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

A ****** Of Crows is the collective term for a group of crows. A term I have taken full advantage of in my prose poem. I rarely post prose, I rarely post Dark writing, so as a special treat, I offer the reader both.

Neighbours should cherish peace,
I thought, taking my seat for the show.
Psychopomps were gathering, fluttering, cawing,
Not on my roof though, not in my trees,
On Varley’s premises, my bad tempered neighbour.
I observed, shaded beneath my garden umbrella,
The sun bright in a blue sky marbled with cloud,
Sipping my tea, quintessential Englishness,
Brewed from the leaf of a China plant,
Sweetened by the pith of an Indian cane,
But English, all the same. (So I told myself.)
On hearing Varley clattering around in his kitchen,
I flicked up the music another notch, then another,
Black Sabbath’s Damaged Soul, pumping out,
The heavy beat thundering across my patio,
Through the picket fence, into my neighbour’s brain.
He deserves this, he truly does. (So I told myself.)
A wife beating pig who terrorizes children.
More Psychopomps came, pecking at each other,
Waiting eagerly on the fence, telephone wires,
Soon my feathered friends, I whispered, very soon.
I flicked up the bass another notch, sipped my tea,
Then he came, roaring out of his kitchen door,
Stamping down the yard, apoplectic face, so angry,
Almost purple as he bawled at me; screamed.
‘You half-blind ******! I’m coming for you!’
From my stash I pinched up the dried leaves,
A dash of hemlock, deadly nightshade, perfect.
I dropped them on the small brazier by my side.
As he reached the fence, shooing birds away,
Giving him my best smile, I told him. ‘Goodbye!’
Hairs, taken from his comb, fell from my fingers.
And as they crisped, Varley’s face froze in horror,
Instantly coming under siege from a ****** of crows,
No ordinary gathering of birds, these Psychopomps,
But more akin to the Hitchcock variety of bird.
I turned the volume up full, chanting quietly,
While the birds pecked out his eyes, opened his throat.
A mass of black menace, fluttering in a frenzy,
Brought him to the floor, wailing and pleading.
(So, Varley, I’m a half-blind ******, am I?)
It was soon over; the birds took flight, so noisy,
Leaving Varley to perform one final twitch.
Silencing my music, Varley’s dance of death done,
I gave his wife a wave as she walked down the path,
She smiled her approval, nudged Varley with her toe,
Just to make sure, then sighed with obvious relief.
‘I owe you,’ she mouthed, blowing me a kiss.
‘Call it a gift,’ I mouthed back, finishing my tea.
(One can never accept payment, it corrupts the magic.)
Varley’s wife laughed, I smiled, so darkly sweet,
All was well with the world, as it ought to be,
Neighbours should cherish peace.

©Paul M Chafer 2014

We have our dreams,
My perfect stranger,
Though we never really met,
Perhaps; never shall meet.
Still, we amble along together,
Navigating the lamentable brook,
Unfulfilled promises, foaming,
Swirling around our bare feet,
The cold of reality numbing our toes,
Skipping over rocks of broken ideals,
Once cherished, but not here, no,
They are fractious and discarded.
Trickles of tormented sighs, tease,
While avoiding guiding ropes of life,
Which would snag our thoughts,
Straining against friction burns,
As they attempt to bind us tightly,
Holding us prisoner, when in truth,
We are capable of incarcerating ourselves.
Although, our minds are free, yes,
Living beneath the same impassive moon,
Bathing within its stolen light,
Stealing our own, moments of peace,
As in sleep, we slip away unnoticed,
To hold each other, so loving,
Above the clouds, sharing caresses,
Smooching around, and round,
Oblivious of telltale tears on our cheeks.
A shooting star arcs across the sky,
‘Shall we wish?’ You ask,
‘Nah,’ I reply; wishing is for fools,
Be content; acceptance is the key,
My perfect stranger,
We have our dreams.

© Paul M Chafer 2014

Aw, come on, don’t be sad,
Don’t you know you are loved?
Unburden regret, cast it down,
Living in the past burns,
Your future will be in flames,
Just let go, relax, hold me.

I need your touch: need!
You want to come in?
Do you? My door is open,
Live now, shed anxiety,
Uncertainty comes from dread,
Dread of what will be.

Yeah, that’s it, snuggle closer,
I have you now, you’re free,
And yet, also bound, safe,
No chains though, just love,
I ask for nothing, just you,
Smiling, happy, not sad: okay?

