Snatching at the words,
Mumbling incoherently,
Such things, such imagery,
Haunting me, taunting me,
Fighting on the cusp of sleep,
Denying me semblance of reason,
For these words I want, no, need,
Their beauty, strings of literary pearls,
Flow sinuously through my mind,
Then begin to dissipate, please no,
Cunningly vanishing at equal speed,
With which I try to recall them,
Smoke thinning, drifting on the wind,
Mocking me as I rouse, knowing,
Deep inside, how good the words felt,
What they would mean, such wonder,
Now gone, but perhaps, perhaps,
They were never as good as I thought,
Maybe such things never are, maybe,
Maybe the real beauty is hidden pleasure,
A delight in the process itself, hmm,
The imagining, I - no, we, for I mean, us poets -
Love that creative part; want to hold it forever,
That heady feeling, that Promethean power,
How we cherish this treasure, and share it,
Sharing is the best, hmm, and the keeping,
Yes, never neglect the keeping, coveting,
The unmatched sense of achievement,
Something known only to poets,
Alas, those forgotten words,
Edging the cusp of sleep, perhaps,
Well, they do not travel so well, still,
We console ourselves with knowing,
Knowing they were there, truly existing,
Trying to escape on a whimsical notion,
When in reality, if we are patient,
They do come home, words to roost,
Appearing, here, there, everywhere,
In various forms, so all is not lost, still,
On the edge of dreams, we fail to avoid,
Snatching at the words.

© Paul Chafer 2014

Anything,
I ask you all, everyone,
Who knows anything?
Oh, we think we know,
Some of us know lots,
Some think they know it all,
But we know who they are,
Price of everything, value of nothing,
That’s who they are,
Know-alls and blow-holes,
While most of us, hmm,
Well, we do the best we can,
We learn from our mistakes,
Howlers and horrendous errors, some,
But, tis the only way, for us,
To get through life; enjoy life,
For truly, what else is there?
Not a lot, sorry, one ride only,
Freedom and fresh air, only for some,
So appreciate what you have,
Before spiralling down to death,
While hoping, just hoping,
To leave a smidgeon of legacy,
An echoing simple truth of ourselves,
Something from which others may take,
Something to make a difference,
Anything.

© Paul Chafer 2014

I did not want to know him:
Mr Bone-twist.
I feared him, feared his fire, his pain,
Sadly he became my acquaintance.
My health cracking beneath the strain.

It was difficult to accept him:
Mr Bone-twist.
He hurts me, hurts my legs, my pride,
A specialized, sensitive, suffering,
That penetrates, deep down inside.

I must resist and fight him:
Mr Bone-twist.
Preparing, feeling strong, keeping going,
A war of weary, mind-numbing attrition,
Unceasing, unfaltering, never slowing.

He is trying to steal my life:
Mr Bone-twist.
But I am determined to stop this thief,
My weapons of courage, faith, self-esteem,
Buttressed by strength of true self-belief.

I know he’ll fight to the end:
Mr Bone-twist.
With savagery he’ll hack and he’ll hack,
I’ll never yield beneath his punishment,
Instead I’ll rise and fight him right back!

On crutches I walk over him:
Mr Bone-twist.
My family’s love, now urging me on,
Closely allied with doctors and nurses,
My battle turns and is there to be won.

© Paul Chafer 2014

I once found that,
Elusive, 'silent blip',
It was deep inside,
Hiding all the time,
Lying in my mind,
As I lie to myself,
What a fool I am.

On realization,
It pops, vanishes,
The feeling remains,
Demons, those emotions,
Haunting, wracking, savaging,
Biting at the soul,
Hacking me to death.

Please, give it back,
That inner-silence,
I’m sorry, so sorry,
I was young, stupid,
Welcomed seduction,
Now though, older,
Wisdom exposes truth.

No going back,
Nope, one bite only,
When passion screams,
We hear nothing else,
We choose not to hear,
I once found that,
Elusive, 'silent blip'.

Goodbye everybody.

© Paul Chafer 2014

During dark hours,
Turning in sleep, restless,
Edging from a dream, so soft,
Cosseted, warm, gentle, loving,
Till the memory spike ravages, savages,
Piercing deep, deep down, grimacing,
It hurts; crushing tears, salty, warm, stillborn.

During dark hours,
Absolving her of blame,
Shedding the need to punish,
Unwilling to chastise my darling,
Far easier than forgiving oneself,
And yet; I struggle, so difficult,
Because of Love? Yes, yes of course.

During dark hours,
She sleeps; peaceful soft snores,
Unaware how, forgiving her,
Forces, unbidden, an angry sadness,
My word is true, honourable, my bond,
No regrets, revenge unthinkable;
Still; I’m good at fooling myself.

During dark hours,
She slashes my thoughts,
Undignified imagery, thousand fold torment,
I do forgive; I have; just punishing myself,
What is forgiveness anyway?
Death, springs readily to mind,
We all forgive then; at last.

© Paul Chafer 2014

I have seen,
Yes, I have seen,
Deep inside your mind:
The dreams, such wonder.
Forces, some, your own design,
Are trying to break you,
Destroy you mentally,
Making you afraid,
Making you cower,
Making you cut, and cut,
And bleed, blood, red blood.
Then blame yourself,
So you give up on yourself,
Give up on life, hate life.
I suspect these forces,
Some of your own design,
Desire to make you weak,
Make you lose hope,
All hope, all joy, all love.
In your dreams, such dreams,
I know you are strong,
I know you can fight, will fight,
Given a chance, save yourself,
Then; given a chance,
Save others, truly,
Save us all, this,
I have seen.

© Paul Chafer 2014

Nine months of living as one.
A small life, pure and innocent.
An unblemished soul, now gone forever.

Wisdom fails me, my emotions trip
Into overdrive, shattering resistance, my
Strength leaking away through telltale tears.

I want to lay blame, but deep within,
I know there is no blame, no reason,
Not even justice: only cold, cruel, death.

I observed my wife: mind traumatised,
As she dressed our small lifeless child,
Our first precious child: stillborn, still warm.

I watched her lips whispering private
Inner thoughts, murmuring her love
As her hands caressed so gently: so gently.

Nine months of living as one.
A family created, but for our new arrival,
There is no welcome: just sad, goodbyes.

© Paul Chafer 2014