Reece AJ Chambers

Reece AJ Chambers Feb 2018

So I walk in a little late, still high.
Groups of strangers on primary-school chairs,
no question that I smell differently.
‘We all know why we’re here’, the man declares;
forty-something glares behind her tall glass.
This week’s book, The Bell Jar, and so she reads.
A page down, ‘would you like to go now?’ Pass.
I think of my ill brother up in Leeds
as her pretentious voice clogs the room.

What a state of affairs, what a life. How
it is what it is, it is what it is -
My brother says that a lot, back at home
or he used to, at least, long ago: Now
he can barely drive through small villages.

Written: February 2018.
Explanation: A sonnet written in my own time for university - as such, changes are possible in the near future. The title is that of a sonnet by Philip Larkin, and the last word of each line in his poem is the same as in mine - otherwise, it is all original writing by me. Feedback welcome. A link to my Facebook writing page can be found on my HP home page.
NOTE: Many older pieces of mine were put on private recently. Only more satisfying work and older university writings remain.

Reece AJ Chambers Feb 2018

Falcarragh

Fad leis seo a thagadh cairde agus lucht gaoil an té a bhí ag imeacht chun na coigrithe. B'anseo an scaradh. Seo Droichead na nDeor

Family and friends of the person leaving for foreign lands would come this far. Here was the separation. This is the Bridge of Tears

so let us go to Falcarragh
where I kiss you by the corner
with salt on the lips
and a mouthful of chips

where my ma wants me home
by eleven at the latest
and the neighbour’s dog slobbers
its love against our cheeks

where we meet on the beach
with braids of seaweed by our feet
and the wind begins to jive
through the tangles of your hair

where we share a drink (or three)
and *sláinte (more than once)
on the crossroads of yesterday
and the rest to come

say goodbye by the bridge
with my hands in your pockets
our tears specks of memories
we scrunch hard to keep in

Written: Febriary 2018.
Explanation: A poem written in my own time. Falcarragh is a small town in north-west Ireland - in Irish it is known as 'An Fál Carrach.' Ten minutes south of the town is a location known as The Bridge of Tears. Here, in a time before many modern roads, friends and family of emigrants would go their separate ways, with the emigrants heading for Derry Port. Most of these individuals would never return - it was a final farewell. A stone close to the bridge contains the message included at the start of this poem. Please note that 'sláinte' is a Gaelic term for 'cheers', said during a toast and meaning, more literally, 'health.' All feedback welcome. A link to my Facebook writing page can be found on my HP home page.
NOTE: Many of my older poems have been put on private recently by me, leaving only more satisfying pieces, alongside old university work.

Reece AJ Chambers Jan 2018

97-98

twenty years
since the days of maroon
jumpers tucked in
black shoes
golden time
and a thin blonde fringe

I look into the still
second circa 1998
faces of future
troublemakers
a lesbian
an ex of a friend

words non-existent
that would become
existent
like flowers
bursting
into the millennium

and long ago
split
marbles that roll
in different directions
same names
another age

century before
a time not sure
ever lived

Written: January 2018.
Explanation: A poem written in my own time inspired by a photograph of my old Infant school reception class (aged about 4 or 5), taken most likely at some point in early 1998. Feedback welcome. A link to my Facebook writing page can be found on my HP home page.
NOTE: Many of my older pieces have been put on private recently, leaving only more satisfying and university-related pieces.

Reece AJ Chambers Jan 2018

Night Before His Gap Year

And here we are,
blundering through the cold, dark
early weeks of the year,
flames from the fire
growling up
the walls
at the King’s Head,
our local.

Inside we’re the jokers,
knocking them back,
lager in
our mouths,
a bwah-hah-hah
noise
between old songs
and the lost-count-which-pint.
Questions blurt out
but we’re on
the razz,
sozzled. A mate turns up
the volume, which one
I don’t know, lights
swirl
to x’s, white pinpricks
and would
I like another?
I slur out a guhon then.
We’ve all got
the zest
for more.

Written: January 2018.
Explanation: A poem written in my own time for university - as such, changes are possible in the coming months. It is an alphabet-type piece - 'and', 'blundering', 'cold', 'dark', 'early'... and so on. Feedback welcome. A link to my Facebook writing page can be found on my HP home page.
NOTE: Almost 400 of my poems, mostly old pieces, have been put on private by me recently. Only more satisfying poems and old uni pieces remain.

Reece AJ Chambers Jan 2018

Before the Birthday

slowly          slowly
then in the space between   seconds

cerulean morning
shade of silence

my throat
or rather all of ours
on mute

raindrops
with their stop-start
arteries
on the window

it is an age
of invisible money
trickling into
strangers’ hands

burgundy bedsheets
box-sets

names that flicker
on and off
as if shouting them
across a lake
in high winds

twenty-five
a week before
the year of the dog

should be bounding
into things
with electric fingers

but they’re at work

and slowly          slowly

snooker’s on the box

Written: January 2018.
Explanation: A poem written in my own time for university - as such, changes are possible in the coming months. Feedback welcome. A link to my Facebook writing page can be found on my HP home page.
NOTE: Many of my older pieces will be removed from HP at some point in the future.

Reece AJ Chambers Jan 2018

The Teenagers

are holding hands.
I think
they think they are
in love,
in the eye
of a glorious storm,
with aisles of x’s
in text messages,
a wink that suggests
anywhere but here
is better.

The babies of
this century,
maked-up more
than the generation before,
flecks of snow
in a blizzard
of pimples and kisses,
condoms and phones.
There is no jealousy,
just a shift in the times,
a jolt in the system
of snotty noses and whispers.

They look happy, at least.
Love, or something like it,
a blossom in their lungs.
Now, I wonder,
walking,
if they know what comes.

Written: January 2018.
Explanation: A poem written in my own time - feedback welcome. A link to my Facebook writing page can be found on my HP home page.
NOTE: Many of my older pieces will be removed from HP at some point in the future.

Reece AJ Chambers Jan 2018

Red Hearts Aren't Real

dipped your locks
     in a *** of gold,

beautiful as a haiku,
                                 cryptic as a silent night.

I’m the clock with
a faulty second-hand,

my days made
          with rings of mist.

          now,

I picture your voice,
          hear your skin,

names pile up
                       like a tower of cards

                       but the hearts aren’t real,
they never have been.

     sing all the colours
     the rainbow forgot.

I dip in my pen,

          write the words

                                      you’ll never see.

Written: January 2018.
Explanation: A poem written in my own time - slight changes possible. The first two lines are taken, albeit changed a little, from an Instagram post of October last year; I found it a striking image. All feedback welcome - as somebody who has used this website in 2012, feedback has always been quite low, so I hope a little more comes my way this year. A link to my Facebook writing page can be found on my HP home page.
NOTE: Many of my older pieces will be removed from HP, hopefully by the latter stages of this year.