A lot of modern poetry is too hard to understand,
it has become too complicated for the uninitiated or casual reader.
These poems are by an ordinary bloke, for ordinary folk. © Chris Daws
Sunday, 31 March 2013
Back to Thee
I do not fear the storm I see
nor wind nor rain nor tempest roar
no clinging bog nor falling tree
not since that fateful vow I swore
for golden light envelopes me
and guides me 'cross this blasted moor
and brings me safely back to thee
whom I will love for evermore.
Though twice a thousand miles may be
the distance 'twixt me and your door
my safe return is guaranteed
through bloody strife or civil war
For love will shield and armour me
'gainst any odds and tip the score
and bring me safely back to thee
whom I will love for evermore.
Perfection
A paragon is what you are
my mind's ideal in all you do
but I've no evidence at all,
so how can I get over you
I don't know if you snore in bed
or slurp your coffee from the cup,
re-use yesterday's plate instead
of getting on with washing up.
And are you all that you appear
you look the best a girl could be
How much of that is artifice
or haute couture and corsetry
For all I know is what I see
An angel sitting on a cloud
You are the perfect one for me
I think, but never say out loud.
So all the questions will remain
and all the boxes stay unticked
Reality will never stain
my perfect bubble left unpricked.
Monday, 25 March 2013
Sad Happy
This morning I awoke to find you gone
and only silence answering my call
A letter on the dresser starts 'Dear John'
and ends up screwed up in a little ball.
Your closet is as empty as my heart
your car is gone, a lonely space remains
The things we planned to do we'll never start
there is no 'We' no 'Us' no rings no chains.
No chains, no plans you made to be my wife
No fitting in with what you want me to
I'll live the way I want to live my life
and you can live yours as you want to, too.
This is the best gift you have given me
a way to live my life and to be free.
Saturday, 23 March 2013
Travelling Man
Getting 'long the road just as best as I can
Singing my life and the life that I've known
Singing and walking on my own.
I once had a job but I didn't like it
doin' the same thing every day
had to move on just to save my life. It
was just movin' on not runnin' away.
I once had a house in western wherever
Just can't remember the name of the town
Everything sweet 'till I couldn't make the payments
Each life has an arc and mine's pointing down.
I'm a long time,slow time, travellin' man
Getting 'long the road just as best as I can
Singing my life and the life that I've known
Singing and walking on my own.
I once had a wife, to be with forever
Sweet as a cane stalk and fresh as the dew
She left me behind because she was too clever
to live the life that I brought her to.
I once had a daughter to hug me and love me
My daughter has gone now, much to my shame.
My wife took her with her when she up and left me
and now I can't even remember her name.
I'm a long time,slow time, travellin' man
Getting 'long the road just as best as I can
Singing my life and the life that I've known
Singing and walking on my own.
Friday, 22 March 2013
Four Seasons
I loved you in the spring
and in the summer too.
But autumn brought a chill
By winter we were through.
But we planted in the spring
and what we planted grew
Our children are our crop
the best of me and you.
Thursday, 21 March 2013
A Metaphor
At night, deep in the arms of Morpheus
I dream once more of seagulls and the sea
I dream that I might soar, victorious
My dream a metaphor for being free.
I dream my arms are wings of purest white
that stretch to feel the currents of the air
I soar, a paragon of purest flight,
a physical embodiment of prayer.
A prayer I make for every waking day
I spend imprisoned in this broken shell.
I pray for angels to take me away
My broken body my personal hell.
I dream once more of seagulls and the sea
A dream, a metaphor for being free
I dream once more of seagulls and the sea
I dream that I might soar, victorious
My dream a metaphor for being free.
I dream my arms are wings of purest white
that stretch to feel the currents of the air
I soar, a paragon of purest flight,
a physical embodiment of prayer.
A prayer I make for every waking day
I spend imprisoned in this broken shell.
I pray for angels to take me away
My broken body my personal hell.
I dream once more of seagulls and the sea
A dream, a metaphor for being free
A Virus
My eyes are red and sore
My nose don't work no more
My throat is rough and raw
I got a virus.
I'm sore, my body aches
My legs have got the shakes
A bug is all it takes
I got a virus
With aching in my head
I'm going back to bed.
I wish that I was dead
I got a virus
Tuesday, 19 March 2013
Sunday, 17 March 2013
Daylight Saving
In Spring the clocks spring forward just one hour
and two o'clock is three o'clock in fact
But you won't feel the cost
of sixty minutes lost
unless you're late for work and you get sacked.
In Autumn clocks go back as time goes on
Two in the morning turns back into one
An extra hour in bed
but not inside my head
and so I wake before I should have done.
Cannot

You will not change so I will have to leave
The way things are I have no other choice
I cannot trust you, nor can I believe
a word you say, I really hate your voice.
