Knowing how, life’s waves break, unevenly,
Surging along the strand, churning, foaming,
The sea, from which we came, so long ago,
Our own cradle of life slowly draws back,
Preparing, arcing, before rushing forth again.

Whilst we, fickly humanity, such foolish pride,
Who actually thought, we owned the world,
Indulge in a final languid walk along the beach,
The once, life-giving-waves, cold and bitter,
Washing away our footprints and all we were.

Life, so inextricably linked with cruel death,
Fate, uncaring, unforgiving, turns on the tide,
Erasing all signs that we ever passed this way,
Only a palpable ache remains, reminding us,
We had it all, yet we are flesh: we had nothing!

When we are mostly gone, some will survive,
On average, younger, fitter, resistant to disease,
Walking sands upon which we once walked,
Wise enough to cherish the precious Earth,
Knowing how, life’s waves break, unevenly.

I see a volume of history upon the shelf,
Just repeating itself. Just repeating itself.

Recalling the infamous Pandemic; Spanish Flu!
Although, it never came from sunny Spain.
In 1918, a neutral country during the war,
The free Spanish reported the virus first.

It spread throughout Europe and America,
Then Asia, infecting half-a-billion people,
Killing fifty, maybe even a hundred million!
How many; nobody knows! Nobody knows.

The Pandemic has come again: it’s here!
Did we learn from history? Are we prepared?
No! No! No! Our reactions are way too slow!
Covid-19 is definitely running this final show.

Latter half of the Twentieth Century, felt soft!
We grew old, greedy, fat and complacent.
Mother nature decided, it’s time for a cull,
Earth wants her overdue rent, paid in full.

I see a volume of history upon the shelf,
Just repeating itself. Just repeating itself.

Paul M Chafer©

Imagining you standing, watching the ocean,
Our bare feet pushing into the soft sand,
The setting sun warming our backs, pleasant,
A gentle breeze trifles with your wayward hair.

Waves rush in, foaming, churning, tickling,
Then pull away, sand shifting beneath us,
Losing our balance, ‘ah,’ we adjust, ‘yes,’
Seeing things differently, altered perspective.

We stroll along the strand, quite content,
Sun kissing the mountains, whilst to the east,
The impassive moon rises with stolen light,
You exclaim, ‘look, they share the same sky.’

I nod, knowingly, squeezing your fingers,
‘There’s a name for that,’ I say, ‘I forget though.’
‘They name everything these days,’ you reply,
‘But they know nothing, not really; just names.’

I sigh, happy with our friendship, so good,
Forged across the ocean, solid, dependable,
Wavelets erase our footsteps, yet we walk on,
Our past resting, but always with us: always.

You look at me and smile, tears in your eyes,
I try to brush them away, you clasp my hand,
‘No,’ you say, ‘I’m fine, please, just let them be,
The tears are part of who I am; I accept them.’

I know you are right, I understand now, I do,
You’ve shown how not to let go, how to hold,
I awaken on my side of the world, smiling,
Imagining you standing, watching the ocean.

Ah, beautiful girl,
Lovely Lorraine,
I can see you now,
Your long brown hair,
Heart shaped face,
With a smile to share.

So young and fresh,
We were just kids, you and I,
Laughter came easy to us then,
As did the kisses and squeezes.

The scent of you lingers still,
Peachy soap on pale skin,
Cool Beechnut breath,
Is that a hint of apples?
Maybe from your hair,
Your long, brown hair.

You had a serious look in your eyes,
When we snuggled up tight,
Clinging together against the cold,
A look I could not fully interpret,
I get you now, though,
I get you now, Lorraine.

Too late now, though,
All these years later,
My very first love,
Taken away so young,
With distance between us,
Did you ever think of me?

Our kisses from another age,
Escaping on the edge of memories,
Emerging in a new century,
I can see you now,
Lovely Lorraine,
Ah, beautiful girl.

I think,
I know who I am.
Do you know who I am?
Or maybe I don’t; after all.

It’s true; I don’t know who I am anymore!
What I do know, is that I try for sincerity,
Try to match ‘your’ forthright honesty,
While disguising how lost I have become,
Which is not an easy task to set oneself.

