I stood upon a mountain top and breathed the

ethereal air and watched the lofty dreams of

men, a shimmering misty veil. And upon the

the cold uncaring winds I heard their rising

prayers. Cries of mourning, admonishment, , joy

and fear, sailing upwards into the heavens

to be swallowed up by the billowing clouds.

Again I listened and 'lo came the voices of

insanity, a multitude of babble, swirling and

flickering like a grey pallor of smoke on

fire driven wings.And here in this place

gathered all the hopes and dreams and

despairs of men.Cold and bitter but with the

radiant sun shining brightly on them.And I

knew surely that upon these immortal granite

peaks, that men struggled upwards, gasping,

grasping for handholds, sweating, swearing,

falling, groping, rising, packed with all their

livelihood upon their backs, reaching ever

for the snow covered summit.

I always wondered where her love went
It was like it was bled from her
A slit vein that ran dry
I was the only one that she gave it to
And I was young and greedy
And I think that I took it all
Used it up
A hungry pup nursing at the ****
And there was none left over for anyone else
She became withered and dry
And by the time her own children came
That love had been replaced by hate
Maybe it had just been killed
And that hate was like the darkness
That is already in a room
Just waiting for the light to be turned off
And then it takes over everything
It didn't help
That it had been infused with ****** along the way
Shot sweating late at night in a seedy room
Or in the parking lot behind the *******
But something had turned that love to hate
Solidified it in her veins
Until she was nothing
No voice
No heartbeat
Nothing
She became a statue
Just hard stone
And the sad part is that she had four babies
Who tried to nurse from her cold stone ***
And tried to get some of the love that I had
But it was long used up and gone
And they had to try and survive and live
With nothing to feed on but that cold hate
And they all survived for the most part
Except for Amber
Poor Amber
In the end, I think the hate finally got her

Serendipity.
You ******* what!
What you saying, pal?
Serendipity, oh aye, all right,
Aye, seren-******-dipity; whatever!
Tell it to the raggedy soaked-wino,
Look into his rheumy eyes, really look,
Want to kiss his toothless grin, eh? Do you?
Feel his sore-ridden tongue searching you out,
Nay, I thought not, anyway, he hears nothing,
Nothing except the rattle of change.

Tell it to the punctured ******, go on,
Cold body on a cold linoleum floor,
He can’t hear you either, maybe though,
Maybe, slipping away on the last tide of life,
Do-gooder, maybe he will hear you call,
‘Serendipity’ and wonder: what the ****?
Until blackness closes in, blanking the stars.

Tell it to the Fourth Bridge jumpers, go on,
Always falling; to them, falling forever,
In hearts and minds, the event horizon of death,
Trapped in limbo, leaving unbearable hurt behind,
Along with serendipity and bad choices.

And the young, oh they need serendipity,
Cruelty of life glittering in furtive wary eyes,
Old already, far beyond halcyon blue-skies,
Used and abused by those closest, the shame,
Erosion of trust and sincerity completed over night,
Christmas ghosts: slovenly laggards by comparison.

Resilient youth! Yep, they ******* need to be,
Grinding machine of town-life hunting them,
Scouring dark corners, gnashing jaws growling,
Crunching down darkened alleys, feeding,
Lapping up the young blood of runaways,
Slavering maw eating them alive; laughing.

With serendipity, they can lie low, maybe hide,
Dream of escape, for they all want out,
Putting misery behind them, quelling cruelty,
After all, they live in a lucky ******* town,
So escape is not impossible, no,
Unlikely, yes, poor wee *******.

Serendipity should shout a loud warning,
Run, scrawny urchins, run if you can,
Run for your lives, the rest of your lives,
Town-life’s grinding machine awaits,
Watches for you, so keep running,
Never stop, never look back,
Not ever, not ever,
Serendipity.

©Paul Chafer 2014

I trigger your bicep
and kiss you down to the marrow
my aimless heart takes shape
in the ridges of your hand

every line of your skin
every freckle, every gland
is a detail i want to inhale
until it sticks to the ribs, until i see where it lands

for a
a dead man
who
can't buy wine

a timeshare
in Florida

finance
a mortgage

go back
to school

use a senior discount
for an age he never  
reached

oddly enough
it seems
his state
of
non physicality
impedes
his  purchase
capabilites

fatally