Tag Archives: poetry

my ribs ring

my ribs ring as your truths pound and then sear

like hot irons on open flesh wounds;

your words drive me back against the wall

hopelessly grabbing at my entrails, that you have

so nicely carved up for our consumption.

And no doubt you will find me from

the trail of vomit that reveals I was

unable to keep my secrets down.

Now, as I kneel in my own bile

I can’t help thinking that

this is what I deserved; and

I make a note to remember to thank you

once I gather up what’s left of me.

 

– Chris George 

April 1981  

Autopsy

aren’t you melodramatic

a shish kebab meant for royalty

sausages for the public

one man’s meat…

and then the convenient martyred victim searching for pathos in a world made for Oedipus as the essence of your life slips from your control and time slides pass the allotment of chance

allowing the impetus to drain, the dreams to fade and the self pity to devour the ill fortunes of your half-baked hell, like a buzzard tears at a skunk that has been hit by mankind some two hours earlier while crossing the yellow line of his life

self inflicted pain

escorting experiences

just a numbing sensation

in a cool breeze

 

– Chris George  

January 1981 

the dream of a writer

can anyone anywhere reveal the dream of a writer

he who is endlessly searching

relentlessly attempting, inevitably failing

better to ask whether you could capture the light of providence

and project that ray so that others

may bask in its glorious reflections

 

– Chris George

October 1979   

Enjoy Life ( a redux)

Enjoy life while you can – enjoy each moment

Take in all experiences as they come

For it is all fleeting and will not last

 

The moments just disappear – without notice

slip into some hidden spot behind you

and are lost in the darkness of time past.

 

– Chris George

Originally August 1980; revised 2020  

Hero

the pale green grasses stood knee high

the tin god rode into the field on his

wooden horse

 

he showed no spirit but strained his eyes

in his restless and annoyed manner

the sun shone high in the cloudless sky

and the heat could be felt under his worn coat

decorated with his red and blue medals,

ribbons, and pins which hung heavily as

accomplishments of his past battles

 

he smiled as he pulled on the bit of Xeelo

because he knew no one would enter this pasture

hidden behind Mount Parnassos in this hot valley

His dismount was stiff and stately

the tin clanked against the stirrups

sending the birds reeling to the treetops:

 

a fanfare for his efforts.

 

he saw in the treetops the mountain’s shadows

and saw the glade where he had eaten goat

and rice the day before over a brazier

Janos had comforted him and given him

the new directions and his new coat of mail

they fitted light on his shoulders and

were comfortable when out of the sunlight

 

this he concluded as he squatted in the grass.

 

Janos is serious but then

he is sure to be laughing at the sight

and welcoming this god to rest in any oven

 

being neither iceberg nor island but rather tin

planting a flagless pole next to his horse

the Hero relieves himself before anybody comes.

 

– Chris George 

1981/82 

untitled (burning hard and fast)

burning hard and fast

charcoaled remains

purposely skewered

upon the cross

through my entrails

so all may see the

blood delivered

 

I hang

on the point

musing the world

which passes beneath me

as my life

drops cold and red

into a draining sea

 

the tide rolls out

decayed dreams dead

the cross upon the hill

has fallen (or perhaps never there?)

my life carried away

leaving just my mind

to sift the sand.

 

– Chris George 

1981/82 

 

To Lisa

Let’s make that promise to go hand-in-hand down this road

 

roads that lead into horizons

dirt, loose gravel laying the way

straight into unknowns before us

and we are running (at times,

bent over with laughter)

anxious to move along our path

kicking at the stones to make a mark

 

deep breaths of the warm air

fill our lungs – we are content

hand-in-hand, a pull and playful tug

eyes fixed on the point ahead

where the road becomes grayish-green

and disappears into the clouds

— just like our days,

always unfolding…

we run, kick stones, and laugh

for we recognize we are together

 

companions in life’s journey

 

– Chris George

2004 

A Wedding Vow

We built our love on rock

friendship as the foundation

honesty, the mortar;

and each and every day

we lay one of life’s bricks

completing our loving home.

 

Our joys and pleasures,

our trials and hardships

find shape in its facade;

our caring and yearnings,

our encounters and sharing

find expression in its rooms.

 

We built our love on rock

finding comfort in our home.

 

– Chris George 

August 1995 

My Life’s Valentine

He said, “This is my new flame” to which I exclaimed, “This is my forest fire.”

For is it not evident that we are star-crossed lovers

lighting paths for unfolded tomorrows;

hurling balls of fire, emblazing a cold, dark space.

We have found happiness in each other’s arms;

strength in each other’s presence,

It’s an inferno of love

for now, and to burn forever more.

 

– Chris George

February 14, 1993   

All wound up like a toy soldier

You’ve got me all wound up

like a toy soldier who has a war

to go to on the other side of the room

my legs are kicking out in tune to

the mechanical “click” of my heartbeat

and I’m yelling a string of profanities

to my general as I continue to fight

the lounge chair which I’ve ran up against.

 

– Chris George 

November 1981  

By the sound of the trumpet

by the sound of the trumpet

I find myself dashing off again

lost in the bloody field of romance

but with one difference

 

this battle is being fought at noon

and the maiden that awaits my return

does so in a lighted chamber where

the candles illuminate from her locks

a welcoming sunshine that comforts

battle-wearied, blood stained souls.

 

so I’ve dashed off with you in mind

can’t you hear the trumpets blare my

battlecry

 

– Chris George 

November 1981  

As a wave

As a wave that

rolls silently

heightening rhythmically

then swelling with a fury

to fly and crash

upon the rocky shoreline

that awaits it,

I’ve been completed

when we come together

when we are one.

 

– Chris George 

June 1980  

 

 

Repeat Performances

I don’t ever remember auditioning

but I cross the stage and lights fade to dim

the audience hushes to catch this melodrama

and I feel all eyes are staring through my performance

 

I bring out the jokers, the fools

the bastard, the bitch

they strut, scream

crawl

beg

and eventually cry forgiveness

 

and it is all replaying itself

on stage after stage

in a car, in a room,

on the street corner

same lines, same roles

 

– Chris George 

December 1981  

Our morning coffee

Somewhere in the grinds that have settled at the bottom of my cup

is the answer as to how I’m to say “I lust you”

And, as I savour that last sweet drop of my morning java

it comes to me that neither of us enjoys bitter grinds

 

So in an off-handed way, as I reach for the coffeepot

I turn towards your gaze looking back so damn serious,

sitting so still at the table next to me, and I attempt

to place a smile on your deserving lips by stammering

 

I love you

 

– Chris George  

Perhaps my refuge from the storm

I have been deluged by the ceaseless stormwaters

stripped of all strength, raped of any sense of value

and then you enter from the rain, heralded by the thunderclaps

and you stand before me as a beacon, and perhaps my refuge

 

Please take me in to your shelter, allow my senses to crystalize

rebuild to some new form, a resemblance of someone recognizable

for I am weary of the cold reality pummelling the pavement

and would rather embrace, close my eyes and cry into your damp hair

 

– Chris George