I’ve awaken beside my world today
oceans swelled in her eyes
and I imagine two lovers
on a hill running through
hellish pleasure / pleasureful hell.
and then the egg cracked
as the hawk swooped
to eat the last remains
of the broekn hearts:
buzzards began to circle
above the resting lovers
unaware of death’s intent.
but then again, death’s
at no loss for occasions.
– Chris George
March 1982
one night you’re there
there is no answer to where you came from
hiding in my mind so long and then like
Athena bursting apon my head
you stretch, sigh — and change the sheets
you had given all your love as you sank
onto the mattress — the body heat buring
the stale air of the room
can I breathe?
what are you doing
hiding away in those covers when
I am annoyed?
do you think you can live that way?
I am less than… what I am… to you
so turn, squirm, and groan for the one
who is not beside you, for there was no
name left by that creature that just
crawled out from under moments ago.
and in the dark of the night
when my side of the bed is cold
can you deny that you will find somebody
to fill that space?
– Chris George
March 1982
and you will find somebody else
see the open coffin
ready for you.
It remains the last element
in the relationship
hit the wall:
wake in a cold sweat!
let the music blare!
because the grave
will remain for you
until the end
and everyone will need to be comforted
when you find someone else
– Chris George
March 1982
– Chris George
February 1981
I simply want to live again
To feel my life, feel my breaths
Feel the aches and pains
The draws of my breath
Every fiber of my being
Of the space I occupy and
All the space that is around me
In this overbearing world.
This large, unfathomable, hungry world
In which I am but one being
Scrapping, crawling from day to day
To make something of my existence
I want to make something of my existence
I want to crawl, walk and live again
To step forward as if the stride matters
And again play the role as I had learned it.
– Chris George
where has my horse gone?
that carried me into the fog of the downs
where swords rang and cries of anguish
could be heard and prayed for.
where are those beasts of ambitions
which rode the reins of time?
mine has fallen from underneath me
and I feel so vulnerable on my own two feet.
– Chris George
was it my father’s son
who threw in the towel?
was it he who cried
lonely, naked, stripped of
courage, his strength
his pride, his principles, his name?
seriously, hang it up.
if it is always
on your mind.
It’s doing no one
else any good
to watch you suffer.
– Chris George
1980
She hung onto my sleeve
allowing her tears to fall onto my jacket
(I suppose it is a small price to pay for this cruel reality)
I could sense she knew the ways of lovers
and the way lovers smile
and how they say hello and how they will whisper goodbye.
As she struggled to find some comfort
her lips rested on my wet shoulder
and there were a few mumbled words
a tug of my arm and her hand on mine
and I allowed her fingers to find my palm.
(It was a simple gesture of kindness)
I consciously stiffened as I began to clear my throat.
– Chris George
August 1981
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
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
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
the music could be heard
the solemn count of the funeral procession
as it winds down the corridors of my mind
and halts
the methodic downbeat comes to a rest
when the coffin appears — lid raised
white, stone cold you look into her eyes
and exchange the stares of her past
and your future amongst the white roses
the march continues with all eyes
piercing your moulded form
as it is being carried away —
she remains all smiles beneath the tears
that have so innocently wet her cheeks.
She is all that remains of the parade;
a Cleopatra, Deliah, Lady Macbeth.
… the tears of joy which fllod the anxiety
the curve of her lips which released the sorrow
and not it has ended with this march and
me knowing that someone is glad that I am dead.
– Chris George
1981
the whirlwind of life is all around yet many find life cannot be found
– Chris George
October 1979
Every man must eventually run up against an Uncumber
Whether he lives to love or loves to live.
Only let him prey to the saints
that his beard be longer and whiter
(so that he is able to see pass the hair).
Say it’s so Robertson…
– Chris George
January 1981
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
Do not walk ahead of me
I will not follow
Do not walk behind me
I refuse to lead
But walk beside me and
be my friend and, perhaps,
something more may come
of our journey.
– Chris George
January 1981
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
Its an end to our graveyard romance – or –
(I always knew there would be a larger part of me that would never want to leave this playful deathbed)
I was in the front seat
feeling my dreams die,
fading into the cold grey mist
that had settled on my life.
with my ripened heart
I watched myself drain
of love and life
my fingers white hard
on the dashboard
head pressed against the windshield
peering to see through
the dark haze
and heavy silence
and I could only make out stone cold
oppressing jagged teeth
posing as dark silhouettes
against the shadowy skyline
The trees were weeping for us
burdened branches touched the earth
and lady night herself wailed
of the solemn hopelessness
of our affair
I sighted my end
in the mirror of her eyes
Circe was channelling my lust
with her wanton beauty
and her presence comforted me
until I realized that you were stone cold
I was caught in an imaginary embrace
that meant not a thing for my fate
the lane leading out of the yard
was long and winding
the car lights hit each tombstone
and reflected an unwelcomed truth
The car itself seemed to be lifted,
ferried out of the darkness and
the spectators sat silent, mere spectators,
to the last rites.
Finally, I could see the gates
through the tears and her sighs
the light shone upon rod iron rails
And we passed by in my Father’s black sedan
our bodies stiff and cold
In the end I will never forget
I could hear the procession music
ever so faintly escaping her lips
as she hummed The Who and something about
you better bet your life.
– Chris George
September 1980
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
I know unconditional love
I feel the desire of belonging,
the happiness that I am here
I know my reason for being
I see it in my wife’s gaze
and in two energetic boys
who want nothing but to please
as I do
– Chris George
2005