Do you sense my damaged spirit?
Well, my heart was lost long ago,
I fixed it, though! At least, I tried.
Yeah, sure, it’s not perfect: but what is?
Understand, those wounds went deep,
That’s the trouble with loving, giving,
Opening up, before the fated falling.
Even with distance, a virtual world away,
Always the landing, the dreaded crash,
The scattered pieces of shattered affection,
Embarrassing detritus of human emotion,
Becoming flotsam on a soughing breeze.
The confetti of feelings; unrecognisable.
A whole person, just floating away,
Left to wander, bereft, unwanted,
Loved no more, until inside; something dies,
Desire, crushed into nothingness: dead.

Survivable, though, oh yes, never the end,
Love is unique, a true, ******* phoenix,
Preening gaudy feathers, calling, calling,
Forgetting the pain, the yearning,
As it rises, seeking, wanting, needing,
Searching for that elusive phenomena,
After all, it’s more than just attention,
Surely, way more than that, surely!
If we’re honest, we all need to be loved,
What is life without ever caring?
A friendship devoid of true sharing?
Just existence, shadows and dust.

I do know who we are; even what we are,
As do you, if you search deep inside,
Or, maybe I don’t, after all,
Do you know who I am?
I know who I am,
I think.

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

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

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

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.

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.

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

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

Fight, always fight, always,
One must never yield, not ever,
For I have kissed death, yes,
Lift the veil, the hidden truth,
He is not welcoming, he lies,
He is rotten, corrupt and stinking.
I have felt that cold embrace,
I shuddered, choked, rejected,
Came screaming from its pull,
Denied the dark allure, so cold,
And reared to confront my end,
I fought back, struggled, kicked,
Punched, bit, clawed, wrestled,
Until I was free, heated breath,
And now I know, understand,
We must always fight, always.

Inspired by a writer on HP.

©Paul M Chafer 2016

Where are you, perfect piece of writing?
I read of you when I was a boy, long ago,
Naked youngsters on horseback, waiting,
Hidden in shadows at the meadow’s edge,
Then they go, aware of danger, scared,
Moonlight dancing upon their skin, cool,
Nightjars and bats swoop low, hunting moths,
And the youngsters ride, he observing her,
So beautiful to describe, and yet, you are gone,
Long ago, lost in my mind, yet I remember,
And I wonder, what you are, if you are,
And will I ever read you again, savour you?
Where are you, perfect piece of writing?

©Paul M Chafer 2016

Purring, the big cat, prowls though the city,
Her grace resonating in the words of youth,
The rhythm of life beating within her heart,
Pulsing in the melting ***, of cultural truth.

Unwholesome disenchantments; dispelled,
Crushing obsolete views of old generations,
One World, concepts, sweeping all before,
Welcoming the progress of mixed relations.

A Bohemian feline of change, so constant,
Wisdom, truth, acceptance, riot in her roars,
New wave embracing, all colours, all creeds,
Bigoted ignorance fearing sharpened claws.

The multi-faceted face, of free London now,
Don’t hate those who sneer, offer them pity,
Their time disperses on Thames ebbing tide,
Purring, the big cat, prowls through the city.

©Paul M Chafer 2016

Are we to blame for what we do?
Can we help what we do? Can we?
Maybe, maybe not, we would suffer,
Oh yes, you think you miss me now?
You never know love, not really,
Until it is removed, forbidden,
Taken away far beyond reach,
Only then do you see, finally see,
Once you have lost that which you had,
Or even imagine you have lost it,
Only then do you understand,
How much you cared, cherished,
Adored, depended upon, needed,
That illicit love, that yearned for love,
The kind of love that is so rare,
It comes only once in a lifetime,
If one is lucky, very lucky,
So, even though, we do what we do,
Have changed who we are, irrevocably,
I doubt we will ever stop, not ever,
And there is no blame to apportion,
No disgust, no reprehensible behaviour,
There is just us, us, and how we feel,
Are we to blame for what we do?

©Paul M Chafer 2016

If, whenever out, maybe driving about,
On encountering road-rage, never worry,
Claim that you are, Ronnie Pickering,
They should drive off, as if in a hurry.

Although, if they ask, Ronnie Pickering?
Looking bewildered, unsure who you are,
Do a convincing, Pickering impression,
An apoplectic beetroot escaping its jar.

Start ranting and raving, making threats,
No need to reveal, considered, justification,
Rage like a gargantuan, ignorant, imbecile,
Before storming off, in bitter frustration.

Remember, while out, always take care,
If encountering, squabbling or bickering,
If the people resemble blustering bullies,
One, could possibly be, Ronnie Pickering.

