Writing,
Scribbling down,
Such choices we make,
Edging the sliding doors of life,
Running, walking, or turning away,
How odd, these bold decisions,
Life-changing options,
Not bold at all, taken on a whim,
And yet, yet, they guide, hmm,
Saturating our souls, hearts, our minds,
With more permanence than we know,
Can ever know, for who can know,
What will become of us; any of us?
Are we indelibly tattooed, all of us?
Perhaps, and fate and destiny are dust,
Lives become intertwined, tightly bound,
Inextricably linked, so, so tight,
Through little more than pen and ink,
And on we flow, downstream,
Not, going with the flow, no,
Only ‘dead-fish’ go with the flow,
But ‘current drifting’ observing,
Before plunging beneath the surface,
Tugging the legs of the serene swan,
Playfully, cajolingly, teasingly,
Before emerging, drying off,
Thinking, choosing, acting,
Scribbling down,
Writing.

© Paul Chafer 2014

My poem was inspired by the poem below by Amanda FH.

We Are Art

The choices we make
The life-changing ones
Are indelibly etched on our hearts and souls and skin.
Every decision is a making, a changing,
I am tattooed
And so are you.
Let's compare our pictures
And tell each other stories.
Make notes on me
I'm still a choice
Waiting to be branded
Let your ink flow.

By the shores of the Dry-sea.
Beyond salt-crusted sands,
In deep, deep, caves,
You will find dragons.
Long ago, in ages past,
Men and women were selected,
An honour to ride these great beasts.
Winged creatures of giant stature,
Sharp of tooth and talon.
Then foolishly, the dragon-riders fought.
The battles, ****** and deadly,
Swooped across scorched skies.
Then the dragons took their leave,
And burrowed deep into the earth,
Where they slept away the centuries.
Occasionally one would surface,
In a lake, a fjord or a loch,
Emerging by secret ways,
To see if mankind still made war.
Until at last, mankind has long gone.
The Earth is dry: blisteringly hot.
Perfect for dragons to bask,
Upon the salt-crusted sands,
By the shores of the Dry-sea.

© Paul Chafer 2014

You,
Yes you,
I’m talking to you,
You know I want you,
No, not want, but really need,
Need to feel skin beneath my lips,
Smell your hair while kissing your neck,
My teeth teasing on your shoulder, tasting,
My hands on your waist, caressing, holding,
Pulling you close, ah, swaying, rocking gently
Deep breaths, dizziness, aching, till we kiss,
What then, you might ask, what indeed,
Will senses slip away, hmm, perhaps,
Reason becoming untethered, yes,
Breaking from its moorings, yes,
An explosion of delight, hot,
Raw passion, dark desire,
Riot of ****** discovery,
Hands touching, feeling,
Sensual lips exploring,
Drinking in pleasure,
Bodies now writhing,
Inhibitions crumbling,
Heat coursing, racing,
Until we are lost, yes,
Two becoming one,
Mind, body soul,
Falling, falling, ah,
Rising, drifting, hmm,
Sighing, escaping, sated,
More, needing more,
I’m talking to you,
Yes you,
You.

© Paul Chafer 2014

Ban flu,
Man flu.

Aching head,
Bleary eyes,
Death lurking,
In disguise,
Under the bed,
What a surprise,
******* Death,
I’m going to rise.

No I’m not,
I flop down,
Head cushioned,
In eiderdown,
In the curtains,
Face of a clown,
In medication,
Senses drown.

I’m not dying,
I am in a state,
Snot and phlegm,
I ******* hate,
No latent desire,
To *******,
No appetite,
I’m losing weight!

I’m getting better,
Weak as a lamb,
A hot toddy,
A wee dram,
Man flu is real,
Not a sham,
Getting better,
The **** I am.

The fifth day,
What a-to-do,
So had enough,
Of feeling blue,
Death lost,
So go *****,
Getting dressed,
I am its true.

Man flu,
Ban flu.

© Paul Chafer 2014

I used to zip, round
Little School corner.
Metal sparking from the road.
Throttle wound back
For a swift attack:
Excitement on overload.
The brave foolishness of youth,
Slickly defying, gravity’s truth.

I used to roar, round
Young-man’s corner.
Tyres squealing in the night.
She’d buck an’ slide,
Giving a rough ride:
My experience holding her tight.
Pulling through, going on our way,
Looking forward, to yet another day.