© Paul Chafer 2014

Yep, that’s me,
Totally and absolutely ******!
(Are totally and absolutely the same?)
Sure they are, proves my point!
Victim of my own frustration,
I put down the bottle,
******, but not entirely stupid.
Well, ‘not entirely’ says a lot.
Am I alone in this?
Nah, many often realise,
They are utterly *******,
But they keep on,
Bending over in life,
Taking it up the ****,
Screaming in pain,
Wailing at the world.
Untill they see, notice,
Begin to understand,
They may be crushed,
Battered down, diminished,
Embattled by little things,
But it could be worse.
Much, much worse, indeed,
They shed the depression,
Wipe away the tears,
Nurture their damaged soul,
Learn, progress, live,
Yep, that’s me.

© Paul Chafer 2014

We conquer all worlds,
Sweet creature: melt my soul,
freshly thawed, vulnerability exposed.
Eager for unbridled wickedness,
within lilting rhythms of your magic.
So inviting, such interwoven seduction,
I discover that you are indeed, She.
The Mistress who cannot be denied,
so take my hand, I shall guide you,
while you, Dark sweet demigod,
Guide me to intoxicating magic,
magic that is you: and you alone.
Pour your evil charms upon me,
Stoke dying embers of my neglected power.
See the flames rekindled;
feel the comforting ice of my being,
savour my destructive cold fire.
Let me soothe you in return,
offering delicious despicable deeds.
Havoc wrought in your name.
The demonic glow inside grows,
until I fear nothing, Dark Mistress.
I am exalted in this vile inferno,
A conflagration of our own creation.
Dark destiny shall not desert us,  
but shall become the favoured guide.
I shall never be without you,
Dark Mistress, and together,
We conquer all worlds.

© Paul Chafer 2014

Graveyards bother me,
All those lives, silenced,
All that time, the memories,
(We were loved too once, you know,
we enjoyed life, see you soon!)
This aspect runs cold in my blood,
I can almost hear them chuckling,
He knows, Paul knows, (hello!)
Sure, their voices are in my head,
Their whispers, ancient stirrings,
Laughter from ages gone, dead,
Yet they call to me, taunt me,
Dead flesh and bones haunt me.
A full life, reduced to a dash.
I know I'm not ready, not yet,
Too much to do, to write, to share,
I shudder, walk away, dry mouthed,
No life without death, none,
Graveyards bother me.

© Paul Chafer 2014

Stardust
Indeed, everything is stardust,
Yes, you and I both,
The chocolate wrapper blowing down the street,
The cat arching its back as I walk by,
The child skipping, and the rope,
The watching dog, licking its paw,
Nonchalant to the whole world.

The tree in the forest,
The axe ending its life,
The startled squirrel escaping
The grubs feeding on its leaves,
(Visible and invisible)
Land ocean and sky,
All are, and forever will be,
Stardust.

© Paul Chafer 2014

When mighty symbols clashed
The Universe was born
The Minstrel Strummed
The Piper Hummed
And the Wizard blew his horn.

The Great Game had begun
Chaos burst onto the stage
To the tune of war
Peace reigned no more
Space and Time, came of age.

Kings, Queens and Bishops
Seek a sacrificial Pawn
A Rook, a Cosmic Knight
Darkness against the Light
When the Wizard, blew, his horn.

© Paul Chafer 2014

You were in a tail-spin, (You remember?)
Of course you do, endlessly falling,
Churning dark clouds for company,
Every silver-lining has a cloud.

So I reached right in, (you were so blind.)
Placed your trembling hand on the controls,
Although, you did not trust me, (did you?)
Not at first, although with good cause,
Because you were dizzy, disorientated.

But slowly, ever so slowly, we relaxed,
Pulled you out of the dive, up and away,
Banking, climbing, power ramping up,
Juddering through the stutter-stall,
Until we were purring, a throaty growl.

A big cat in a poorly constructed cage,
Bursting free, guided by rainbows,
Flickering smile insinuating itself upon your face,
(So lovely) on your beautiful lips.

Without really noticing, (smooth as silk)
We coasted along in open skies,
Rah, French kissing the gentle swell of the sea,
Transforming everything into a mirror,
Reflections captured in burnished bronze,
Can I release your hand now? (don’t gasp)
Yes, my love, you are flying again.

© Paul Chafer 2014

Whatever are you doing to me?
Writer-woman, epitome of Venus,
Stoking embers of my Promethean fire,
Until the coals in my heart glow,
Waxing lyrical, making love flow.

The moon, seemingly caught in the trees,
Reveals tears rolling down my face,
Sitting here, a back-garden-king,
Alone and shivering in the cold,
Hugging the warmth inside, cuddling,
With just the dark of night for company,
Comforted, for I love you, it’s true,
And never deny it; you love me too.

Only, it’s all we have, please try and see,
Nothing else matters in our own  reality,
I nurse the ache, such pain, jeez,
Hear me Muse, just hear me, please,
Take all you can, I know it’s not much,
But I offer it to you, my digital feelings.

