See Hear

See here young man.
I know you will not be listening,
You imagine your good times will go on
As if  forever, forever.
Especially as your body
Has matured a little.

Peer inside yourself.
Do you see any seed?
Therein is much delight.
You feel indestructible,
Adventurous,
Your skill endures.

Now see here,
The young man is gone, no one is home,
The days end draws in
Ever closer.
Now this corpus of yours
Becomes your dungeon.

Peer in.
Do you see any soul?
But wherein there is no light.
You are indeed combustive,
Carboniferous, uplifted and slowly
Your skull empties.
Christopher Thompson “Early Morning Self Portrait – Unselfish Selfie”
©2020 Christopher Thompson All rights reserved.

Flower Box in Springtime

Springtime in Buckland Brewer Devon

Picture ©2020 Christopher Thompson All rights reserved

There is a tree at the bottom of the garden of the house I live in. Around the base are these flowers, and this small box. Last summer when we came here it was mid summer and the undergrowth hide the box from view. Today was sunny in Devon and I cut the lawn for the first time this year. This little scene caught my eye and so I shot this picture on an iPhone SE.

Chris T.

Two to the Power

Human love.
Of all matters that are human,
The substance of living is love.
Is it in residence?
Not too sure?
Then look into your heart.
If you find someone,
Someone special
Who is not you,
You are alive, because you have love.
This is the hidden figure of life.
It is not in X or Y,
It is to the power of two.
It  is within your shell,
Inhabiting
At the source of the mind.
The source of you.
©️2019-20 Christopher Thompson
All rights reserved.

Nightjars

Nightjar (female)
Caprimulgus europaeus
Hawking from amongst the shadows of dusk,
In flight come the Nightjars.
A sky heard, headed for the pine crops.
Falling to the wilderness, grounded 
To make ready for nesting.
Hiding, naturally.

©2020 Christopher Thompson.
 All rights reserved.
Nightjar (male)

Was I? (Am I Not Twenty Three Forever)

And if 
I am tired,
With aching bone or tightening sinew.
Or dogged at night
With a witch of love.
Or because of some distant love, 
Find I am lonely.
Then once again my arms are out,
I am on  fire screaming, 
Whenever I am told, 
I am old.

©2020 Christopher Thompson
All rights reserved

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ERROR… LOST COMPOSITION

Yesterday I learned a valuable lesson with this blog. Lately, well for nearly 12 months I have taken to writing directly to the blog. I depended on the auto save. Mistake! Something happened and the work was not saved as a draft. Ooops… So the lesson is perhaps to write old school, pen to paper in note book, or use another medium and copy and paste to blog.