Blithe Spirit,
I sense you.
Your gentle form
Caressing my mind,
Touching my heart.
I stir in my dreams,
Yearning to break free
From restricting earthly shackles:
To be with you.

Blithe spirit,
I know you.
Your tenderness
Reaching out, a
Rush of spiritual energy.
I drift, languidly,
Into your ethereal world
Where cool blue peace
Soothes away, all distress.

Blithe spirit
I feel you.
Your being coalescing
With my inner-self,
Infiltrating my very soul.
You take me beyond mortality,
Beyond explanation,
Where Earthly desires
Simply, cease to exist.

Blithe spirit,
I accept you.
Though your
Very presence defies
Reason and understanding.
You infuse me with
The gift of celestial knowledge
And I know, my destiny is:
To be with you.

© Paul Chafer 2014

Thoughts of you
drift into my mind.
Coloured images whirling
as you flick open the catch
that releases my desires.
Body, mind and soul
become drenched
by, dream-like imagery
as fingers slowly entwine.
The subtle interlocking of emotions
quickening every breath
as hearts and minds blend
together in a magical union.
And we dance;
how  . . . we . . . dance.
Such poetry in motion,
the music only ceasing
when reality returns
as the dream, slowly
but surely, fades, and
slips away.
And I wonder:
forever wonder;
where you are: if you are,
and lament for the life
we’ll never, ever know.

© Paul Chafer 2014

Looking back, through the window of time,
Playground skipping ropes turning in rhyme.
Counted verse and a strange childish chant,
Disguised lilt of an ancient, grown up rant.

Posies left by the river, ashes of the dead.
An axe-man waiting to chop off your head.

Wheeled ice-cream carts selling real ice-cream,
Penny sugar barley twists, sweeter than a dream,
Never-ending Saturdays playing in the sun,
Kick the can, if you can, and run rabbit run.

Posies left by the river, ashes of the dead.

Hazy days, crazy days, reliving the lost ways,
Childhood adventures, forgotten one-act plays.
I brush away the cobwebs, wipe away the grime,
Reliving blue skies through my window of time.

An axe-man waiting to chop off your head.

© Paul Chafer 2014

Wounded dove, fallen
From grace, unhealed pain, sad
With regret: goodbye.

Lips gently brush
against each other.
Their fresh moist
softness hot, yielding.
Tongues touch, executing
deft tantalising flicks.
A sensuous tease
before delving deeper.
Searching, probing, lips
pressing, passion flaring.
Hearts melting, spirits
soaring, rushing away.
Then suddenly, it's over
More than physical contact.
A more subtle, mental kiss.
Our fingers connect
briefly on parting.
Lingering slightly, and
I speculatively wonder.
Were our minds
in perfect synchronicity?
Or is there truly,
only one mind?
Such uncertainies arise,
with mental kissing.

© Paul Chafer 2014

Would it cost you so dearly
To show me some kindness?
Perhaps, a little of your pride?
Cold truth cannot be denied.

Of the abundance you possess
Surely you have some to spare?
Although beauty is seldom kind,
Love of beauty is so often blind.

Perhaps I do persecute myself?
Naivety, my foolish companion.
Of perishable beauty, so unaware,
Its failure, a cruelty, above compare.

Unripened emotions bitter edges
Sharpening perceptions of reality.
Such contrast to inner sweetness,
Illusions devoid, of all redress.

Is this not truly tasting life?
Is this not choosing to live?
Suffering and savouring the pain,
Love is so arid, without any rain.

© Paul Chafer 2014

On a cold winter’s night,
The ground white with snow,
Laura thought of a friend,
She lost so long, long ago.

Through her bedroom window,
Gazing longingly at the sky,
She wished upon the stars,
For a carpet that could fly.

If she owned such a carpet,
Perhaps, for a little while,
She would make a journey,
Travelling mile after mile.

Watched by moon and stars,
She would fly far, far away,
To visit her long lost friend,
It would be such a special day.

Laura’s thoughts escaped,
As on the carpet she flew,
And through make-belief
She made her wish come true.

On a cold winter’s night,
The ground white with snow,
Laura thought of a friend,
She lost so long, long ago.

© Paul Chafer 2014