My words, sculpting a view of heaven,
Prose dancing amongst distant starlight,
Shining in your eyes: are they also tears?
Perhaps, observed by an impassive moon,
Now beyond the clutches of leafy limbs,
As you are beyond my embracing arms.

Edges of passing clouds, illuminated,
Are you glowing, my Muse, are you?
Do my lonely words of love stir you?
Stoke hidden smouldering passions?
Do you ever think, maybe wonder,
As we tap keys on the sub-ether,
Whatever are you doing to me?

©Paul Chafer 2014

I hear her name
murmuring on the breeze.
A hushed whisper
filtering through my soul,
caressing my thoughts
awakening my mind.

Our spirits touched
as our lives entwined.
A brief connection
exposing our needs,
revealing destiny;
making promises.

Now she's gone
leaving a lifeless void.
A silent emptiness
so dark and cold
and fate smirks cruelly,
as I mourn her passing.

Sifting through this
self-induced chaos,
weaving within
disconnected thoughts,
in sibilant utterances:
I hear her name.

©Paul Chafer 2014

You know I’ll always want you,
We both know, I will never have you,
The night draws in, all is growing dark,
Dusk closing down the spring day,
Chasing away May’s subtle warmth.

I chase your image through my mind,
Laughter trills over your shoulder,
Your smile lights me up inside,
I reach, always reaching, always,
Until we connect, mind to mind,
Thoughts spiralling upward, rising,
Twisting as we gaze into each other,
Drinking the soul, feasting on flesh,
Tasting fresh, so vibrant, so rich,
Akin to vampires quenching lust.

We need love, a rare creature,
Elusive cat dancing within shadows,
How I want to know you,
Yes, really know you, love you,
Hold you, oh, so, so, tight.

Do you lie awake at night, thinking on me?
Do you hold yourself extra tight: do you?

So, let me know you, let me near you,
You know I want to feel you, touch you,
The night draws in, all is growing dark,
We both know I will never have you,
You know, I’ll always want you.

©Paul Chafer 2014

Often, the shallows are a good place to be,
Once out of there, no going back, not ever,
Once noticed, return is virtually impossible,
And all pedestals are shaky, no roots: none!

Ensure buoyancy, for one must sink or swim,
So much expected, so much demanded,
One may think shallows are unkind, a waste,
They are safe, though, friendly, pleasant,
Conducive company encouraging creation.

Once out of them, away from safe shores,
New challenges arise, new horizons, all new,
Making one desperate not to fail, not to sink,
One must swim, swim for your life; swim hard,
For it hurts to disappoint, it hurts so much.

Without the grassy bank and sandy bottom,
Creation is difficult, beware the sharks: teeth,
Scoot around the crocs, teeth snapping: biting,
Desiring your tender unsuspecting flesh!

See the glory-hogs wallowing, laughing at you,
Howling with derision; they know nothing,
Stupid hacks, every one of them, frolicking,
Performing in the deep, dark, dangerous-depths,
Unaware their blood will soon feed others,
The swirling waters running red: eventually.

Safer here with golden fish and humble toads,
Prometheus swims here as well as anywhere,
Savour the shallows, dance with creativity,
If you must leave, identity switch required,
Even then, watch sharks and crocs: teeth biting,
Often, the shallows are a good place to be.

©Paul Chafer 2014

Dreams are free,
We can all dream,
Taste love during sleep,
So inspiring, so sweet.

Love swings around,
Eyeing your choice,
Man or woman, both,
However the wind blows.

For some, it never blows,
For others, a constant gale,
Storms are vivacious,
But blow out too soon.

The trick is, to adapt,
So I feel, like love,
Never plan, not ever,
Let love be, patiently.

It will come, yes,
Sweeping you up,
Making you dizzy,
Tingling your soul.

Sharing all you are,
Accepting your love,
A swirling dream,
Dreams are free.

©Paul Chafer 2014

Will I ever define love?
The trouble with this, twisty-fickle-phenomena,
This, celebrated emotion – and it is just an emotion,
This, elusive heart-thrumming, head-spinning, pleasure,
A pleasure not even eclipsed by unmatched wealth,
Not surpassed by the most prized possessions.

In fact, even prized possessions, coveted things of beauty,
(Insignificant as they are to the wise and knowledgeable,)
Have an attachment akin to love, a kind of love, I suppose,
At least to those dumb enough to think possessions are special,
Who no doubt gaze longingly at what is simply ‘a thing’.

Maybe a rare ‘thing’, but ‘a thing’ all the same,
No, I’m talking of love for another, caring affection,
Adoring eyes for a living breathing creature,
Maybe even an animal, a pet, but more so,
The love of another human, a special person.