I used to charge, round
Middle-age corner.
Knee scraping along the ground.
Holding my breath
Kissing, cold, death:
My fear becoming unwound.
Somehow, I gathered her sweetly up,
And continued drinking, from life’s cup.

Nowadays, I never know,
What’s around the corner.
My biking days are long gone.
I don’t get my thrills
From near-miss spills,
And the years roll on, and on.
We travel a straight highway, so it seems,
But me! I’m still cornering, in my dreams.

© Paul Chafer 2014

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

© Paul Chafer 2014

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

© Paul Chafer 2014

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

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

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

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

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

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

© Paul Chafer 2014

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

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

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

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

Goodbye everybody.

© Paul Chafer 2014

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

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

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

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

© Paul Chafer 2014

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

© Paul Chafer 2014

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

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

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

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

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

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

© Paul Chafer 2014

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

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

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

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

© Paul Chafer 2014

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

© Paul Chafer 2014

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

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

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

Posies left by the river, ashes of the dead.

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

An axe-man waiting to chop off your head.

© Paul Chafer 2014

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

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

© Paul Chafer 2014

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

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

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

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

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

© Paul Chafer 2014

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

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

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

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

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

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

© Paul Chafer 2014

No, please, not again,
Not the ******* Block,
Think I’m about to cry,
A grown man, weeping,
So unreal, sad, even.

An occupational hazard,
Finding the Block, lurking,
The unforgiving, ******* Block,
Visited by all worth their salt,
Dreaded by writers, loathed.

An empty well, bone dry,
The Block, mocking, malicious,
Laughing in the shadows,
Shifting within deeper shadows,
Growing, so very strong.

It cannot be mastered,
Not now, not ever,
Now you know it exists,
Grasp the pen, tap keys,
You must fight!

Ignore the jeering,
Conquer fears first;
Then, try writing, just write,
Summon courage, dry your eyes,
Then slay the ******* Block.

© Paul Chafer 2014

Sauntering casually,
jostled by shoppers,
teatime bargain hunters;
curses of common folk
ringing in my ears,
out of tune with
the cries of the traders.
Two for one here!
I say, two for one here!

Embattled in the
throng of a slow
moving crowd, shoulders
heaving, swaying to an
inaudible beat.  Tired
faces marking time,
quelling inner frustration.
Get a move on!
Please, just get a move on.

Now it’s raining,
incessant needles
prickle my face.
Suspended water droplets
dangle from striped
awnings, reflecting
trapped, busy, images.
Caught in a moment.
Spattered, in a moment.

Then I see her,
the fruit-stall girl,
her words and gestures
touch me like music
rippling over my skin.
Secret caressing fingers,
bringing me to life.
She doesn’t see me.
No: she doesn’t ever see me.

I’m almost mesmerised,
by the light catching
the white curve of
her neck.  Her hair,
like spun gold, dancing
on her ruffled collar as
she serves with a smile.
Your change sir.
Don’t forget your change sir!

I turned for home,
head bowed, shoulders
stooped; no crowded bus
for me with standing
room only.  A slow
solitary walk, past
dark, dripping gardens.
Her face for company, how
strange: her face, for company.

© Paul Chafer 2014

Walking in our garden,
sun sailing across the sky,
I saw a tiny winged-girl,
from the corner of my eye.

She flew down off the wall,
but did not try to hide.
“Hello there,” I said to her.
“Good morning,” she replied.

“Do children visit here,
I so love to see them play?”
“Yes they do,” I told her, as
she danced and hopped away.

“Then I will return,” she sang,
her tiny voice sweetly shrill.
Then flew into our willow tree,
I think she lives there still.

© Paul Chafer 2014

Through time,
Stars continue to illuminate,
Billions of miles,
Long, long after death:
R.I.P Nelson Mandela.

Cat black the wizard’s hat,
Marc Bolan did his thing,
A Jingle-jangle morning,
Bob Dylan’s posy ring.
Sunshine walking, yep,
Eddy Grant, whoop it up,
While Marley jammy-jams,
Herbal tea, oh do let us sup.
Rolling in the long grass,
Naked limbs having fun,
Much frolicking and kissing,
Laughter soaks up the sun.
Pleasure aches inside us,
Little scraps of pale blue,
Not flowers, ah, butterflies,
Diamonds made of dew.
So subtle in the long grass,
Loving: a delicious snack,
Drink each other for dinner,
Cat black the wizard’s back.

