Palfrey Park DH 1965

Which is the way to Palfrey Park? I used to know,

I used to go.

And under all weather conditions. Two by two we marched, under the watchful Kellys’ eye. Comb over and all. Boys for the football, no change, no kit. Our Football Boots were all that we needed.

On green grassy field we played the game. In that urban park, planted in the middle of nowhere. We were about nine years old.

Once when walking I heard my first shaggy dog story, told by my marching partner, Adrian Tams. It involves a mouse and a two tone white number seventeen London Transport double decker bus. I listened and remembered the whole story, for all the twenty one minutes it took to tell.

Adrian was killed nine years later, crushed under his car whilst fixing a fault, when it collapsed off the jack.

Copyright 2020 Christopher Thompson.

All rights reserved.


This is me at home thinking about some ideas. Honestly.

Rush Poetry; Fast To Publish

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:-

  1. Copyrighted date.
  2. Place of composition/writing.
  3. Start time inc time zone.
  4. 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.



If evolution 
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?

Clever Chemicals,
Bright Sparks,
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 Cardiac Arrested.

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
Beckoning, urging,
I was not at the edge of paradise.
Then I did not dream.
The absence was total.
A void to be avoided
Blackness unseen.
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

Cannock England

Love, there is no Bell.

It is an open contest
This life of love,
In which we are all contenders.

We have been in training for this.
Yet in a sense we are all cheated.
Never to be content.

If life is meant to be manoeuvres
In a dark square ring,
Then we are truly contestants of the heart.

We are all vulnerabilities too
We seek to give, yet are
All too often taken.

Love is a circle of truth,
With dark corners
To avoid.

Christopher Thompson.

Across the Moat of Time

Philip Oliver Sopher,

The name rings of something.

It conjures an image bronzed,

An object with flare, perhaps?

Solid, vibrating, compressing.

A heavy subject.


Experienced, exploratory, explaining?

The ways of the world in person.

How, when and which as tri-stars.

More unholy Trinity’s.

Reasons to be yet understood, unseperate.

Mere constituents of the live dimension.

Morphology oddly landscaped by

The prosecution and procession of the moment.

Time and Life being singular

Are locked at the horns.

We are therefore left with a simple single gesture,

A right angled shudder towards the windowsill

From which we look across the moat of time,

It is our last attempt to see above ourselves.

If we are twisters of fate, who are failing in our description of the totality of all that is in existence,

Then it falls to us to face the inner truth.

What good is Humankind?

The Why Element and the Particle are illusive

As is the attainment of the Ideal State.

It is good which is love, which holds the inner truth.

Not what good is love?

It may well be that love is the essential particle

Charged with love.


Now that rings a Bell.

(c) 2018 Christopher Thompson

All rights reserved.

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