Lonely Whisper

Drifting we do from early bud, to all but ash and ground

Happiness is a lonely whisper,

Amongst this bustling crowd.

Snap of fingers echo’s, from a hindsight setting hand,

Dreams sit behind the cusp of yesterday’s forgotten,

More lay waiting, beyond tomorrows remembered land.


Moments of content are few, as flakes in the autumn snow,

All must be held with a rose clasp,

Better to whether the thorn, than wince, and regretful let them go.



Copyright © 2017 Charlie Hasler.


Early Curtain Hill

Soon now back the clocks will creek their light away,

Tired arms of two, only one will backwards sway, 

Stolen will be one hours, one hours of lightened day.

Time takes a giant step back, lowers the sun, tilts it`s blinding seasons cap.

Blinded now the sun sits always low to curse the driving eyes,

No longer sat on walls of warming weather skies.

Clocks pull down the day like a shutter door, 

Light comes crashing down on the soon to be frozen floor.

All closed now, all closed,  weeping eyes, dripping nose.

All faded now the olive and chestnut skin shine few,

Grey eyes ringed and stare the wet washing in.

Lined stretch under the sodden miss timed weight.

Wind blows the smalls across the neighbours creaking gate.

Mr Time the watch watcher of always watching and wearing way,

Sits alone in his house up on early curtain hill,

Down he now embraces the dark and turns up the winters chill.



Copyright © 2017 Charlie Hasler.





Autumn (a short poem)

I see the days of shorter light cupping the orange of blanket noon,

Across the humming hills of yesterday,

And the trees of the acorn dune.


The crackled flame flickered a phoenix,

A phoenix of blooming ruby glows,

Ash bowed out the summer, as autumn winged and rose.


A change is carried now on the ever cooling breeze,

Life begins to wilt and wallow,

Slips the clinging fingers of summer, now falls her widowed leafs.



Copyright © 2017 Charlie Hasler.




Mind Radio (edited version)

Turn down the volume,

It makes me want to scream out loud, while standing among-st this silent crowd.


No volume button at my discretion,

To sooth my thoughts or allow for a calmer expression.


My tortured look sliced across my face,

Like a man who once had a happier mind space.


Is this just me or can you hear it too? that painful laugh,

That devils shrill, that teases me like a twilight winter daffodil.


Let me hear your music for a while, so I may lie quiet and bare a smile,

Quiet and peace is all I long for, not this pounding in my brain nor that hammering on my minds door.


How I wish I could tune in like you, and whistle to the silence of my own free will.

I scramble for that invisible switch, to silence the cackle of this cackling mind Witch.


But you wouldn’t know, you have silence, try listening to these hell like sirens.

All clutter now, all clutter, help me stop the banging of this relentless mind shutter.


I look at your face but hear no words, I can’t hear you, I wish I could, then perhaps

We could talk and solve this riddle, of why my mind only plays this devils fiddle.



Copyright © 2017 Charlie Hasler.




Lemon Pepper

There is no more fat to chew,

No more the bitter taste nor choking gristle words to spew.

I sit more peaceful,

More peaceful I sit undisturbed,


Nose cut and spite grinds that tempered grid,

No kind to be found, nor gentle to be sourced from under that hollow lid.

All lemon pepper sucking and twisted vanity unfair,

Nothing is happening behind that vacant vacuous stare.


It was a cold heart that shifted my mood to one side,

How I sat there bare as the day I fell falling from my Mothers tide.

Now I find I walk that small rope tight and balanced alone,

Calm now the melody, that tunes my calmer tone.



Copyright © 2017 Charlie Hasler.

Softer Seeds

When I was a boy of my Fathers eye, 

Many strands and grey ago,

He walked the world with a softer step,

A softer step with me in tow.

This is how we did wander, 

And wander we did go.


When I was a lad of my Fathers hands,

Many yesterdays and seasons come,

I learned his words and wisdom,

Forgetting them as I did go.

How I still wander forgetful, 

Forgetting as I go.


When I was a man of more a lad,

With all my Fathers worry and woe,

I learnt life can be unforgiving,

Unforgiving from the seeds I did sow

And how I have been reaping,

Reaping as I go.


Now I am a man that has fell and fallen from my Fathers tree and apples eye,

I see the lessons he was teaching, teaching through clearest sky.

I wish I listened harder, pin pricked and ears true,

How I would be able to wander wiser, wander wiser a man I would go,

And how my seeds would be softer, 

Would be softer my seeds to sow.

Copyright © 2017 Charlie Hasler.

Pink Skied City

It is yet another bending breaking soon to be broken morning in this pink skied city.

Yesterday now as dead as the day before last,

Old suns have risen,

Old moons have passed.


Early cuffed and collard worm catchers all ruffled and already missing the nest hop from paving to slab.

These woken weary eyed few wander to where they are going all hurried and yet to arrive.

All pending their coffee. I-Phones already alight with all fingers blazing and smoking tips.

