned
Others perhaps buried…
Somewhere along that forgotten highway
But still,
As the images continue to flicker
There are foul tastes
Disguised underneath all the splendor
Hidden amongst carefree smiles
Deeper than any smoldering look
Lies the darker truth
Built to be whispered ever so slowly
Against disbelieving lips

By all means,
Tell me my own story
You seem to do it so well
I’m sure you’ll be singing so sweetly in hell

© 2014 Peach

You fill my lungs with smoke

Your body burns
Between my finger tips
While ash falls slowly to the floor

I know that you are toxic to my health
But I've been addicted in the worst possible way

I....
Crave you in the morning

I can....
Taste you in the back of my throat

I need you
Like no other

I want you
More than my next breath

You are just like a cigarette
You’ve infected me with your cancer
Quit you I must,
Before you bury me in the ground
And turn my body into dust

© 2013-2014 Peach

My lips have never known the taste of yours.
My nails have never scraped down your chest.
My legs haven’t wrapped around your waist.
No my body has never had the pleasure of being pleasured by you.

You haven’t slipped off my dress to caress.
You haven’t pulled my hair just to kiss down my neck.
You haven’t ****** me until I’m left screaming.
No your body doesn’t know the heat of mine.

But here we are covered with guilt,
Wearing that scarlet letter for this emotional affair.

© 2013-2014 Peach

I would liken you
To a night without stars
Were it not for your eyes.
I would liken you
To a sleep without dreams
Were it not for your songs.