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martin challis Jan 2015
investigation of light shift

spanish inquisition to a button

stigmata of machinery

clear engine chrome

flow-mouth wonder

wild nozzle-play

fascination thirst learning tide

inch at a time

mouth of splash

rill
river
lip
tongue
eye-flash and
silver

spooning the slurp-wet

fleet captains patrol, cry’s,  enough

squeals for more quenching      



MChallis @ 2015
  Jan 2015 martin challis
Babu kandula
Every moment
I wish
To be mine

They slip away
From my finger
Tips

Like

Water drops
From
Dark clouds

Like

Lightening
From
Two unlike
Clouds

It's fractional

I don't even have
Time to analyse

They are fast

They run fast
Moments

They are not for me

Everytime

They no how to
Escape
martin challis Jan 2015
In the world
I can get busy
busy mind
getting distracted

away from where
the centre is
away from where
what matters

this poem
these poems
we share

these poets
saying hello to poetry
keep bringing me back

to what's essential
to belonging

MChallis © 2015
martin challis Jan 2015
The un-discovered country;
in his eyes
when he praises you.

He attempts to hide the nervousness
the rate of his breathing increases.
His father never gave him praise. 
Never gave him glory.
Never it seems, made him the special centre of the moment.

And yet now he works this gift for you;
does it with no experience.
Is motivated by the desire to see you grow.
To see you swell with growing.
He stumbles over foreign land.

A son: your father.
Not measured by calibration.
Not perceived in weight or wonder but
as hard stone,
the slow carved mark
sharpening on
unborn generations.

You walk with him.
Your hand in his.
The path new, yet well worn with wishing.

This image is an invocation:
Father and son, two friends like fire,
like kindling, like warmth.

If we imagine this for many sons and
for many fathers
perhaps  
it will not be
so much further off.



MChallis © 2015
martin challis Jan 2015
Crumbs of heaven
fall wing-soft
yet you and I
know nothing of manna or prophecy.

In the midst of
trodden unbidden
inner indivisibles,
habit’s anvils restrain us.

Yet attest this to one small place of untouched bliss
where we may grace the light
now and so often
extinguished
in barren land.

The foreign treader
of a dawn held wish
unfurls from our robes,
hangs us at an altar,
and no-where attempts to keep secret the name of commitment
from the carol of lip or tongue.

Silence the two-headed voice beyond the shroud,
hear this life
and the secret of light.

Entwine and wind
anticipate the suspence
and future of what will be possible.

Hold off
hold off,
stir, sweet one
nurture our convergence.


MChallis © 2015
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