Our faithful black Labrador, who was an old lady when I was just a boy, had six pups and despite the grey on her muzzle, produced enough milk for them all. She would take her bowl to the sink when thirsty, tinned-meat to the can-opener when hungry. When tired, she would sprawl out on a rug before the coal fire, on occasion, licking her master’s feet before falling asleep.
     Sometimes, I would rest my head upon her chest, listening to her breathing. In her dreams she would sometimes yelp softly and I would soothe her nightmares away by stroking her sleek black coat.
In our garden, during the pleasant sunshine of a warm afternoon, we used to play together. Throwing a tennis ball that she would chase then fetch back and drop in my waiting hands for me to throw again. This was by far, her favourite game.
     Some considered that she ran out in front of the School Teacher’s speeding car deliberately. “Because of her age,” they said, and “her inability to cope with the pups, only just turned two weeks old,” — that my mother reared, against all predictions.  
     I never accepted this nonsense. At the time, such a thing never crossed my mind as I looked at her, sprawled across the roadside verge. Her eyes were open, but through my tears I could see they were sightless. I also saw the muddy tyre-print across her unmoving ribs and how her legs twisted at an unnatural angle. I could not help my crying, but I felt no shame: none at all.  
     The sad regret I saw in the School Teacher’s red-rimmed eyes did nothing to ease my pain.  If anything, her sorrow made me feel even worse. I felt guilty because I wanted to hate her. Perhaps I did hate her! I can barely remember now. With the passage of time the pain and the hate, if indeed there was any hate, has faded.
     Whenever I pass our old house, where Moss is buried in the garden in which she played, I recall our times together and give her good thoughts. For good thoughts are all that I have for our faithful black Labrador, who was an old lady when I was just a boy.

Reflecting upon the ambitions of my youth,
What happened to the man I never became?
My roots, once anchored firmly, no longer sit
In countryside soil, oh dear, what a shame!
For my heart, town-life has staked its claim.

Whenever viewing those years through the *****
Lenses of memory’s filmy glass, I can always see
The discarded ideals to which I never could
Aspire, my failure, such a huge relief for me,
Not having to face the music, of a rural melody.

I seemed fairly happy then, driving a tractor.
Making a living from having, a field to plough.
The simple pleasure, a reward I had forgotten,
Somehow ashamed, as if I had broken a vow.
Or maybe just guilty, because, I’m happier now.

Auden had said. “You spend twenty five years
Learning to be yourself.” Is this to fully mature?
The wisdom of age wiping my lenses clean.
Seeing an unsullied panorama afresh, is a cure,
The man I’ve become, at ease, at peace, secure.

From dawn until dusk, you are here,
Meandering images smiling sweetly,
Your words, a thousand-fold message,
Caress me inside, soothing my soul,
Bringing perpetual joy to my mind,
For you are all, my loving constant.

My companion, thoughts of you jostle,
Real-time memories holding sway, yes,
Corralling projected musings, taming,
Horned unicorn harnessing wild stallions,
Calming dreams, wayward ripples in time,
Cosseting us with complete and utter love.

Whole, unified spiritually, emotionally,
We become unconquerable, unassailable,
Our Aztalan utopia, home to our musings,
Deep stronghold, fastened by pure love,
I kiss your humble mind, sincere heart,
Forging a blended alloy of true happiness.

You cried, when I read you poetry,
Soft sounds of weeping down the telephone,
It was not sad though, no, never that,
A kind of, unexpected happiness had blossomed,
Filling your mind with fragrant words, this is why,
You cried, when I read you poetry.

©Paul M Chafer 2015

Thrumming life-threads are weaving the day,
Myriad summer colours of an abstract view,
Curling up between and under the far away.

I’m lost in the mix, a melting *** full of play,
My own shade of Dark, a subtle blended hue,
Thrumming life-threads are weaving the day.

Beautiful retro splendour, asking me to stay,
Flower in her hair, white petals, edged blue,
Curling up between and under the far away.

Smiling, she raises my soul from feet of clay,
Dark and Stormy cocktail easing me through,
Thrumming life-threads are weaving the day.

Cuban rhythm dancers give a riotous display,
Bohemian sight and sound unleashed on cue,
Curling up between and under the far away.

We sample dreams from an enchanted tray,
Allowing hearts, minds, and spirits to renew,
Thrumming life-threads are weaving the day,
Curling up between and under the far away.

©Paul M Chafer 2015

Yes, only a mother, truly knows,
The true extent of her child’s woes.
Pain blossoming so deep inside,
Hurting so, while trying to hide
From a mother’s, knowing eyes,
Confident that mother, never pries.

