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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

© 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

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

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 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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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 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.

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©