© Paul Chafer 2014

Sometimes,
Scars do heal,
Though they leave a mark,
It can be invisible,
But often, tis indelible,
Especially mental scarring,
And, Time, our constant companion,
Heals absolutely nothing,
They tell you it does,
Those who think they know,
Who think they feel your pain,
Who think they understand,
But in fact, grasp nothing,
Not one iota of the agony,
Not a single scrap of hurt,
Yes, they think Time does wonders,
But it doesn't, and they know it,
As you know it, as I know it,
It just lessens the pain,
Eases the burden,
It does offer hope, though,
This companion, offers a chance,
But one has to fight,
One has to struggle,
Rise up from the Dark,
Scream and rage at injustice,
Welcome Light onto one’s face,
Feel the warmth, love it,
Loving is the key,
And acceptance, just accept,
This life, this one life,
It may change, yes, maybe,
Change does happen,
Can really happen,
Sometimes.

© Paul Chafer 2014

The world’s, most
Wise unicorn,
Is known as
Falling Snow.
Lizzy rides
Upon her back,
The world passes
By below.
The night wind
Flows freely,
Through Lizzy’s
Unruly hair,
Holding tight to
Falling Snow,
A friendship made
To share.
See them leap
Through clouds,
Star shine guides
Their flight,
Sleeping safely with
Falling Snow,
Lizzy dreams,
Away, the night.

© Paul Chafer 2014

A solitary, single, step, is where it began,
Travelling the road, we all must tread,
Letting the world know us, as we are,
Not just how we think we should be,
Compliant members, of our society.

We’re always learning from the past,
Guided to live and enjoy the present,
Our experiences creating the future,
Happiness, success: not destinations,
But journeys, devoid; of all limitations.

First, love oneself, cherishing self-belief,
Ignore jealousy, hurting with malice,
Celebrate, individuality of free-will,
Choosing, spontaneity, or even a plan,
A solitary, single, step, is where it began.

© Paul Chafer 2014

Has anyone seen Leslie Brown?
She went missing earlier today.
A stranger in
A strange town,
Who probably just lost her way.

I’ve quizzed, enquired and questioned,
Almost everyone I know.
To be greeted by
A shaking of heads,
Puzzled expressions that say, ‘sorry, but no’.

Has anyone seen Leslie Brown?
I was meeting her at three.
She’s an Internet friend
Paying a visit,
I just can’t think where she might be.

In despair I checked with the police.
“Leslie Brown! Why yes: come when you can.”
When I arrived my
Cyber-space sweetheart,
Is not a lady, but a cross-dressed, ******* man!

© Paul Chafer 2014

Sitting alone: gently poking the embers.
Outside, children shriek in the street,
The dull thud of many running feet,
Go unheard by this child of the blitz;
His mind chained to the horrors he remembers.

Remaining locked inside his terrible fear,
From the Luftwaffe flying overhead,
Their murderous drone, his worst dread.
So run, poor child of the blitz,
And pray you receive the all clear.

Shunned by those who can’t understand;
This boy in the shape of a man,
Surviving the best way he can.
A forgotten child of the blitz,
Searching for his lost Wonderland.

People see it, plainly written in his eyes,
Passing him by; passing the blame,
Another victim for the war to claim.
A shell shocked child of the blitz,
When death rained freely, out of the skies.

Forever alert for those dangers long passed,
Listening for the sirens shrill whine,
Is their silence a very good sign?
For a terrified child of the blitz,
Continually bombed, and burned and gassed.

He desperately wants to forget, and has tried!
But the memories hack, and they hack,
And the terror comes creeping back.
So remember, this child of the blitz,
Who once lived, but who’s life sadly died.

© Paul Chafer 2014

The witch that lives down the road,
Has such long flowing red hair,
A Raggy Doll that cries a lot,
And a talking Teddy Bear.

I’ve seen her using a broom,
But only to do the sweeping,
I don’t spy on her all that much,
Just a bit of playful peeping.

And also, she has two cats,
One striped, and one jet black,
She talks to them all the time,
I don’t hear them answer back.

Once she gave me chocolate,
That I ate: I’m kind that way,
Sharing with my imaginary friend,
Who vanished that very same day!

I’m sure she does magic spells,
Making it sunny and the sky so blue,
With a breeze to dry her washing,
She does: I tell you it’s true!

Also, she has her own boyfriend,
I bet she made him from an ugly toad,
I wonder if she’d make one for me?
The witch that lives down the road.