Instead she gives her sound advice,
Being agreeable, saying how nice,
The flower garden looks today,
While in a sublime, pleasant way,
She soothes the inner aching pain,
Removing all the stress and strain.

She sees the strengths, weaknesses,
Gifts with which the child is blessed,
The nature of all burdensome traits,
Heart’s desires, the loves, the hates,
Character blooming through the years,
Sharing laughter, along with the tears.

Reflected within the child’s face,
Throughout awkward early grace,
She herself soon becomes exposed,
And as intrinsic recognition shows,
She gathers to her humbled breast
A tireless love that knows no rest.

The child hoards with thoughtless ease,
Bumps and bruises and skinned knees,
And if the hurts are too much to bear,
A child knows mother is always there,
Her calming words soon gently caress,
Soothing all troubles with tenderness.

The child grows and finds another
Person to love as much as mother,
But the bond of life remains forever,
Cannot be broken, not now, not ever,
And the child realizes as it grows,
Yes, only a mother; truly knows.

©Paul M Chafer 2015

You ask me,
Do I miss you?
How can I miss you?
You are always with me,
Your face behind my eyes,
Your soul sleeping in my heart,
The essence of you dances for me,
Sinuous curves shimmy within shadows.

You ask me,
Do I love you?
You should be asking,
How much you love me?
Then measure that feeling,
Holding it tightly deep inside,
Knowing that I feel just the same,
With every single fibre of my being.

You ask me,
Do I miss you?
Perhaps, I might sigh,
The very truth, though,
Is that I miss you terribly,
Is that part of me aches for you,
Though we are intrinsically entwined,
Sometimes, such closeness is not enough.

You ask me,
Do I love you?
Do you need to ask?
I live and breathe you,
As you live and breathe me,
Your roads lead to me, woman,
I am by your side, holding your hand,
One day, we will surely arrive together.

You ask me,
Do I miss you?
Everyday baby,
Never doubt it is so,
My pain is like your own,
Insomnia, numbing, yearning,
Hiding tears in the soft darkness,
But knowing, we will be free, one day.

©Paul M Chafer 2015

Love is truly canny,
Rages like a storm,
Quiet as a millpond.
(On a still day, for sure)
Twisting and turning,
Tugging us here and there,
Turning us inside out,
Laying us low, flying high,
Departing, returning,
Cursing and praising.
The perfect love, hah!
Matter of perspective,
Where we are in life.
Love is linked with time,
Time is a fickle *****,
Turning on us unexpectedly,
Just as we have it all wired,
Running out on us,
Leaving in the blink of an eye.
(Why bother? Hmm, anyone?)
Well, we choose to bother,
Just because love is good,
For some it is all there is,
Why else are we here?
If you have love, so lucky,
Cherish, cuddle, hold,
Tomorrow is another day.

©Paul M Chafer 2015

Beyond compare, so readily springs to mind,
Whenever considering, the essence that is you,
To say, you are easy on the eye, is not unkind,
Possessing exotic darkness of an intriguing hue.
Though, I am referring to the you, deep within,
Your heartfelt desire, such delightful appeal,
The sultriness of the tales, we choose to spin,
Heated illicit whispers, making the mind reel.
Deeper still, untouched innocence revealed,
Yearning to be loved, cherished, yes, found,
Fondness for literature, art, barely concealed,
Cultural spool, becoming lovingly unwound.
These words do not begin, to show why I care,
I need you to know, you are beyond, compare.

©Paul M Chafer 2015

Whilst we destroy what we are,
Another’s suffering does nothing,
Nothing at all to alleviate our pain.
That we in the west live in luxury,
Does nothing either: why should it?
We are spawned from choice,
Conceived via free will, and ******,
Dropped into a cradle of filth,
Finally crawling, learning to hate,
Not knowing why, nobody knows why,
Well do they? Do they?
Emerging and ready to die, yes,
Already damaged and broken,
Bereft of the truth of life, sick,
Perishing lost and alone, uncaring,
We the ******, misunderstood,
Chastised, ‘we never had it so good?’
We who inherited the earth, yeah,
We have it good, no struggle, none!
And therein lies our issues, true,
We have no need to fight, have we?
So, we fight ourselves, cutting,
And we live to cause suffering,
Our own agony screamed wildly!
Go on, frown, older generation,
Go on, you know you want to.
Call us, shake your wise heads,
Whilst we destroy what we are.