This is a little ‘tricksy’ is it not? Hmm? Yes,
For such a love encompasses many things,
Often runs riot in the mind, tingling the nerves,
Experiencing loyalty, betrayal, honour, slyness,
Sacrifice, greed, trust, duplicity, selfishness, sharing,
Because, well, one never knows, not really, no.

This magical dreamlike emotion, and it is an emotion,
Is different for us all, for one person's love,
Can be another’s flight of fancy, an escapism,
For some, it is a lethal weapon, so deadly, so cruel,
While for others, it is the most beautiful thing on Earth,
Yet, it inspires the most horrendous fits of jealousy known.

Love, real love, imagined love, astral love,
Consummated and unconsummated love,
Love of the heart, love of the mind, love of dreams,
All, are in reality, true enigmas, beyond explanation,
I am in love, I am a lover, I adore love, all kinds of love,
I fall in and out of love, as do many, I know love,
I can sense, touch, taste, even smell love,
And yet, for all of this, I wonder,
Will I ever define love?

©Paul Chafer 2014

London,
Beating heart of England,
Charismatic time-capsule thrumming to its own rhythm,
History looming, akin to massive waves splashing down,
Drenching all, the unwary, the scholar, soaking it up,
Savouring every scintillating droplet, blissful, hopeful,
Weaving through lives, changing with every moment,
Variety of race and creed, intermingling, jostling, noticing,
Sharing sight, sound, colour, scents, smiles and frowns,
Pulsing soul of people, thriving and alive, buzzing with spirit,
In Camden, easy-going, a friendly riot of textured-hazy-peace,
Artful structures of Belgravia, magnolia temples of affluence,
Lauding architectural finery while mere mortals pass through,
Mind swinging through centuries, flowing along the river artery,
Bridges carrying us home, keeping their own dark secrets,
Cranes rising high, creating modern palaces, new beginnings,
Old lives wreathed in the foggy past of legendry deeds,
Embellished beyond reality, ghosts crying out, warning,
We can never own this city, never know this city, not really,
Guardian dragon allows us entrance, pours herself upon us,
Takes our love, progresses while we observe,
All left behind, knowing, feeling, sensing,
We are but shadows in her Light,
Dust on her famous streets,
Blessed to know her,
To breathe her,
Love her,
London.

©Paul Chafer 2014

We all lie,
We lie to protect ourselves,
Protect those we love.
I lie to colour a story,
I lie to create magic,
I lie to myself about telling the truth,
After all, what is the truth?
At best, a matter of perception,
At worst, just another lie.
Does anyone really care?
Really? I mean: really care?
Then look around, go on, do it!
You think that’s air you’re breathing?
You think these colours are real?
Without light, there is no colour,
Colour is a clever illusion,
So, is life an illusion?
You think we are made of solid matter?
Think again, mostly energy, my friends.
We could be floating amidst an event horizon,
Unaware, just a lamented projection,
A cruel trick, but is it cruel? Hmm?
We feel alive, we love,
We breathe, we appear solid,
So, nothing to worry about?
In a billion years, will anyone care?
Even time is a lie, ticking away,
Slowing down, waiting to die,
Don’t lie to yourself,
We all lie.

©Paul Chafer 2014

In my sleep.
Between the hours of twelve and one,
You came to me, you were hot,
So very hot, so arousing,
While a Stateless voice sang,
I think I inhaled you,
You linger behind my eyes,
I feel you in my bloodstream,
We touch, hold each other,
Body against body, so natural,
Your scent threading the air,
Yes, I think I inhaled you,
While a Stateless voice sang,
We snuggled up close, hmm,
So very close, caressing, ah,
You look up, I see you smile,
We kiss, so sensual,
Then you are gone,
But I felt you, yes,
Or imagined you,
Dreamed you,
In my sleep.

©Paul Chafer 2014

Serendipity.
You ******* what!
What you saying, pal?
Serendipity, oh aye, all right,
Aye, seren-******-dipity; whatever!
Tell it to the raggedy soaked-wino,
Look into his rheumy eyes, really look,
Want to kiss his toothless grin, eh? Do you?
Feel his sore-ridden tongue searching you out,
Nay, I thought not, anyway, he hears nothing,
Nothing except the rattle of change.

Tell it to the punctured ******, go on,
Cold body on a cold linoleum floor,
He can’t hear you either, maybe though,
Maybe, slipping away on the last tide of life,
Do-gooder, maybe he will hear you call,
‘Serendipity’ and wonder: what the ****?
Until blackness closes in, blanking the stars.

Tell it to the Fourth Bridge jumpers, go on,
Always falling; to them, falling forever,
In hearts and minds, the event horizon of death,
Trapped in limbo, leaving unbearable hurt behind,
Along with serendipity and bad choices.

