Paul M Chafer Jul 2017
Love addicts,
High from a single touch,
Trembling from a single kiss,
Sighing for what might be
Could be, and should be,
Hooked into our own groove,
For I am your drug,
And you, sweet woman,
You are totally mine,
As we lust for a fix,
Lost within a vertiginous miasma,
Reeling from a passion that sates,
So blissfully satisfying, and yet,
Also leaves us wanting more,
So much more that we ache,
Cast adrift upon an ocean,
One previously unknown,
The swells heaving,
The currents swirling,
Tides of wanton desire,
Surf crashing over us poor,
Love addicts.

©Paul M Chafer 2017
Paul M Chafer Jul 2017
While I have memories,
While I can still capture the image
Of your serene, beautiful face,
Just a fleeting glimpse will do,
The sun, a prisoner in your hair,
Mischief rioting in your eyes,
Tenderness teasing your smile,
You shall live in my heart,
Within in the hearts of many,
Always, my darling, always,
While I have memories.

©Paul M Chafer 2017
For Tonya.
Paul M Chafer Jul 2017
Something savage roared, tearing me inside,
Clawing and biting, mocking and jeering,
Reminding me that we always forget
Far more then we can ever remember.

Life is a vicious trap, clamped so tight,
Constructed from many smaller traps,
That we unwittingly engineer everyday,
Hardly noticing the lethal snares we shape.

I did fight back, of course I did: I had too,
I am a born fighter, never one to just yield,
Alas, the reality, I was only fighting myself,
Lashing out blindly, but already defeated.

The primal savagery that lusts after life,
Yearns for love, beats strongly deep within,
Cunningly, knows me so well, so intimately,
That I am shaken to the core without mercy.

The unleashed crippling truth is excruciating,
Resistance shattered, will sapped, heart broken,
Becoming a hollowed husk, the very moment,
Something savage roared, tearing me inside.

©Paul M Chafer 2017
Just one of those days when we feel lost and alone, they pass, life moves on, then we find love and all seems well again, for a little while, at least.
Paul M Chafer Apr 2017
An intrepid outsider just visiting London,
Smitten, dazzled, by stunning illuminations,
From within a black cab, transporting me,
Not only weaving in present day airy streets,
But through stacked layers of storied history;
Some dark, treacherous and dastardly sinister,
Some light, celebratory and blithely triumphant.

On alighting from the Hackney Carriage,
(use of the word ‘carriage’ emphasising
a vivid stretch of a willing imagination.)
Museum of London beckons, offering pleasure,
Absorbing a tableau of delightful treasure,
Engaging unfettered thoughts and feelings,
Absorbing echoed cries of distant past eras,
Reminders of who we were and who we are,
Plunging archaic depths of vicarious displays,
Delicate fingers pressing upon vibrant pulses,
Within this webbed tomb of sanitised decadence.

In the coolness of encroaching night,
She slumbers, this anchored sprawling behemoth,
Suffering barking dogs, wailing of infants,
Sweet kisses of lust in cardboard-strewn alleys,
Screeches from a gaggle of hen-partying girls,
Screams from urban foxes, cries of a feral cat,
Curtailed by hurried rumble of clattering steel,
Train arteries busy pumping, wheel to wheel,
Ferrying the masses, crammed together classes,
Silent tubes exposing the numbness we feel,
At destinations end our tensions slyly unpeel.

Busy pedestrians skirting human detritus;
Shunning, vagabonds, tramps and thieves,
Amidst intermittent beeps of frantic car horns,
Squealing brakes and hot roaring engines,
She encompasses this amorphous miasma,
Towering skyward, snaking deep underground,
A blaze of coloured light, her own silent sound,
Inhabitants ‘pigged together’ the majority above,
But many, ignored and mistreated, surviving below,
Recognised, yet avoided; pretending, not to know.