©Paul M Chafer 2015

Whenever thinking on you, it is fair to say,
Daydreams race, they pulse, and they thrive,
For I am thinking on you, every single day,
My soul singing, soaring, feeling truly alive.
Sometimes, I visualise us hugging; kissing,
Rocking you in my arms, holding you tight,
I shed no tears for the things I am missing,
Comforted by cuddles, deep into the night.
Imagining you, gives me enormous pleasure,
Sensing how love has flourished, and grown,
You might always be, unobtainable treasure,
My constant companion, I am never alone.
Sweet dreams my Muse, love endures, tis true,
I have hope, within hope, I always have you.

Copyright with Paul M Chafer

Even at my age,
I see mountainous lands in the sky,
Languishing among towering clouds,
A lofty empire, lost kingdoms,
Perhaps a strange magical realm,
Thriving with dwarves and giants,
Maidens in towers awaiting rescue,
Where lone horse warriors wander,
Maybe observing us, far below.

Must be a poetic creative thing,
Or simply the child deep within,
Viewing through the eyes of the man,
Dreaming ancient days of long ago,
When the child yearned to be grown,
To know all there is to know,
Never appreciating escapism,
The chance to drift within time,
Ponder upon distant, aerial, worlds.

Or maybe I’m just a dreamer,
That and nothing more, hmm,
Telling myself, I am a poet,
A procrastinating creative spirit,
In love with the trappings of art,
The child asleep within wisdom,
Languishing among towering clouds,
I see mountainous lands in the sky,
Even at my age.

©Paul M Chafer 2015

The non-planet, poor Pluto,
Circling far out and forgotten,
I cast my thoughts around you,
Knowing you are like many here,
Too insignificant to be noticed,
And yet, still worthwhile, for sure.

I caress the cold of Neptune,
Her super speed winds whip by,
She has no thought for me, too busy,
As is her sister, Uranus, circling,
Unaware that I, or others, even exist,
Yet, we are made of the same stuff,
Stardust, so exotic, so varied; so us.

My thoughts come leaping back,
Arcing around the rings of Saturn,
Slipping between sparkling icy dust,
Navigating the dark reaching fingers,
Stretching impassively from their host,
Guiding my eye to the little moons,
Knowing that life might thrive there.

I somersault away to King Jupiter,
He used to wander, he battled hard,
Casting out the rogue gas giant,
Clearing the way for the rocky worlds,
Giving life to us all, before drifting back,
Cajoled by Saturn, his anger still rages,
The red spot storm churning, his moons,
Observing, as Jupiter takes on all comers.

And we, the rocky four, so grateful,
As Jupiter snaffles the debris, holds it,
Or hurls it away, so we live, we learn,
Our inner sisters too hot, brother Mars,
Too cold, for now, but one day, yes,
As we begin to bake, Mars awaits,
To welcome us for a million years, or so,
A blink of an eye, universally speaking,
But home has hope, hope offers life,
Unlike our unwanted distant cousin,
The non-planet, poor Pluto.

©Paul M Chafer 2015

Tonight, thinking on you,
My mind is ablaze, fully illuminated,
Akin to a fabled city swinging in festival,
You light me up inside, and I glow brightly,
Bathed within the warmth of your sweet love.

Tonight, thinking on you,
My heart is dancing the greatest dance,
Revelling, an unbridled pleasurable release,
Passionate love flowing freely in our kisses,
Smooching, swaying, in each other's embrace.

Tonight, thinking on you,
Our spirits are riding upon crazy horses,
Galloping over moonlit plains, racing the stars,
Our nakedness glistening with heady scents,
Mind, hearts and spirits, subtly joined as one.

Tonight, thinking on you.

Sensual entrapment,
Heart, mind, soul, unifying in
Emotional *******.

They are a part of you, those scars,
No denying that, how can there be?
You are not alone though, never alone,
and there is no shame, not one iota.
Any who judge you, find you lacking,
Are not worthy of your time, nope!
They will never understand; never!
Not advocating the cutting, nah,
Just accepting it that it happens,
Just like it might rain tomorrow.
Accept yourself and learn, love,
Find ways to cope, to push through,
Know that you are all right, yes?
They are a part of you, those scars,
No denying that, how can there be?

