Regressing into happenstance
I grasped the Rabbit in my hand
One sip I took, upon a chance
Off the edge, into quicksand. . .

Blacking out on your front lawn
On the ground, where you could stand
Can’t remember dusk or dawn,
Sinking fast into quicksand.

Poetry lives, sleeps, deep, deep within,
The words, waiting, waiting, waiting,
Nurtured, soothed, lovingly cajoled,
Given form and purpose, till they rise,
Coming to life, unbidden, bursting free.

They echo around the globe, touching,
Slipping silkily into hearts and minds,
Subtly connecting with new-born ideas,
Mingling, coalescing, waiting, waiting,
That’s where poetry come from, (yes),
Poetry lives, sleeps, deep, deep within.

©Paul M Chafer 2016

Beyond the borders of our empire
Beyond the oceans of everstorm
Where man first rose from this earth
In the shadows of the western hills
There, buried deep underground
Lies a truth beyond our understanding
Received by prophets of ages past
Long forgotten by the ravages of time
But it's existence lingers in our consciousness
Like a spirit who shall not be exorcised
Every myth from every culture
Has tried to explain this truth
The truth of our origins
The church has declared me a heretic
You, the public have condemned me
But I do not blame you
The blind can not be expected to see
A lie often repeated becomes truth
But I have seen beyond that
I have seen the invisible strings
That hold everything together
They all connect to this single point
I must make the journey, no, the pilgrimage
To the shadows of the western hills

Mindless scribbles.
Endless riddles.
From the roots
I am whittled.

Good intentions.
Wrong directions.
Consequences:
Aforementioned.

I come from sunshine.
Sunshine thick enough to form a blanket over tanned skin
And African insects that bite to live,
Empty stomachs and full hearts
And dancing in the sand before the sunset.
I come from winter.
Where the drunkards freeze in streetways
And there is hot stew for dinner
And my grandmother is a young girl who loves the way the sky turns dark so early,
And sugar sandwiches.
I come from rain.
The different personalities of the sky
Whether Big Ben is spitting on you or weeping for you
And the grey matches the bags under our eyes,
Where everyone is always moving.
Everyone has a place to go to.
I come from love.
Declarations too many years ago, and
The way a story sets my stomach alight
And holding a loved one in your arms
Holding a pet in your arms
And listening for the one verse where one phrase puts the planets back in orbit.
I come from anger.
Thrown against my own kind,
Born for another,
And internal screams that writhe beneath skin,
And the injustice of the person that didn't win
And a history blacker than the same skin it burned with  no remorse,
Righteous anger that was never right
And a growing frustration at the living.
I come from destruction.
The sound that trees make when they break under the caress of steel teeth
And the way that houses grow where forests died
The pictures of animals that used to breathe
And a pollution so thick it has turned my blood to sludge.
I come from an hourglass
And clocks,
A repetitive countdown,
A marathon or sponsored run
And the last stretch.
I come from blue.
And green.
And the black that means nothing,
Space
And a planet revolving
Repeating.
Revolving.
Repeating.
Revolve.
Repeat.
Then end.

Dream sequences
Made up of random patterns
So many faces
The rhythm of many heartbeats
So many minds
So many thoughts- conscious or sub-conscious
What is their origin?
Only source from within us?
Maybe thoughts are planted
While we are asleep
Played to us like a dream film
Some we remember
Others we forget
Yet, they may be residing somewhere
Where do lost dreams go?
Or, maybe it’s not meant for us
Expunged from our subconscious
Our every move has a meaning
We may not know the origins
For all we know
Or actions are mirrored