Ripples Repeating – (old post)

Trump at helm

who would of thought

the days are back

of when hate was taught.


Religion hijacked

the irony is there

the source of all knowledge

now the route of all despair.


Wars being waged

in some hopeless engage

and all to be accomplished

another blood soaked page.


The history warnings

were there  all along

we just chose to hit repeat

and replay the same sad song.

Copyright © 2018 Charlie Hasler.

Connected – (old post)

I did not turn out the man I would hope I would be, 

Not as brave or broad chested as some would think, 

Can’t handle the basics or connect the link

Rage my fall-back position of choice, 

Trembling voice, sweated tears,

Cowering boy hiding in shadows of memory fears, broken years,

Lost, I wander from one day to new.

Lives and loves pulled to the depths with me, 

Head-locked down I take them deep

Down to the pits where my nightmares creep, 

Down, down, down, darkness drowns,

To a place where banshee`s wale, a repeated story, repeated tale.

Always the dancing tear eyed clown, absent the tears, absent the frown,

Further down into the drown, 

I take them all.

The stage is lit and burning bright

Crowds of selective vision, selective sight, 

All with their own worries, personal plight,

No more answers, 

All ears dumb to my screams,

Muffled claps, broken dreams,

Again, the curtain  falls.

I feel nothing, an empty hollow void,

Hell bent destruction spat life destroyed

Not a flicker of love, not a flicker of care, 

Empty heart, thousand yard stare. 

With a bull dust kicking pant,

Trembling rambling poison tongue tipped rant,

Feelings disregarded cast to dirt from spit,  pick up your feelings from between the grit

Together we sit, in this hell cursed mind raped pit,


We all but are.


Copyright © 2018 Charlie Hasler.

Promised A Diamond, Given A Spade – (old post)

Richest divide back-dropped against poorest side,
Poorest side losing to society’s advancing,
Advancing credit tide.

Credit given hand over fist
Then cracked back by cracking whips,
Whips bought and paid,
People offered short lived diamonds that fade.
Promised a diamond, given a spade.

Spades dig only down,
Down further into sticky mud
Created by this credit flood.

People dig with breaking backs
Dig at the man’s tax dodging tracks,
Derail this train on these inequality tracks
Take off the straw from these camels backs.

No more turning of perfumed cheeks
Or looking down past judging beaks,
People need help to stand,
A caring pull, a gentle hand.


Copyright © 2018 Charlie Hasler

OCD, Anxiety, Depression, and other reasons I am not an Astronaut: Part Deux.


So now it is 2018 and the worst of all of the above is behind me. I am still not an Astronaut, but I feel that the more mental the world around me turns the less mental I feel.

Gone are the days when I felt a great deal of irritation around this whole “mental health awareness” thing, I felt very annoyed when I saw slogans like “its ok not to be ok” no, you mean “society and Instagram have determined through a series of hollow quotes that now it is ok for everyone else to be ok with your mental health problems”. The stigma is still there though, I remember when I used to wrap my hands with plasters in front of the full view of people I work with because I washed my hands so much they cracked and bled. In some cases, that was met with strange looks. I am not surprised, it was mental. But, I felt like saying “this is what my mental health problems are, it’s not all pictures of sunsets or someone doing push ups and being triumphant with a dreadful hollow quote underneath which are mainly always posted on Instagram on a Sunday when everyone is bored or hung over and all of a sudden feels deep” ….or something along those lines. People who don’t understand mental health I think on the whole have limits to their acceptance and accept it when it is not in their line of sight.  I may be being unfair but it stirs passion in me. Mental health is very fashionable these days, or the idea of acceptance surrounding it is. If it helps people then fine but I find some of it a bit hollow. I am probably bitter because when I was growing up mental health was a dirty secret and then all of a sudden someone printed an article in vogue or something and everyone now is very much “let’s have a chat about it” ever since. (I have just noticed how I started this paragraph Gone are the days when I felt a great deal of irritation… fact no, those days are not gone. It still grinds my gears. Moving on.

I am still not perfect. I have a resigned feeling that I never will be. I am still pretty selfish and impatient. I don’t tell my fiancé I love her enough, nor do I take much interest in what she has to say sometimes when I am tired or too wrapped up in myself. But, I am working on it. I am work in progress to my core, like many others, I will get there, wherever there is?

What else?

I need to get fit again, for my mind mainly. I would be lying if I said being fit wasn’t a great feeling. At the moment aesthetically, I feel like a crap version of myself 5 years ago.

Still writing the poetry in the background, second book coming out soon April / May. Looking forward to Spring to get back out in the garden. I am very rock n roll like that and it is the high adrenaline rush I get when gardening that keeps me coming back for more.


That’s it for now.



Crow Scared – (old post)

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 is quiet as silence is still,

Slowed heart, hushed shrill,


I reclaim what pieces I can.



Copyright © 2018 Charlie Hasler.

Lonely Whisper – (old post)

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 © 2018 Charlie Hasler.

Hates Self Reflection – (old post)

Those vicious insults bounce right back

the burden of guilt is yours to carry

on your own bitter twisted back.

I hope those bricks are heavy

way you down

you are the cause of your own

wretched frown.

Your cold stare makes me feel warm

your coldness only makes you wither

against your own internal storm.

I wonder what you see

when the shadows come

a sad face of a mother

once proud to call you son.

The bully you are

kind you are not

awaits for you a lonely grave

in a dark solemn spot.

And when you look in the mirror

what do you see

not a kind reflection

like the one looking back at me.



Copyright © 2018 Charie Hasler.


Finding The Pace – (old post)

It is not always the winning that wins the race,

More the finding, understanding ones pace.

Lungs will burn, legs will seize, 

Ankles will twist, knuckles will freeze,

Eyes will stream and flow.


Not everybody’s race is there to be won,

It is there to be run, it is there to be done,

Along the winding upwards track, 

The rain in your face,

The sun at your back.


Even on the hardest course,

You must find your strength, your driving force.

The sun can sit a pin prick upon a dream, 

No warming glow, no guiding beam,

Rising only, to taunt and dazzle the way.


When you find your pace, 

With iron lungs and windswept face,

Pounding, the track will become your own.

No curb side jump, nor side wind thump,

Will knock you out of line.


Welcome the hills, the hardest track,

The dying sun sinking against your back.

Welcome the cutting of sleet and ice cold rain,

The weeping sores, the blinding pain.

Broken, is only to stop, to allow the fall, allow the drop.

Winning, is to simply carry on.



Copyright © 2018 Charlie Hasler.

Pink Skied City – (old post)

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 © 2018 Charlie Hasler.