© Paul Chafer 2014

Nothing intimidates me more,
Than a woman’s inviting smile,
It pierces right down to the core;
Appealing to everything I adore;
This subtle, suggestive, wile:
Whetting the sense of anticipation,
Igniting fires of the imagination.

Nothing possesses more power,
Than a woman’s determined will;
Disguised as a delicate flower,
Sweetness smothering the sour,
Regardless of the pyrrhic thrill;
Bewitchment in everything but name,
Savouring the illicitness of the game.

No ordinary man has a prayer,
When a woman stakes her claim;
She’ll welcome you into her lair,
Reject her desires if you dare,
Her revenge has legendary fame;
Travelling incognito: deadly intentions,
From this wrath, there are no preventions.

Do not ever, ever, underestimate.
That which cannot be understood:
Avoid the temptation to speculate,
Categorize, classify or evaluate,
The secret mysteries of womanhood;
Whenever tempted by an inviting smile;
Nod politely then turn, and run a mile.

© Paul Chafer 2014

My Grand-daughter, bless her,
Claims - and, she is only four -
I’m a pirate-wizard-author-artist,
Sharing magical stories galore.

Of course, I do encourage her,
I so enjoy it, and I freely admit,
That pirate-wizard-author-artist,
Is indeed, such a rather good fit!

For her, I create magical wonders,
Wispy-cloud-dragons on the wing,
Turning a childish misconception,
Into a wonderful, curious, thing.

Playing games, happily dancing,
In the chance of musical chairs,
An embroidered fantasy world,
Of witches wolves and bears.

Whimsical youth is so fleeting,
Real life dawning, so very soon,
Cows give milk, as for the dish,
It never ran away with a spoon.

Toys and games become lost forever,
Passing-time is a despicable thief,
But the memories remaining, will be,
Grandfather’s riches of make-belief.

© Paul Chafer 2014

Splish, splash, splish and splosh,
Katalyn always enjoys a laugh,
Her imagination running a riot,
Whenever she is having a bath.

Katalyn sees fairies inside bubbles,
Funny creatures her mind has made,
A grinning blue-finned-fairy-dolphin,
And even a singing, fairy-mermaid!

Together they sing bath-time songs,
Often sharing some staggering tales,
Adventures of wrestling an octopus,
Or riding the backs of giant whales.

Sometimes, Katalyn imagines a fairy,
Blowing magic bubbles round the room,
With the help of a very pretty witch,
Making bubbles with a magic broom.

Katalyn thinks bubbles brim with magic,
Like her imagination, so much fun,
Especially shared with funny-fairy-folk,
Until at last, her bath-time is done!

© Paul Chafer 2014

I hammered my self-loathing,
Gouged out its laughing eyes,
Ripped open its smirking mouth,
Then strangled it, stomped it,
Buried it, forgot it; moved on.

The poetry, though, hmm,
It helped me fight, win,
A soundboard of pain,
Reliable and true, so true,
Always remains, waiting patiently.

Keeping my attitude healthy,
Is it needed? Yes, it is,
Riding undulating emotion,
Self-loathing rises, unbidden,
Caressing fondly: a soft kiss.

I body-slam self-loathing,
Hurl it back to the pit,
Peer out of the abyss,
****** at any light, any hope,
Grasping words, fighting.

Love is always needed,
A powerful weapon, hmm,
Without it, well, zombies come,
Tearing within, mocking,
Urging the thin-red-line.

I will not yield, I scream,
I write, even weep, and more,
Knowing love will come, soon,
And will help me claim,
I hammered my self-loathing.

© Paul Chafer 2014

I just don’t understand,
How can a man live among us?
At work, play, passing the time of day.
Normal.
Normal.
Normal – tinker.
– ****** a child, abuse, ****** –
Normal.
Normal.
Normal – tailor.
So, there are monsters: truly!
Vile depraved horrors masquerading as people.
At work, play, passing the time of day.
Normal.
Normal.
Normal – soldier.
– *****, evil, scumbag –
Twisted.
Twisted.
Twisted – killer.
Take care, always be aware.
An unassuming face, in or out of place.
I just don’t understand, cannot understand.
Tinker.
Tailor.
Soldier – Murderer!

© Paul Chafer 2014

So, please do remember me,
The man who I used to be,
Then heed, if you can heed,
The stranger I have become,
Stepping through open doors,
Finding I must fight everyday,
My mettle twisted a thousand-fold,
From smashing ancient barriers,
Questing a seemingly impossible truth,
Discovering such knowledge,
Conquering all gods, slaying lies,
Exposing ideals that will never be,
Superstition broken, setting me free.