And the young, oh they need serendipity,
Cruelty of life glittering in furtive wary eyes,
Old already, far beyond halcyon blue-skies,
Used and abused by those closest, the shame,
Erosion of trust and sincerity completed over night,
Christmas ghosts: slovenly laggards by comparison.

Resilient youth! Yep, they ******* need to be,
Grinding machine of town-life hunting them,
Scouring dark corners, gnashing jaws growling,
Crunching down darkened alleys, feeding,
Lapping up the young blood of runaways,
Slavering maw eating them alive; laughing.

With serendipity, they can lie low, maybe hide,
Dream of escape, for they all want out,
Putting misery behind them, quelling cruelty,
After all, they live in a lucky ******* town,
So escape is not impossible, no,
Unlikely, yes, poor wee *******.

Serendipity should shout a loud warning,
Run, scrawny urchins, run if you can,
Run for your lives, the rest of your lives,
Town-life’s grinding machine awaits,
Watches for you, so keep running,
Never stop, never look back,
Not ever, not ever,
Serendipity.

©Paul Chafer 2014

Another life existed for me,
Beyond time's blurry realm,
Sun-bleached woven threads,
Snapshots of memory, fading,
So slowly fading, hurting even,
Coloured fragments out of focus,
Tattered tapestries of deeds,
Billowing in my mind, teasing,
Blowing free, crumbling away,
Discarded now, so rarely seen,
Old rags in dusty halls of thought,
Time marches unceasingly onward,
Mocking our lives, our loves,
So uncaring, making dust of us all,
I could weep for her, for us,
How we loved, shared, enjoyed,
Just a girl, really; only a girl,
We were so young; back then,
Another life existed for me.

©Paul Chafer 2014

My love and I, shared the summer last year,
While Dragonflies stitched until the close of day,
I see her now, the fond memories so dear.

We both loved a lifetime without any fear,
From fragrant meadows our cares floated away,
My love and I, shared the summer last year.

Her pleasant laughter, I can still hear,
Threading the air with the scent of fresh hay,
I see her now, the fond memories so dear.

Why we drifted apart still remains unclear,
Did passion die when blue skies turned grey?
My love and I, shared the summer last year.

I embraced her soul, held it so near,
But already I sensed her slipping away,
I see her now, the fond memories so dear.

In stoic silence, I shed a single tear,
Resolved to keeping my sadness at bay,
My love and I, shared the summer last year,
I see her now, the fond memories so dear.

©Paul Chafer 2014

Was life truly; ever so sweet,
As in the sun-worshipped, One World,
Beneath feathery banners, all unfurled,
Celebrated rhythm of the Mexica beat,
Applauding the gods with dancing feet,
While eagerly anticipating the final breath,
Of the honoured warrior’s, flowery death.

Lost ancient world, carved in stone,
Temples and plaza’s of grandiose plan,
Before the great pyramid of Tenochtitlan,
From lowliest slave to the highest throne,
Gathered before gods to whom they atone,
With obsidian blade priests begin the flood,
Of a sacrificial ceremony sealed with blood.

But do not weep for the ritually slain,
Or condemn this misunderstood race,
This culture both in and out of place,
Who flourished before interference from Spain;
Immoral inquisitions wielding torture and pain,
Led by Cortez’s murderous gold greed,
Condoned by religion’s, fanatical need.

A pyrrhic victory for invading Spanish-whites,
Conquistadors, who murdered, pillaged and *****,
A savage slaughter that not even children escaped,
Brave Mexica vanquished in the one sided fights,
A nation revelling no more during hot sultry nights,
A lost civilization weeping for countless lost lives,
And yet, and yet . . . Mexica spirit; forever survives.

©Paul Chafer 2014

Wandering aimlessly,
Through life, hurt, because,
I had loved and yes, lost,
Accepting my lot with dignity,
No shame for me, none.

When Death called, I smiled,
Ignoring his cursory glance,
No thin red line for me, pal,
No ‘final-flower’ blossoming,
Pooling around in warm water.

Broken, hmm, perhaps,
Heart forever scarred, yes,
But I know inside, deep inside,
My resilience is fortified,
I will never yield, not ever.

On the very edge of my desert,
I fleetingly admire a single rose,
A lonely brave flower, neglected and alone,
In need of nourishment, but like me,
Just like me, strong with self-preservation.

I reach, connect, touch, feeling,
Becoming instantly touched in return,
Cherishing the vibrancy of soft petals,
Inhaling intoxicating subtle scents,
Knowing I’ve found, a true friend.

I return again and again,
Savouring this rare bloom,
Sharing all I am, all I can be,
Loving my, Desert Rose,
I have come home, yes,
I won’t cry, bah, no,
I’m no longer drifting,
Wandering aimlessly.