That tone you take each time you tell a lie
I hear it and I know that what comes next
will shame the devil, make the angels cry
dishonesty that leaves me quite perplexed.
They say a Leopard cannot change its spots,
or will not, which I think applies to you.
But all your lies have tied your life in knots
incapable of knowing what is true.
You say you love me, just another lie.
You hate me that's why I must say goodbye.
Tuesday, 12 March 2013
A Vision, Out of Reach
Last night you were a goddess of
guitar and microphone
On show, on stage, untouchable
fine pitch and perfect tone
You sang your soulful songs as if
you sang to me alone
An angel singing songs of life unknown.
On stage you are ethereal
a vision, out of reach
In town you are invisible
a sand grain on the beach
And though we mortal men may dream
of reaching for a star
We'll never realise how near you are.
For all you want is normal from
a normal sort of chap
You sing your songs in heaven but
you know that it's a trap
A lovely cage is still a cage
and all you want to be
is free,
and all you want to be is free.
Monday, 11 March 2013
Bows
When sun shines on a rainy day
the sky brings forth a Rainbow.
When freezing weather brings the snow
why don't we get a Snowbow?
I send these words
My first thought as I wake, it is of you
My last thought too as I slide into sleep
And you are in my mind the whole day through
and in my dreams your company I keep.
Where e'er I go your lovely face I see
The music of your voice is in my ears
Your touch and taste and scent I take with me
Your beauty I'll retain through all the years.
I write these words to show you how I feel
but every word I choose marks me a fool
Though rhymes and verse are crafted as from steel
my poesy's a poor and blunted tool.
So though I can't compose my love for you
I'll send these words and hope that they will do.
Sunday, 10 March 2013
A Lonely Beach
I stand upon a lonely beach
no other footprints mark the sand.
A thousand miles of ocean fails
to raise a wave to wash this strand.
No wind to move the Marram grass
that anchors silent dunes in place.
Signs say no vehicle may pass
and so disturb this holy place.
No Seagull scream, no Fulmar cry
no other living creature's sound
disturbs the peace of sea and sky
and silence wraps the beach around.
The sun itself shines silently
and when its daily race is run
sinks softly down into the sea
as quietly its job is done.
I stand upon a lonely beach
I stand there through a lonely day
Then having learned all it could teach
I turn my back and walk away.
Seagulls and The Sea
I want to wake to sounds of sea and seagulls
To rise and splash cold water on my face
I want to breakfast on fresh bread and honey
to live a life at peace in peaceful place.
I want to walk the cliffs and coasts of Erin
see froth and spume crash home on ancient rocks
be miles and years from anything that's modern
and live free from the tyranny of clocks.
But clocks are what will wake me in the morning
Quick shower, shave, then breakfast on the run
To sit all day and work at my computer
then home again when working day is done.
To dream once more of seagulls and the sea.
To dream of living my life just for me.
Thursday, 7 March 2013
Reality is
Is the world still there when I can't see it
when fog comes down and rooftops disappear.
When hidden by the rain
does anything remain
or is existence just a mad idea?
And if it goes away when I'm not looking
why when it all comes back is it the same.
Who moves it here and yon,
where is it when it's gone
and if it all goes wrong then who's to blame?
The answer to all this is just my theory
and most philosophers will disagree.
But I have an idea
that they all think is queer.
Reality is only what I see.
Sunday, 3 March 2013
Philosophy - Failed
That tree that falls and makes no noise
In sylvan halls alone, enjoys
its brief fifteen minutes of fame
and then won't make 'no noise' again.
Philosophers and thinkers who
try to explain why two plus two
may not always add up to four
will say that once you pass a door
that door may not be passed again
for each link in a causal chain
when passed, at once will cease to be
collapsing into history.
So when we see that door once more
it's not the door we saw before
and any similarity
is purely consanguinity.
But back to trees that make no sound
when crashing lonely to the ground
the crux or pivot seems to be
the presence of someone like me.
For though they may disturb the air
there's no noise if no ear is there
to turn compression into sound
and so the answer I have found
is... Solitary falling trees
are only heard if someone sees!
Friday, 1 March 2013
Your Mind's Eye
You do your best, the best you can,
and put it down in rhyme and scan
and it's your child, child of your heart
and what the artist says is art,
IS art.
And would you put your child on view
to feel opinions fall on you
about her nose, her eyes her hair
the way she walks, and would you care?
You'd care.
So if you publish your own verse
be ready for critics, or worse
some idiot who is not you
and cannot feel the way you do
to tell you that you're doing it wrong
and that last line is three syllables too long
or rhythm sucks and rhyme is dead
and you are twisted in your head.
Just carry on, for what you do
is art, if 'artist' describes you.
Whatever the critics say
and at the end of any day
you only have to satisfy
who looks out of your mind's eye.
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