I fear the warrior has fallen asleep,
Lulled into chains in the Demon’s keep.
Forgotten prisoner of noble mind,
Honour and justice abused and blind.
And the Race continues in a headlong rush,
Repeated warnings of disaster, all hush, hush.
Wanton greed leaving resources depleted,
Bold voices of reason ignored and defeated.
The world’s inhabitants playthings of destruction,
Mankind’s demise profitably under construction.
What then; the high price of material wealth,
Wallowing deep in the red with nature herself.
The unforgiving Earth spins our lives into death,
Climatic chaos drawing our last dying breath.
Eons of achievements now just whimsical schemes,
As our entire existence floats away with our dreams.

©Paul M Chafer 2014

All moments last forever,
trapped in time, yes,
like pages on a book,
but there, all the same,
reaching out from the past,
indelible memories, forever.

There are dreams,
then there are dreams,
some dreams, like kisses,
have portent, subtle magic,
while some dreams, and kisses,
are just dreams and kisses.

Moments, like kisses,
are trapped in memories,
magical dreams, reaching,
making the day smile,
reminding those who love,
all moments last forever.

©Paul M Chafer 2014

Cruel nuances of misplaced futures,
Arc far beyond time’s twisting fabric,
Spiralling across splitting ends of reality,
Teasing the churning moments that are now.
What will be, will be, shadows within shadows,
Shimmering, through subtle shades of life.
Shifting, fading before finally blossoming.
Then it burns, shakes with unleashed rage;
Whilst on a whim, sharing of a gentle smile,
Glance of a stranger, an inappropriate kiss,
Promises in dreams of unchained desires,
Ride free on dark horses, wind in their hair.
Bodies limned beneath a harvest moon,
Nakedness admired by breathless lust,
Sated innocence writhes, dances as one,
A pleasurable alloy of heart and soul,
Blended within imagination’s crucible,
Cruel nuances of misplaced futures.

© Paul M Chafer 2014

So, they took his life,
And what harm did James ever do?
Nothing at all; just a man, a good man,
Doing his job, reporting the truth.
Only some people, murderers, is the correct term,
Dislike that he did not share their beliefs.
Islamic fundamentalists are often that way inclined,
Seeing those who are not like themselves,
As disposable human waste,
So, they took his life.

James Foley R.I.P

© Paul M Chafer 2014

War is all around, everyday,
Mother’s and children dying,
Yet, ask any politician, any,
They could tell you, instantly,
(No they won’t, not honest enough.)
War is good for lining pockets.

They could also tell you,
If we don't supply arms,
Then someone else will.
(Is this not obvious to all?)
Yeah right, of course, my, my,
How stupid we are; so unseeing.

Truth is, we folk of conscience,
We vote these people into office.
Sure, freedom has to be defended,
Alas, humanity - bah! what humanity?
- has gone way beyond defending,
Into extremes of propagating.

It hurts so much, so very much,
That I have no feasible solution,
I think, you think, we all think,
Yet, we cannot think, or act,
In any possible way,
To halt war!
Sad.

(While reading this, somewhere in the world, no doubt, another innocent has died in a war. Religious zealot’s justification, politician’s justification, perpetrators of organised violence justification, arms dealer’s justification; we have a surplus population. Fine, then cull all those who justify war; problem solved.)

© Paul M Chafer 2014

By walking between certain trees,
Sometimes, one has an odd feeling,
An unusual tingling sensation,
Not scary, but mostly appealing.
Katalyn passed between two elms,
And entered into ancient realms.

Excitement prickled Katalyn’s skin,
Trees here were wide and tall,
Then from a sun-splashed clearing,
There came a strange animal call.
Creeping closely; peering round a tree,
Katalyn saw unicorns, roaming free.

Approaching slowly, heart beating fast,
Katalyn could not help but smile,
As the unicorns gathered round,
What grace, such poise, cool style.
Not thinking, Katalyn touched a wing,
There came a whoosh . . . so dizzying.

Without knowing, how or why,
Katalyn soared above the trees,
Holding a slender unicorn neck,
Laughter escaping on the breeze.
They dropped into a sudden glide,
With a thrilling rush: what a ride!

They winged across grassy plains,
Between mountains capped with snow,
Katalyn neither knew nor recognised,
The wild land, passing by, below.
Another world; another dimension,
Kept secret by; magical intention.

Then Katalyn was suddenly walking,
Back where the adventure began,
Passing between two old elms,
Returned to the world of man.
Now feeling as happy, as you please,
Knowing unicorns lived, beyond the trees.

© Paul M Chafer 2014

Hmm, Christmas season has gone, good:
Presents shoved in drawers, some used, some abused,
Some never to see the light of day, until thrown away,
Others worn with delight, played with, till dawn’s first light,
We never even saw church, or thought of god, any god.
Why should we? Religious? Nah, not us, Darwin rules,
We had science in schools, we mocked the fools,
Who even imagined an all seeing deity, with awe,
Punishing and rewarding, everything he saw,
But we ate our fill, partied with skill, just avoided,
The need to ****, especially to ****, so messy,
Never allowing our own family blood to spill,
The clean up is swallowing, such a bitter pill.

Hmm, Easter approaches, we do it all again,
Stretching our family, what an awful strain,
Pretending we like, adore, the snidely sneers,
We just ignore, avoiding the drunk, such a bore,
While those of us, who are close, watch the chaos,
Feel the undertows of love streaming among us,
Binding the salient parts, making a family work,
For the kids, you see, a duty we, must never shirk,
Our only legacy, from the lives we have built,
Making us continue, regardless of the guilt,
Emotional alloys in alcohol flux, so easily spilt,
Another religious festival, who gives a toss?
A land of empty churches, not such a loss.

Hmm, Whitsun lies beyond Easter: what?
What is, Pentecostal; exactly? More rot?
Fifty days, oh yeah, makes sense, sure,
Makes nonsense, have faith, no defence,
We don’t care: get it! Got it? Well good!
No nailed-god; for heathens like us; we hijack,
As Christianity hijacked our paganism, yes!
Copied and pasted their festivals over others,
Took our sacred places, chanted in dulcet tones,
Where we gathered, running naked around stones,
Leaping cleansing fires, bumping ugly bones,
How’d you like that, preacher folk; in shock?
Burn in your created Hell; let heathen Earth rock.

© Paul M Chafer 2014