©Paul Chafer 2014

In the summer of my life,
When I swore, promised, even,
If only to my sad-broken-self,
Nurturing a heart beyond repair,
I would never venture abroad,
Never again sail from safe shores,
I awake, open my eyes, smile,
I am in love, and I’m not afraid.

Beyond anything previously known,
A new experience, fresh, bright,
A meeting of not only hearts,
But emotionally bonded, strong,
Immeasurable depths, mind, spirit,
Two coalesced as one, bliss,
Forging a blended alloy of love,
In the summer of my life.

©Paul Chafer 2014

I give you songs for your heart,
Lyrics threading through your soul.
When I go to sleep, I think of you,
Knowing how, I just want you, need you,
In my dreams I want to be baptized in your love.

Even though the tears of the dragon await,
So my Muse remains in cyber space,
Forever beyond me, you won’t change me.

I ask, that you don’t hide in your shell,
And when I ask, just be a woman,
So I am not building castles in the sand,
When in our virtual world, love walked in.

And I ask, don’t leave me now, no,
Don’t fly, Blackbird, for fear of being broken.

I can never say thank you enough,
For after waiting so long, it’s true,
You have made me a better man.

With you, I could just sail away,
I could say take me I’m yours,
But I won’t, but know this,
I’ll be waiting,
Waiting:
Always.

©Paul Chafer 2014

Walking through woodland,
Sunlight dancing through branches,
I find myself beside a stream,
My mind wandering, wondering,
Exploring love on the edge of time.

My thoughts tumble over rocks,
Caught in water’s swirl and eddy,
A leaf that's fallen free, floating by,
Carried by flowing water, turning,
Searching out my broken dream.

I've walked this path for years,
Hearing the wind calling my name,
Rustling in the sad weeping trees,
Tears mingle with the stream, a leaf,
Part of me, writhes in a broken dream.

© Paul Chafer 2014

You know, dreams do come true,
And of course, dreaming is free,
Rowan dreams of dolphins,
Swimming in the bluest sea.

She would ride upon their backs,
Crashing through wave after wave,
She would not even be scared,
The dolphins would make her brave.

They would chase schools of fish,
Go leaping into the sky,
Fins flashing, water splashing,
A happy twinkle in her eye.

So every night Rowan dreams,
And no other dream will do,
But swimming with her dolphins,
You know, dreams do come true.

Hazel often wonders,
What it would be like,
Watching an orang-utan,
Riding on a motorbike.

Such unusual images,
Always bring a smile,
Like seeing a milk-float,
Driven by a crocodile.

A camel steering a tractor,
A fish flying a plane,
Or a big African Elephant,
Trying to drive a train!

So if you see Hazel,
Daydreaming with a grin,
A donkey might be taking,
A double-decker for a spin!

Within our conscious thoughts,
Beneath desires of wandering souls,
Dreams drift across a lake of truth,
Hopes swim in spiralling shoals,
Making it impossible not to smile,
At Invitation Inn, on Tropical Isle.

Opulent rooms with silken sheets,
Serviced twenty-four-hours a day,
Check in and out, whenever you like,
Nobody will ever be turned away,
Put up your feet, stay for a while,
At Invitation Inn, on Tropical Isle.

The waiters are all they should be,
Girls frolic freely around the pool,
Appetising hot food to spice you up,
Tall drinks that will keep you cool,
Magic fantasies are always in style,
At Invitation Inn, on Tropical Isle.

Enjoy pleasures with kindred spirits,
Relaxing, not caring, in the least,
Savouring hopes, dreams and desires,
Sharing love, indulging in the feast,
Devoid of guilt, regret, and denial,
At Invitation Inn, on Tropical Isle.

©Paul Chafer 2014

Black-spiced-***,
I lust after the bite,
Cherish the lip-tingle,
Saturate my whole mouth,
Until my cheeks, my gums sing,
Teeth feeling individual, so pleasant,
And my tongue pulses with pleasure,
Dancing as if a living thing - which it is.
Until lastly, the numbness settles,
A satisfying quivering of senses,
Intoxicating me fully, before swallowing,
Then the music beats through my buds,
A heavy lulling, taking me down,
Floating beneath waves of headiness,
Sleep encroaching, waiting,
Before dreams escape, teasing,
Drifting unhurried through eternity,
Swirling within deep desire,
Black-spiced-***.

©Paul Chafer 2014

We set off nice and slow, I was nervous, uncertain.
Don’t get me wrong, I knew what I was doing,
I had ridden before, but nothing like this.

She was so beautiful, the best I’d ever had,
Trembling beneath me I knew she could move.
She responded delightfully to my delicate touch.