©Paul M Chafer 2015

My past, threaded with love,
Both good vibes, also so painful.
That pain, it wrinkles the soul,
Draws attention, refuses to yield,
Resists any attempts to flatten,
So I tried dropping it, dumping.
That worked, for a little while,
Until cringe moments crept back.
We all have them, who have lived,
We who have loved with hot fever.
Why is letting go the hardest part?
Not because we want to keep, no,
Because we want rid, want to shed.
Maybe because we enjoy the pain,
Secretly, a small part pleads guilty.
When we think we have accepted,
Released the pain of the past, in time,
It suddenly rises up, slams into us,
So cruelly hard that we are shocked.
Only way, keep on dumping, do it,
Keep on rising, cherishing the now,
Continue loving in the present, yes,
Send those memories a message,
We are done, bad times, surely done.
I made mistakes, I misbehaved, yes.
It is love, for crying out loud: love!
Not some factual analysis, but love!
Do not punish us anymore, never,
For we are guiltless when in love,
For we never had any choice: none.
Love is like that; it is: it surely is.

©Paul M Chafer 2015

Come with me woman.
I can sense your fear,
But no need to be afraid,
I will transform your monochrome world,
Into colours of every shade.

You can trust me woman,
Yes, I know, tis hard,
Trust, a special gift to give,
I will wrap your trust in a loving embrace,
Show you how to live.

Please, care for me woman,
Hold me in your arms,
I will hold you so tight,
You won’t want the cuddling to ever stop,
Loving deep into the night.

Just love me woman,
Deep in your heart,
You can feel, I love you,
I will fly so high with your precious soul,
In summer skies of blue.

Please be my woman,
I truly am all yours,
I will share all I know,
Our days filled with laughter and smiles,
Tis seeds of love we sow.

Have faith in me woman,
Taste me in dreams,
You are my cherished lover,
And if you accept me, and all that I am,
I’ll never want another.

©Paul M Chafer 2015

An unexpected caller came
in the middle of the night.
Had me traipsing downstairs,
guided by candlelight.
(I’d suffered a power cut
sometime earlier in the day,
A temporary arrangement
until I arranged to pay.)
“Who is it?” I calmly asked,
trembling behind the door,
Cold striking up my legs
from the clay-tiled floor.
“Who is it?” I asked again
with cautious trepidation,
Fighting back the fear of
an unwanted confrontation.
No one answered back,
not one single, solitary, peep,
from the unexpected caller
who’d ruined my beauty sleep.
The letterbox then rattled again
giving me something of a start!
Jumping flame-lit shadows
jumping in my fluttering heart.
The identity of the caller rolled
around my searching brain.
The ghostly rattling letterbox
then startled me again!
Carefully, I opened the door
with safety chain in place.
Prepared to slam it shut again
you know, just in case.
What greeted me was not
something that needed sorting.
Just my amorous cat, returning
from a nights, hectic courting.
(Lucky thing.)

©Paul M Chafer 2015

I remember now,
Trying not to fall in love,
Fighting the emotional pull.
Just one of the best feelings ever,
It teases, taunts, torments, and plays,
With alluring, delightful sweetness.
Especially during the early hours,
Though not in a bad way, never that,
But in a self-serving pleasing way.
Having one latch onto certain tunes,
Replay those pleasurable moments,
Unfasten the catch releasing desire,
Indulging in salacious imagery,
Until eventually, we are grounded,
Or, we manage to escape, floating free.
Either way, the secret inner-resistance,
Is lovely to behold, making one smile,
Laugh unexpectedly, or consider deeply,
All within the space of a few heartbeats.
One becomes wholly consumed, yes,
Heart all~a~flutter, nerves jangling.
The telephone rings, bated breath,
Dry-mouth, such clammy hands,
A faint cracked whisper, ‘Hello?’
Only to be, just someone else.
The anticipation now running riot,
Unknowns spinning beyond control,
Imagination hot and fevered,
Created scenarios rise and fall,
Rise again, twist into, ‘what if?’
Before dissipating into hazy dreams.
And we know, yes, deep inside,
Once beyond the very early stages,
The truth is clear, should have seen,
Resistance is, quite useless, when,
Trying not to fall in love,
I remember now.

