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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

©Paul M Chafer 2015

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.

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

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

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.

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

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

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.

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

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.

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

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.

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

©Paul M Chafer 2016

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

©Paul M Chafer 2014

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

©Paul M Chafer 2015

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

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

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

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

© 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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

©Paul M Chafer 2015

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

©Paul M Chafer

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

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

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

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

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

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

©Paul M Chafer 2014

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

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

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

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

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

©Paul M Chafer 2015

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

©Paul M Chafer 2015

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 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

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