With accomplished skill I flicked HER gears,
Feeling her pull a little as we truly got underway.

Negotiating the first deceptive bend,
She gave a little shimmy, a sensitive wiggle,
Forcing a tightening from me, till I gathered her up.

Assuredly taking full control once more.
Hands gripping her firmly, slowly twisting the throttle.
She bucks; growls pleasurably, we are as one.
Revelling in wilful abandonment;
Gliding in unison, so enjoyable.

Cornering sweetly, high exhilaration,
missing NOT a single beat,
Accelerating at speeds-illegal,
Too soon, too soon,
Our destination arrives.

Catching my breath I tease the brakes and relax.
Tension flowing from me; while she: she purrs like a wild cat.
I know we made good time as I gently apply the clutch,
Easing her down through the gears, she gives a little SHuDDER.

I dismount, sighing, smiling, a playful slap, yes,
Acknowledging mutual appreciation,
Already anticipating another ride,
And believe me,

It was a ride.

©Paul Chafer 2014

I see her, sleek and black;
Proud machined perfection.
I imagine her power, throttling back,
Gears engaged for swift attack,
Ignoring society’s rejection.
Dark curves tempting, unsuspecting youth,
Lusting eagerly; her cold, dangerous, truth.

Love takes many forms,
Often takes us by surprise,
Are we defenceless against this emotion?
For that is all it is, in its entirety,
Chemical impulses sloshing through grey matter,
Forget the heart, the blood pump,
This is only for the ache, the feeling of yearning,
The brain is where it counts, headology.
We are wholly consumed, body, mind, soul,
Lack of appetite, yet, we are devoured inside out,
Gasping on awakening, if lucky enough to sleep,
Denying the truth of it, accepting what cannot be,
We dither, speculate, play scenarios,
Lament, rejoice, laugh, cry, lament again,
Every waking moment inhabited by our affection,
And yet, these feelings that hold us prisoner,
Trap us inside our own souls,
Can vanish faster than a tropical storm,
With no consideration for the wreckage remaining,
No thought for those hurt,
Love has moved on,
Fickle creature, and yet,
We adore its presence,
Hate its leaving,
And like a retreating tide,
Await its return with avid pleasure,
For nothing, nothing,
Can ever compare.

©Paul Chafer 2014

At least some will say: jolly good fun,
When civilisation crumbles, comes undone,
Enraged fish, a horrible toxic dish,
Who would have imagined, laughable,
That we could poison an ocean; truly!
But we will do just that; so very soon,
This ***** bites, consumers shall say,
Leaving the tills, oh, have a nice day,
This ***** bites back, nature cackles,
Unwary fools, shredding on her hackles,
And all will pay, every single one of us,
Protest all you like, march: kick up a fuss.
But you who ruined the sea, polluted the air,
Oh not me, you cry, voice filled with despair,
Yes you, ****** the land for all she’s worth,
Stinking parasites despoiling green Earth.
And when at last, we are all but done,
Through hazy smog, viewing a setting sun,
At least some will say: jolly good fun.

© Paul Chafer 2014

I glimpse her, as wearily,
I tread upon the stair;
Brief flickering movement
Which really isn’t there.
She taunts, and teases,
Never showing her face,
Drifting along the landing,
With ballerina grace.
Quite often, whenever lonely,
Her sibilant voice calls;
A lingering shallow whisper,
Echoing softly from the walls.
She sounds, so haunting,
Like tinkling silver bells;
Ringing enticing incantations;
While casting ghostly spells.
Hairs bristle, on my neck;
Spine becoming trembling ice,
Freezing breath inside my throat:
Heart trapped within a vice.
We touch, I am afraid; but
My fear is that I’ll find,
This unearthly spectral visitor
Is an unkindness of my mind.


© Paul Chafer 2014

Watching every move
Before pouncing! Our cat kills:
Harmless floating fluff!

© Paul Chafer 2014

I had not planned on dying today,
It was not on my list of, ‘things to do’,
How strange, I think, eyelids crushing tears
How very strange, body crushed beyond repair.

Splattered beneath a split-giant-oak,
Its yellowish heart, splayed open,
Pretty though, gleaming in a lightning flash,
The remaining upright, sentinel-like-spike,
Illuminated, so bright, so very bright.

Rain, lashing rain, mingling with my tears,
Thunder rumbles, tumbles, fades away,
Pain, clashing pain, surging with my fears,
Heart thudding, the beat, slowly fading away.

Breathing laboured, chest collapsing, beyond aid,
My groin slaked in blood, **** and stinking ****,
Hips; that will never again gyrate with pleasure,
Speared by a branch through my lower gut.