Awaiting the storm
Forming on distant shores.
Preparing myself for
The oceans tidal swell.
Opening my heart
To the rawest of elements.
I ride the anticipation
Of the coming waves.
Conquering the building
Fear as the water leaps high.
A great solid wall
Unfurling its rippling energy.
Through the tube,
Board skimming, skipping.
Flirting with danger,
Risking everything,
Inside a living
Hollow cocoon of
Thundering power.
Controlled fear beats
Inside my pumping heart,
Driving my adrenaline
Through to spiritual fulfilment.
On exiting the beast,
It rolls onward to its death.
Through its existence
We both lived, sharing
A unique oneness.
Children of nature within
A union of creation, so special,
It takes the breath away.
Savouring my exhilaration,  
I see another wave being born,
And prepare to surf again.

©Paul M Chafer 2014

Our butterflies, and sweet, rosebuds,
Languishing lazily within a dream,
Once together, but now lost forever,
In fading memory’s drifting stream.

We shared every pleasure, she and I,
Two girls embracing, love so sweet,
Tasting our butterflies and rosebuds,
Consuming our passion’s, *****-heat.

We explored all nature had to offer,
Sun-drenched glades, darkened woods,
Fantasising, and illicitly tantalising,
Our butterflies, and sweet, rosebuds.

I like to bite,
not overly hard,
just enough to make one wince,
perhaps, a sharp intake of breath,
showing that my bite is hard enough.

I so desire feeling soft flesh,
tensing between my teeth,
especially when rounded and firm.

Neck first, working downwards,
nipping into the shoulder,
chewing that succulent muscle,
with tight, tentative nibbles.

I am even bitten in return,
my pressure gauged by intent,
taken from the one biting me.

If teeth come hard and sharp,
trust me, then so do mine,
if they are loving and gentle,
once again, so are mine.

I work across the *******,
delighting in the ***** *******,
chewing drawing responses,
tongue sliding over her stomach,
lower, lower, down to the hips.

Biting very hard into thighs,
making her cry, back arching,
bringing writhing gasps to die for,
reaching her vulnerable centre,
soothing with deep, heavy licks,
tantalisingly teasing, so sweet.

Suddenly, flipping her over,
rough as you like, choice slaps,
smarting on her plump bottom,
before biting, biting, biting,
taking in every curvaceous part,
devouring, chomping, so yummy!

I part her legs, diving between,
my tongue lapping in a frenzy,
deep, deep, tasting the juice,
before rising, pinning shoulders,
entering, gliding, slowly, surely,
giving long, languorous strokes.

Hips grinding, hard and deep,
circling round and round,
momentum building, building,
firm hands gripping her hips,
flesh slapping against flesh,
as we match our rhythm,
lunging, pounding, thrusting,
exploding, on and on,
more and more, until,
we are spent, trembling,
slowing, easing.

A final twisting whip,
circling the very edge,
bringing smiles,
a playful giggle,
it tickles, so nice,
I lean forward, so good,
nuzzling, caressing,
ah, all because,
I like to bite.

©Paul M Chafer

Watching wild unicorns, dance in the snow,
Whinnying, frolicking, as happy as can be,
As I hover high above, observing all below.

Such stunning beauty, makes my heart glow,
Mythical creatures, running wild and free,
Watching wild unicorns, dance in the snow.

They are seeds of dreams, we lovingly sow,
Rearing in acknowledgement, just for me,
As I hover high above, observing all below.

They begin racing clouds, perhaps for show,
Maybe I am a dream, one only they can see,
Watching wild unicorns, dance in the snow.

Amongst trillions of stars, one must know,
Unicorns live and play, with unbridled glee,
As I hover high above, observing all below.

Through layers of cloud, drifting so slow,
To unlock sheer bliss, I now possess the key,
Watching wild unicorns, dance in the snow,
As I hover high above, observing all below.

©Paul M Chafer 2014

Here I am; waiting,
Waiting for an old friend
On a deserted Railway Station.
She’s late; knew she would be.
Time behaves differently in
Such public places; very differently.

I stood waiting alone,
Then a gaggle of women
Clattered up the subway.
Stilettos and thick, heeled boots,
Beating out an echoing tattoo,
On the broad, concrete steps.

Now we wait together,
Myself and a Hen Party.
Blending of emotional alloys
Fused together, forming
Excitement; then I see her
And all heads turn to look.

Amongst the flower boxes,
Silence blossoms on the
Platform as my old friend
Glides serenely into the station,
She’s late; knew she would be
Even so, she’s on time for me.

Steam unfurls around her,
Billowing majestic clouds
Crowning this, ‘Queen of
The Rails’, last seen when
I was a boy, now in manhood
Her unsung glory is truly revered.

