A summer escape read?
What is there to escape from?
The world or system or planetary orbit,
Or the sky at night,
Or the orange grove?
Life is more than Lipstick Rock& Roll.
It a grinding, hollowing out existence.
With a rule book made up
On the hoof.
Worse in one horse towns too.
Where sidewalk clatter drowns out the din
Of exasperation with your attempts
At eking out, and fitting in.
Your inner voice is never silent.
Team player in real life?
But again no one has picked you.
So how will that work?
Where is the world of contentment?
Where in this world is respite to be found?
How many of us drain a vein, are bled?
Where is there a place of concealment,
When we all live in our head?
This is no Philosophical cause,
Diving into a pool of freshly spilled blood.
An on looker asks "who were they"?
Another questions "Will they ever be gone from us"?
Unlikely on this planet.
Someone distant answers with,
"I know, sticky mothers ain't they?"
© 2020 Christopher Thompson
All rights reserved
This is me at home thinking about some ideas. Honestly.
The Solus Draft.
Here is a time critical approach to poetic composition. The idea of speed writing is not new. As this is not short poetry, the length of a composition is irrelevant. The time taken to the set down the Solus Draft to publishing on the web site is the goal. There must be no revision after publication. The piece should stand as complete in the stated time frame.
This is my attempt at writing poetry in a time efficient way with recorded information made available on completion of a piece.
The recorded information is:-
- Copyrighted date.
- Place of composition/writing.
- Start time inc time zone.
- Completion time inc. time zone.
Should a piece ever be subjected to the riggers of hermeneutic analysis this information will be available to the analysist.
Turns out to be
Only a work in process,
Will Winter always follow the Fall?
Or is it all a matter of perspective?
So where is the Fall in the Deserts?
Macro or Micro
Steady Timescape or Expansionist?
Singularity or Heaven?
Ghost, God or Chance?
Who is helping with these enquiries?
© 2018 Christopher Thompson Written in England Rush Poem, (Fast Press) Started 01-08-18 @ 7.04pm Done @ 7.17pm.GMT
Then I was deceived
When the black veil
The darkness of death
Descended to receive me.
Then I saw not the tunnel
With the hand of welcome
I was not at the edge of paradise.
Then I did not dream.
The absence was total.
A void to be avoided
A place of no recollection
I had ventured in error.
Too early, perhaps.
Then I was not dead.
Hello God is back.
© 2014-18 Christopher Thompson
All Right Reserved