My Grand-daughter, bless her,
Claims - and, she is only four -
I’m a pirate-wizard-author-artist,
Sharing magical stories galore.

Of course, I do encourage her,
I so enjoy it, and I freely admit,
That pirate-wizard-author-artist,
Is indeed, such a rather good fit!

For her, I create magical wonders,
Wispy-cloud-dragons on the wing,
Turning a childish misconception,
Into a wonderful, curious, thing.

Playing games, happily dancing,
In the chance of musical chairs,
An embroidered fantasy world,
Of witches wolves and bears.

Whimsical youth is so fleeting,
Real life dawning, so very soon,
Cows give milk, as for the dish,
It never ran away with a spoon.

Toys and games become lost forever,
Passing-time is a despicable thief,
But the memories remaining, will be,
Grandfather’s riches of make-belief.

© Paul Chafer 2014

Splish, splash, splish and splosh,
Katalyn always enjoys a laugh,
Her imagination running a riot,
Whenever she is having a bath.

Katalyn sees fairies inside bubbles,
Funny creatures her mind has made,
A grinning blue-finned-fairy-dolphin,
And even a singing, fairy-mermaid!

Together they sing bath-time songs,
Often sharing some staggering tales,
Adventures of wrestling an octopus,
Or riding the backs of giant whales.

Sometimes, Katalyn imagines a fairy,
Blowing magic bubbles round the room,
With the help of a very pretty witch,
Making bubbles with a magic broom.

Katalyn thinks bubbles brim with magic,
Like her imagination, so much fun,
Especially shared with funny-fairy-folk,
Until at last, her bath-time is done!

© Paul Chafer 2014

I hammered my self-loathing,
Gouged out its laughing eyes,
Ripped open its smirking mouth,
Then strangled it, stomped it,
Buried it, forgot it; moved on.

The poetry, though, hmm,
It helped me fight, win,
A soundboard of pain,
Reliable and true, so true,
Always remains, waiting patiently.

Keeping my attitude healthy,
Is it needed? Yes, it is,
Riding undulating emotion,
Self-loathing rises, unbidden,
Caressing fondly: a soft kiss.

I body-slam self-loathing,
Hurl it back to the pit,
Peer out of the abyss,
****** at any light, any hope,
Grasping words, fighting.

Love is always needed,
A powerful weapon, hmm,
Without it, well, zombies come,
Tearing within, mocking,
Urging the thin-red-line.

I will not yield, I scream,
I write, even weep, and more,
Knowing love will come, soon,
And will help me claim,
I hammered my self-loathing.

© Paul Chafer 2014

I just don’t understand,
How can a man live among us?
At work, play, passing the time of day.
Normal.
Normal.
Normal – tinker.
– ****** a child, abuse, ****** –
Normal.
Normal.
Normal – tailor.
So, there are monsters: truly!
Vile depraved horrors masquerading as people.
At work, play, passing the time of day.
Normal.
Normal.
Normal – soldier.
– *****, evil, scumbag –
Twisted.
Twisted.
Twisted – killer.
Take care, always be aware.
An unassuming face, in or out of place.
I just don’t understand, cannot understand.
Tinker.
Tailor.
Soldier – Murderer!

© Paul Chafer 2014

So, please do remember me,
The man who I used to be,
Then heed, if you can heed,
The stranger I have become,
Stepping through open doors,
Finding I must fight everyday,
My mettle twisted a thousand-fold,
From smashing ancient barriers,
Questing a seemingly impossible truth,
Discovering such knowledge,
Conquering all gods, slaying lies,
Exposing ideals that will never be,
Superstition broken, setting me free.

Examine beliefs, looking deep,
Never accept comforting blind faith,
Wrestle with the thorny id,
Finding life’s hidden meaning,
Different for each individual,
The simple truth, enlightened paths,
Illuminating the feared abyss,
Ravaged by ghosts of madness,
Inquire within, trusting yourself,
Revealing improbable answers,
Choosing purpose, as I chose,
Content beyond the echoes of,
The man who I used to be,
So, please, do remember me.

© Paul Chafer 2014

Oh, they don’t know they’re born today,
What do they know of surviving a war?
Suffering blackouts, hardship of rationing,
With never a thought of ‘asking for more’.

They act so tough, never knowing real fear,
Never experiencing terror and dread,
They’d be dancing to a different tune,
If the Luftwaffe still flew overhead.

I tell you, kids of today; know now’t,
Claiming life’s hard: they’re having a laugh,
Let em’ clean grime off a twelve hour shift,
With carbolic soap in an old tin bath?

Talk of going without, they get too much!
We only had skipping ropes, whistles, bells,
Maybe an orange and apple at Christmas,
Along with monkey nuts still in their shells.

If we were lucky, we got a shiny penny,
Truth be told, there was never any shame,
Today they expect brand new bikes,
Plus the latest craze of a video game.

A sign of the times, life always changes,
Rose-tinted memories; forever make hay,
I’ve said it before; I know I’ll say it again,
Oh, they don’t know they’re born today.

© Paul Chafer 2014

I met her in a sun-splashed glade,
So beautiful, my Corn-Goddess,
An aching clenched my poor throat,
I knew, I would see her no more.

Warmth comforted as we touched,
Gentle fingers caressing my arms,
I embraced her softness, so pure,
She kissed the tears from my face.

How I loved her, adored her, even,
Yet, I knew this day would come,
She drifted away, I did not call out,
And when I turned, she was gone.

Sauntering near the glade’s edge,
Summer’s sister beckoned, smiling,
A heady flirtation of russet and gold,
I sighed, indeed, I loved Autumn too.

© Paul Chafer 2014