Examine beliefs, looking deep,
Never accept comforting blind faith,
Wrestle with the thorny id,
Finding life’s hidden meaning,
Different for each individual,
The simple truth, enlightened paths,
Illuminating the feared abyss,
Ravaged by ghosts of madness,
Inquire within, trusting yourself,
Revealing improbable answers,
Choosing purpose, as I chose,
Content beyond the echoes of,
The man who I used to be,
So, please, do remember me.

© Paul Chafer 2014

Oh, they don’t know they’re born today,
What do they know of surviving a war?
Suffering blackouts, hardship of rationing,
With never a thought of ‘asking for more’.

They act so tough, never knowing real fear,
Never experiencing terror and dread,
They’d be dancing to a different tune,
If the Luftwaffe still flew overhead.

I tell you, kids of today; know now’t,
Claiming life’s hard: they’re having a laugh,
Let em’ clean grime off a twelve hour shift,
With carbolic soap in an old tin bath?

Talk of going without, they get too much!
We only had skipping ropes, whistles, bells,
Maybe an orange and apple at Christmas,
Along with monkey nuts still in their shells.

If we were lucky, we got a shiny penny,
Truth be told, there was never any shame,
Today they expect brand new bikes,
Plus the latest craze of a video game.

A sign of the times, life always changes,
Rose-tinted memories; forever make hay,
I’ve said it before; I know I’ll say it again,
Oh, they don’t know they’re born today.

© Paul Chafer 2014

I met her in a sun-splashed glade,
So beautiful, my Corn-Goddess,
An aching clenched my poor throat,
I knew, I would see her no more.

Warmth comforted as we touched,
Gentle fingers caressing my arms,
I embraced her softness, so pure,
She kissed the tears from my face.

How I loved her, adored her, even,
Yet, I knew this day would come,
She drifted away, I did not call out,
And when I turned, she was gone.

Sauntering near the glade’s edge,
Summer’s sister beckoned, smiling,
A heady flirtation of russet and gold,
I sighed, indeed, I loved Autumn too.

© Paul Chafer 2014

As I enter the room,
She comes to me,
And asks, - demands –
“so, do you love me?”
I nod, smile, and reach,
My hand caressing her face.
“Hmm, you do not love me,”
She says, pushing into my palm.
“Only, know this, you are mine.
All the same.”
My fingers dance along her spine,
She arches, green eyes widening.
“Oh, yes, yes, just there,”
As I press, firmly,
Lovingly, affectionately.
“I do love you,”
I whisper,
Scratching beneath her chin.
“What’s not to love,”
She says, boxing my hand,
Before returning to her basket,
Her contended purr,
Speaking a thousand words.

As I wander down, twisting paths,
Low leaden skies, threatening rain,
Leaves drift down like confetti,
As winter awakens, once again.

Trees, their branches almost bare,
Rake and claw, at a heavy sky,
Thrashing impotently to be free,
As searching winds, rustle on by.

Bracken, faded yellow and brown,
So cloying with the scent of death,
A decaying, withering, tangled mass,
Autumn steals a last, silent breath.

Frost creeps in, coating the ground,
Painting trees and hedgerows white.
Woodland life, skulks and hides,
Avoiding the snap of winter’s bite.

Shortening days: lengthening nights,
Are forcing temperatures to fall,
A babbling brook becomes silenced,
The Ice-queen spreads her shawl.

Rain soon becomes transmogrified,
Within raging blizzards of snow,
Winter heralding an early arrival,
With a cool, breath-taking show.

Oh so cold, but I won’t complain,
For merciless winter simply laughs,
My breath pants in foggy plumes,
As I wander down, twisting paths.

To hear the child,
through outpourings
of tears, is to hear
a child in need.
To help the lost,
to search within
themselves, is to help
them to succeed.
To recognise sadness,
concealed in brave
composure, is to know
how far we fall.
To sense one’s love,
through layers of
deep emotion, is to
know, love conquers all.
To believe in oneself,
despite latent natural
desires, is to accept
the Karma inside.
To rise above mortality,
slipping free of safe
shores, is to sail on
the spiritual tide.
To forgive the listener,
who cannot hear the
word, is to mourn one
who’ll never be free.
To touch one’s heart,
so breathing life into
life, is to reveal
what it is, just to be.