Ancient sewers, dead rivers and even deader bones,
As far back as hunter gathers, howling and rutting,
Stout wooden pilings, now sodden river sentinels,
Whilst fire-blackened-pain from early conflagrations,
Blaze through time, ashes of destruction, no deterrent,
Romans plying trades in walled Londinium’, aye,
Emotional fingerprints etched into carved stone,
Resilient through Viking and Saxon times alike,
She survives, strives and thrives, our proud Lady,
Welcoming all, galleons, tea clippers and schooners,
Surging through her carotid artery, such spoils,
For the Big Smoke, tea houses and coffee shops,
Parks and palaces, bridges, tunnels and hovels,
Where now, the bedecked Town Crier? Is all well?

Brash glitz and glamour of threatened Tin Pan Alley,
Cultural elite behind facades of Doric columns,
While Roman foundations bold form, hold firm,
Twisting through the underneath, far beyond forever,
London crunches into the future, unstoppable,
Embracing humanity in a technological fervour,
She adapts, snarls, struts, proud and confident,
Akin to a sentient beast lapping up our needs,
Feeding desires, never judging, only accepting.

My very being saturated within this teeming city,
Of the city, I’m now enmeshed in the infrastructure,
Heart, mind and spirit willingly shackled, captivated by,
Cold agglomeration of steel, glass, concrete and stone,
Wreathed in transient emotions of warm flesh and bone,
Giving and breathing life unto all, even me,
An intrepid outsider just visiting London.
Subject: to write about London as an outsider. This was accepted and published in the Wells Street Journal - issue 6
Paul M Chafer Sep 2016
What a wonder, it must be, just to fly.
Henry had thought, not so long ago,
As birds, looped, swooped and soared,
Flocks of starlings, offering a show.

Jen and Olly, were Henry’s best friends,
Three ghostly bunnies with nothing to do,
Then Olly twitched his wispy whiskers,
Until large mushrooms suddenly grew.

Mushrooms so nice, they sat upon them,
And despite what they had been taught,
It seemed, within this, imagination world,
Creation occurred, with a single thought.

Jen giggled, wiggled, her delicate nose,
And three pink kites appeared overhead,
Swooping and soaring, just like starlings,
But held from a silken, gossamer, thread.

Henry’s turn, so smiling at his friends,
He performed a funny ‘bunny-like’ hop,
Creating a bracing, fresh, gusting breeze,
Making their ears go, all-a-flippity-flop.

On mushroom seats, ghostly bunnies sat,
Their minds twirling with kites, so high,
Henry recalled thinking, not so long ago,
What a wonder, it must be, just to fly.
This poem was inspired by a piece of art created by Clare Lindley, a talented artist from Yorkshire in the UK.
Paul M Chafer Apr 2016
Poetry lives, sleeps, deep, deep within,
The words, waiting, waiting, waiting,
Nurtured, soothed, lovingly cajoled,
Given form and purpose, till they rise,
Coming to life, unbidden, bursting free.

They echo around the globe, touching,
Slipping silkily into hearts and minds,
Subtly connecting with new-born ideas,
Mingling, coalescing, waiting, waiting,
That’s where poetry come from, (yes),
Poetry lives, sleeps, deep, deep within.

©Paul M Chafer 2016
Inspired by Divine Dao and her poem, Wow!
Forged in moments, assembled, jostled and posted, unpolished, that's where poetry comes from deep, deep within
Paul M Chafer Apr 2016
I feel the essence of you, and I ache inside,
As you infiltrate my being to the very core,
There is no place for me, unwilling to hide,
Forgive me; I’m unable, to suffer anymore.
Our palpable charisma echoes, who we are,
Shaping us incrementally, acquiring a hold,
We cannot turn back, we’ve come too far,
Our friendship has allowed, love to unfold.
Stranded at crossroads, unable to proceed,
Am I just a dreamer, and you just a dream?
Accepting choices, until I started to bleed,
Fond memories weep, drifting downstream.
So what now, precious love, what do I do?
I’m alone, oh but I feel, the essence of you.

©Paul M Chafer 2016
Meant to post this earlier this year, the thrid and final sonnett in the set I began earlier.
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