Heads down, on the move, no time.


Gulls finish what the drunk and dripping dregs discarded during yesterday’s darkest before the dawn morning.

The drunken dreary souls were all head down and guided by their takeaway compasses, now out and passed they lay in a dream of black and nothing. Regret sits on the end of their beds,

Desert mouthed, fizzing heads.


A one-legged pigeon wrestles a cigarette butt,

Sat next to the one-legged homeless man who wrestles the pigeon,

Only one thinks it is bread,

The other would smoke the bread.

This two-legged ball of forgotten flesh and frail feathers rolls down the soup gutters, washed away by a deluge of disapproving mutters.


A crumb few mice sized people all but fully mouse and yet to be cat shy,

Scurry out from their postcard stamp wallpaper mouse houses into this borrower world within a city.

Weighed down by their bursting backpacks of bind and bounded tree felled knowledge.

All amber in life eagerly awaiting the future green.


The goose stepping Traffic warden is up and already goosing and stepping the yellow lines.

His ink black pen as dry as a second-hand stick.


The coffee shops outnumber the coffee people.

They number more than all the grains of sand on every beach in all the world.

There is a person making coffee in an infinitive amount of coffee shops throughout an infinite amount of galaxies, however,

They are all here on this street.


The get and up and go runners are already up getting and going.

Laced up and clad in layers of lycra they attack the waiting to be concurred day,

Personal bests all set to be bested,

Back in time for a scientifically proven recovery drink,

Burn off the fat, push pass the brink.


Black block words on white wash boards assault the mind with reports of the first of the

days reports for us to mull over,

A handy helping of murder and macabre misery mind numbing news, before munching our

wholemeal high fibre fantastic fat-free sugar-free taste free buy one get one free everything

is free overpriced breakfast.


Tomorrow’s twilight dawn walk will be as uniquely the same as it is different.

Just another morning walk to work taking in the wonders of this pink skied city.



Copyright © 2017 Charlie Hasler.

Crow Scared

Scared as a crow I fear the always open field,

Armour ready, steady shield,


My march is glacier slow.


As hard is the rock and open the place,

Iron shoes, lactic lace,


My back is arched like a clock stuck at two.


Head cracked with ball and fist,

Frustration racing, mind blitzed,


My teeth grind the board with gritted chalk.


I rest my forehead against the clawed door,

Eyes shut, fingers sore,


I am weighed with anchored breath.


Tomorrow, always tomorrow,

Words hollow, tears follow,


My thoughts banshee the muted wall.


With all that is sudden the door closes, 

That man I know leaves, gliding shut on a gentle breeze,


Who knows when he will return.


Now all quiet as silence is still,

Slowed heart, hushed shrill,


I reclaim what pieces I can.



Copyright © 2017 Charlie Hasler.

I Rise (edited version)

Back to the crushing black deep,

Curtain shadow and starless black

Oil well swelled swirling black

Frost bitten dead toe black

Cruellest of cruel cursing soul black,

Crushing bastard black,

Rage thrashing sea.


Pass me the blade I will end this quick,

No more sinking from this sinking ship,

Leave the noose; pay the hangman’s tip,

Tie the boulders to this lead brick

I am jumping from this revolving ship,

Throw me no more lines.


Further into deaths cloak black I sink.

Further deep into the dead man’s drink,

Passed the unforgiving Jack Frost brink.

Heavy iron binds the chains that link,

That pulls me to floor.


Let me sink down further still,

To the black sacked cat sleeping drown

Seashell sounding whooshing drown

Dead patch eyed sipping sailor drown

And on milky-way grains,

Leave me to lie.


As I lay I look up through the black,

Tar beach sludge black

Oil glued winged bird black

Cancer lung black

Smoker’s death black,

Smoking black sea.


In the dark of my pitiful demise,

I look to the heavens at broken skies,

I see a pair of marble pendulums looking down at me.

Golden rich deep brown eyes,

Stab my heart with a lightning bolt jolt.


Eyes that hold with cobra stare,

Break down the dark, supply the air,

They lift my heart from its coal black pit,

Gives me the strength, supplies the grit,

And so from the grain I begin,

To rise.


Her hair of raging black flames,

Wild burning bright illuminates blackest night,

All hell takes flight, vineyard soil of blackest sight,

Blackest black hair.

Further still,

I rise.


A smile that would make the ungodly pray,

Singing hallelujah, armies of trumpets play

Pearl gates open to welcome coming day

I want to reclaim my soul I say,

And so furthermore,

I rise.


Passed the patch eyed sipping sailor,

Passed all the wing glued birds,

Passed Jack and his frosty brink

Passed the ships of past times sink,

And all the forgotten souls,

I rise.


And back to her arms I will always return

Back to her embrace her heavenly burn,

I will always find the strength through my sinking demise,

To swim up towards broken bluer skies to meet her loving arms,

And so always,

I shall rise.




Copyright © 2017 Charlie Hasler.