An ‘unmentionable wound’ so unbecoming,
The real smell of death, the smell of war,
Upon a medieval battlefield, minus the ale,
Typical, eh, could use a drink right now.

I mange to draw one small breath, a gasp,
But I know it’s my last, my very last,
Darkness pressing in all around, so cold.

I even manage a smile, thinking,
This was not on my list of, ‘things to do’,
I had not planned on dying today.

© Paul Chafer 2014

Midnight roses, with bruised petals,
Soft and sensual, touching, touching,
Arousing aromatic scents,
Lingering in my mind, teasing,
And I imagine you’re here with me,
Touching, touching, so touching,
We see the stars, whirling,
Lost souls, waking, stirring,
Knowing, we are more than a dream,
Beyond anything palpable, and still,
We touch, and I wonder, will you stay,
As I gather you to me, embracing,
Knowing, we can live within a dream,
I push away the empty pillow,
Thoughts of you, drifting, fading,
Aromatic scents, lingering, fading,
Alone again, without you, dreaming of,
Midnight roses, with bruised petals.

© Paul Chafer 2014

When life becomes a dream,
From which one can’t escape,
Reality a distant memory,
To which one can’t relate,
It takes a special talent,
To keep oneself in shape.

When all around have faltered,
Living up to one’s expectations,
Friends suddenly becoming strangers,
Along with forgotten relations,
It is time to set one’s sights,
On undiscovered destinations.

To search out the missing link,
That makes one’s life complete,
To exercise the flagging spirit,
Until one’s mind overcomes defeat,
To truly know oneself once more,
Turning the ebbing tide of retreat.

When one finally accepts the Karma,
That belongs to man by right,
Thoughts finding the given destiny,
Illuminated by inner sight,
One’s dream eventually touches peace,
Where life blossoms in the light.

© Paul Chafer 2014

Blackbird

Blackbird
Beautiful Blackbird,
Take heart, take flight,
Leaving all the hurt behind,
Upon the wing, you can sing,
Allowing troubles to unwind.

Blackbird
Precious Blackbird,
Be strong, be brave,
Be unafraid, just to fight,
Forever free, you shall see,
Blue skies, clear and bright.

Blackbird
Sweet Blackbird,
Know faith, know hope,
Sharing dreams, everyday,
Knowing inside, no need to hide,
Trust guiding you, all the way.

© Paul Chafer 2014

Umbrellas, umbrellas, holding off the rain.
Sheltering all from the sky’s falling tears.
A common bareheaded woman with a basket,
Becomes the object of one man's inquiring gaze.
What protects her from his illicit intentions?
His wealth from exploiting her poverty?
She possesses no umbrella against the rain.
No shield against his shower of false affections.
And oblivious; a little girl with toy hoop looks on.
A questioning sadness in her dark, innocent, eyes.
Unconcerned curiosity, observing the world’s corruption.
And yet, and yet: unaware of her own, future vulnerability.

© Paul Chafer 2014

The Old Giant is finally dead,
I heard the battle raging,
Incessant howling, shrieking, wailing,
Rending of limbs, such screeching,
Unassuaged horror filling my ears,
Please, make it stop, please.

But, it did not stop, no,
And the Old Giant fought bravely,
Before finally crashing to earth,
A seasoned campaigner, yes,
Victor of many a titanic struggle,
Before defeat reared its ugly head.

He’d stood proudly, scarred, twisted,
It took a mighty foe to defeat him,
To deal relentless heart-splitting blows,
As I observe him, a tear wells, escapes,
Splashes delicately onto his splayed trunk,
Instantly absorbed by golden-white wood.

Then, in a tangle of broken branches,
Bathed in a shaft of canopy-filtered sunlight,
I spy a slender sapling, knee high,
And I know an ancient legacy continues,
So sad, but life flourishes, even though,
The Old Giant is finally dead.

© Paul Chafer 2014

Faces, shiny faces
in a shiny magazine.
Face of a gypsy girl,
the face of a queen.
Face of a princess
regal and fair.
Face of a rich girl
caught in the glare.
Face of a film star
captured in a dream.
Face of a model with
skin smoothing cream.
Faces on beaches
soaking up the sun.
Face of a beauty with
the potential to stun.
Faces draped with jewellery
and make-up to ****.
Alluring expressions
intended to thrill.
Observe ****** glamour,
young fresh and bright.
Drown in the images
reflecting your delight.
Absorb the pretty faces
of perfect colour tone.
Identity assimilation
won't leave you alone.
Forever trapped by faces
in a faceless prison.
Individuality lost in
a nightmare vision.
Faces commanding
the commodities of life.
The looting of pockets
both legal and rife.
Faces of power corrupted
through and through.
Keep checking out the faces
who are checking up on you.

© Paul Chafer 2014