We stalked hawthorn hedgerows,
Backyards our battlefields,
Wielding wooden swords,
Dustbin-lids, for our shields.

We scouted railway cuttings,
Long abandoned and disused,
Where friendship’s blended alloys,
Were cast, forged and fused.

We patrolled village streets,
Marched along muddied lanes,
Proudly defending ‘our land’,
From raiding, heathen, Danes’.

We boldly challenged Vikings’,
Beneath a Sixties-summer-sun,
Bonding loyalty, faith and trust,
That will never, come undone.

Those days will not return,
Memories-mismatched-truth,
Recalling the fallen heroes,
Fighting follies of our youth.

Protecting imagined Kingdoms,
Lost in time, for evermore,
Boy soldiers standing guard,
In Castles built from straw.

Be brave,
You have no choice;
When trying to change the world.
People cannot, or simply refuse to see,
New ways forward, promoting harmony.

Inevitably, others will always ridicule,
Their ignorance blocking your path,
So solidly entrenched, unchangeable,
Pouring scorn over radical ideas.

Beneath their mockery, they sense,
The Border fences are breaking,
Chains of Religion are snapping,
Unshackling, Political manacles.

Revolutionary meeting of minds,
Sowing seeds of the unknown,
Voices unleashing subtle energies,
Diminishing established power.

Reveal to those, now choosing to see,
New ways forward, promoting harmony.
When trying to change the world.
You have no choice:
Be brave.

Antonia is such a good swimmer,
She often swims in the sea,
Where she met a friendly dolphin,
Who she invited back for tea.

There were plates of jam sandwiches,
Ice-cream, with jelly in a fancy dish,
Vanilla slices and chocolate cake,
Oh, and of course, lots of fish.

Then the dolphin shared a story,
Of a far off-distant land,
Even though his voice was very squeaky,
Antonia could easily understand.

The story told of mermaids,
Magic songs upon their lips,
Their singing enticing sailors,
From the rigging and decks of ships.

Though, the sailors were not harmed,
Only enchanted in a drowsy sleep,
Dreaming in the mermaid kingdom,
Beneath the ocean cool and deep.

The mermaids made a prophecy,
Of the sailors promised release,
When mankind stopped all wars,
And had learned to live in peace.

Antonia thought, ‘how very wise’,
Watching waves upon the sea,
From the beach, she waved goodbye,
To the dolphin who came for tea.

Walking along this path, all alone,
Beneath the shadows of tall trees,
Her sweet face lingers in my mind,
Her name whispers on the breeze.

She awaits me, by the old pond,
Where we spent many, happy hours,
Basking in early morning sunshine,
Amidst, a few, late summer flowers.

Without any greeting, I simply sit,
We exchange a glance, nothing more,
My tears speak a thousand words,
For that, which has gone before.

She suddenly vanishes, and I accept,
The time has come to let her go,
I love her, and yes, I do miss her,
In truth, I needed to let her know.

It is a year, since I lost my Jess,
But seeing her, my pain is eased,
I am replacing her with a puppy,
I imagine, she’ll be well pleased.

Jess was such a good dog: faithful,
One of the best that I have known,
But tomorrow, I will no longer be,
Walking along this path, all alone.

A late summer sun, sinking in the west,
Shimmering, ablaze with fiery colour,
Appearing suspended above the trees,
Greens transformed to reds and golds,
Summer’s daughter, borne on a breeze.

As I wander amongst treasured places,
Copses, glades; peace of a woodland path,
Breathing subtle scents, pollen filled haze,
Nature’s unstinting magic edging change,
Accepting the shortening of summer days.

Barely escaping before lengthening shadows,
Race to the door of my countryside home,
Animal calls echoing, preceding night’s rest,
Autumn shakes out her gown; smiles to see,
A late summer sun, sinking in the west.

We can begin with you,
And ask, is it too much to hope?
Why, when we yearn for peace,
Can we not have a Kingdom Of Mankind?
Must the squabbles, some, millennia old,
Permanently persist, from century to century?
Will the warmongers never tire?
Never cease their enduring need to ****?
Is an ideal, a belief, or a cause,
Worth the taking of life: any life?
Must men, women, and even children,
Suffer for a difference of opinion?
The world has to change; must change!
Sense and sensibility, must prevail!
Please, reach out, make a difference,
We can begin with you.

© Paul Chafer 2014