Author: Chris Goode

I walk past you everyday. I see you there with the same blank look. Face frozen in a glacial way. Eyes blank in what I can only describe as a thousand yard stare. You sit there. The world passing you by. It looks like you want to cry. A face like stone. All alone. What…

when I lived I was something like you a fleshly bundle of hungers and passions feverishly interrogating the big questions and not waiting for the answers now I’m the draught that moves the curtains and rattles blinds the slats of sunlight creeping over the carpet marking slow hours the shadow in the tail of your…

Surf crashing Waves thrashing. Fan corals waving The tide ebbing. The rip roaring Tropical storm brewing. Horizon darkening Lightening flashing. Thunder crashing Wind blasting. Sand smarting Rain lashing. Shutters rattling Trees bending. Leaves flying Patio furniture scratching. Animals and birds hiding Humans sheltering. Lights flickering Then deceasing. Heat sweltering Hours waiting. Sweating. Then sky brightening…

A country child of sanguine complexion and flame red hair dances through life  with cheerful expression. This sassy personality seeks mischief to share where the beauty of nature belies  the awfulness of city life. City kid, sallow skin, tired and bored Wearily rushing through life catching smells and toxic fumes Of rumbling traffic, suffers and…

See The Horse Head nebula With ears pricked and eyes Stolen from bright stars. He was born with gasses  coloured by the universe unseen by childlike eye reality that is mystery. Who rode this beast? Did it pull Helios’ chariot? Will it continue through  life’s spiral dragging forever behind it a hearse draped in the…

One life, live it. But which life? Which road? Which fork? Which path? Who guides? Who directs? It’s my life, let me go. Let me breathe. You wish to be like who? But that’s not you. You wish you were like him? Did you know his eyes are dim, His heart is weak, Is that…

Sagacious, rash, impetuous, Unforgiving or kind, Be we passionate, hot-tempered, Or glacially inclined, Our brains fill up with crap That we struggle to unwind.   Our thoughts become a trellis With our actions intertwined.   Reaction and response begin to map The geography of our inner world.   By arranging and ordering The wig becomes uncurled.   The kingdom…

TOUGHNESS 1 Being tough is easy (It’s being a poet that’s hard) Just say goodbye to friendship Put on your emotional armour Keep your feelings frozen Pretend you’re ambitious It’s a perfect deception You’ll be a hero But you’ll be stuck Yes, you’ll be admired Worshiped for your prowess You may even feel like a…

Its tough being a poet. As if we didn’t know it. A poet needs to be ambitious. Not easy on a Live Mic Night. Being in the blinding spotlight. The deception of appearing calmer. Than one really is. So may need a skin like armour. In case of the odd boo or hiss ! Not…

Contrary to report, I’m quite a sensitive guy, And yet I terrify folks without having to try – It drives away all future gladness And along with itching drives me into madness: Killing savagely isn’t my real vocation But Jurassic times lack proper medication – It’s a bum rap living before diazepam And the soporific…

She was incorrigible, beyond all redemption The worst nightmare of a student flat-share Always missing her turn to cook or clear the table Never offering to clean-up or make tea when she was able Too quick to take offence to pertinent advice well meant Always complaining that life was boring Her never-ending, tedious lament Not…

A lament Off to Scotland again, for the hills And the weather; leaving Edinburgh To its festival, escaping the arms of Glasgow: with its cultural cargo: The bird that never flew: I flew, but left  A large piece of my heart there, for ever!   We’re headed northeast, avoiding Glencoe.   We want to let go, have…

A song CHORUS      After midnight, The stars seem much brighter The streets are all quiet, There are no more queues After midnight, My Helga holds me tighter My big buxom baby, My beautiful muse There’s a song by Abba In the light of the moon Not ‘Abracadabra’ I remember the tune Gi’me, Gi’me, Gi’me A…

After midnight diamonds dance upon the sea Moonbeams show traces of humanity’s Thoughtless  ways with detritus left to rot Under the stars a solitary fox can be heard And from the street the odd swearword. And creeping  slowly an eerie silence descends The darkness seems threatening – to the unwary, beckoning  towards an unlit path…

Teacher-sized umbrella-beetles watched us Scurry up the neat path, their monstrous Fact-boulders of tomb-stone rain: howling, Thundering, giving us their pain; scowling, Tortured souls, forced to dance like Saint Vitus’; Leaving us to wade through their detritus.   The incessant tolling of the bell, The rank, farmyard smell of steaming wool Of cow and bull, soggy…