Steel wheels clatter, a rhythmic
Tattoo, then she draws to a halt.
Old friend from a previous age
Escaping through to this century,
Thronged by beautiful women, I
Smile, and step aboard a true beauty.

©Paul M Chafer 2014

Prophecies of the Ancient’s decree,
Dark Pariah shall face the dragon,
In the Universal arena, heart’s quail,
Worlds tremble as giant forces clash.

Cloying Darkness is stirring, awakening,
Shadows shifting within Darker shadows,
Snake-like tendrils slithering, pulsing,
A menace daring to reveal true purpose.

Brandishers of Light must stand and fight,
Resisting all temptation of offered power,
Battling against foul corruption: death,
Halting the slide into dank, filthy, pits.

Monsters stalking the innocent; feeding,
Drenched in blood of pain and suffering,
Spawn of Dreadnoughts bring carnage,
Will any stand against the slaughter?

The fabled sword twisted in torment,
Calling, calling; seeking a champion,
Searching out those who would dare,
Questing for the brave of the Light.

Light heeds the need, offers strength,
Dragon heart’s beat, Champions arise,
Drums of war, thunderous, deafening,
As the Clysm screams to be birthed.

©Paul M Chafer 2014

We build the best prisons for ourselves,
Knowing the truth, is a form of escape,
Until we see, our incarceration changed,
Still, knowing is the universal key,
The sure way to unlocking those doors.

We need to scale the walls of emotion,
Tunnel through our lack of self-belief,
Ignore mocking ignorance of others,
Who would trap us behind bars,
Willingly dump on us, on realising,
Our future looks better than theirs,
So sad, our persecutors, so very sad.

Remember, you can break out, yes,
Taste freedom, if you only try, yes,
Just be the best you can be, and rise,
Soar, be alive, and never, ever forget,
We build the best prisons for ourselves.

Love,
Stronger than death,
Its yearning pull,
Gripping the heart,
Binding the spirit,
The ties, so powerful,
They reach beyond life,
Spanning nether worlds,
Travelling unseen,
Crossing boundaries,
Emotional tethers,
That cannot break,
Not now, not ever,
Holding, holding, holding,
Until the course is run,
Life lived to the full,
Then reunited, ah,
Stronger than death,
Love.

©Paul M Chafer 2014

Forbidden Fruit,
Oh yes, an acquired taste,
One I have sampled, hmm,
So long, this was denied me,
And now, the taste is good:
So, so very good; ah.
I indulged myself further,
Using hands to explore,
Becoming explored myself,
And how I enjoyed.
Oh yes, truly fulfilled,
Until I became quite dizzy,
Lost in abundant sweetness,
Things turned around,
Until up was down,
Until it was I, being consumed.
The world tilted, slipped away.
My mind woozy, cossetted,
My senses swimming, whirling,
With slowly falling blossom.
Reason floated away, danced,
With soft petals in the breeze,
Twirling among scented flowers,
And I discovered the truth.
Whomever claimed, stated,
That forbidden fruit, so juicy,
Is bad and to be avoided,
Can never have tasted,
Forbidden fruit.

So deliciously dark,
The sultry taste of pure lust,
Lingering upon my wet tongue; so hot!
I smile, lapping up your slinky essence,
Writhing, twisting, arching, resisting,
Attempting to deny my devilish charm,
Hiding behind flimsy veils of innocence.
Only, I know, deep inside, you burn,
No chains, or bonds, could ever hold you,
Knowing you want me, so very much.
Parting your hastily erected defences,
I ****** you up; we plunge into the fire,
As one, the flames consume, seared raw,
Forging an emotional alloy, thrashed out,
Hammered upon the anvil of sheer pleasure,
Quivering, breathless, enraptured and blissful,
Again and again, leaving us both sated,
Still tasting of sultry lust,
So deliciously dark.

©Paul M Chafer 2014

Am I not the man you dreamt about
All those many years ago?
Am I not the man whom you once loved
Who gave your life its glow?
Have I failed in your expectations
In living up to your ideal?
Do you harbour unfulfilled imaginings
Of the way you ought to feel?
Do I not still hold your love so dearly
Unquestioning and with pride?
Do I not bury your obvious disappointment
With my feelings deep inside?
And still my love is not enough for you
Do I sense hatred in disguise?
While your longing for the man I’m not
Is clearly visible in your eyes?
And do I not still offer you fond affection
Even though your heart is cruel?
Lying unloved in this cold empty bed;
I realise love is a hopeless fool.

©Paul M Chafer 2014

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