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.
No more searching inside the well of excuses, The well will always be full, The bucket will always be empty. Plenty, There always is, Plenty of time to waste, Until there isn't. Only hindsight, Forever hindsight, Forever waste. No risks, No trying, Only excuses, Always tomorrow. Comfortable tomorrow, Cozy as a sock, Warmed and woolen wool, Perched comfy, Fat cat comfy, Old lady winter comfy, Dying. Perched on this comfortable not so well and worried wall. Time stalks the blind, Always remembering, Ticking on. Listen close, Hear the tick and tock, Ticking and tocking, Time, Mine, Yours, Ours, Chiming the excuses away, Today. Excuses that line the hindsight wall, In regretful jars, Made forever by forever facing mirrors, Reflected Into the eternal void of, I, wish and had. Through hands and open fingers the heart and life slip back, Back to the stars, The repeating seed, The grain, The ended dust, Where the only three that matter exist; Before, Once, Never, Into the perpetual always yesterday, Now all rear views, And lumps in the throat. Copyright © 2018 Charlie Hasler
Up, after extra 4-minute lie in,
Extra butter, its Saturday,
Bring iPad in bathroom,
14 mins later,
Only play half of one song,
Clothes, scruffy wear, shop wear,
Not bothered how I look wear
Is so incredibly, mystifyingly, bothered.
Drive to food shop,
Slight weekend euphoria in the air,
Remember that thing that needs sorting,
Merry go round it starts to turn in my head,
Stress about thing,
Plan to do an easier thing.
Back to food shop drive,
Man, with yappy demanding dog,
Wait no, my mistake,
That’s his child, drinking an energy drink,
No doubt a potential future genius,
Or failing that,
Placed on the spectrum somewhere,
Early morning runner smashing #goals, coming in the opposite direction,
Incredibly depressed once, not anymore,
Arrive at shop,
Shop the for big shop,
Big Saturday shop,
Rock and roll.
Knows the isles of by heart,
Head for something over on that rack.
See man getting it in the ear,
From his darling
Oh dear, poor bloke,
I reckon he is called Nigel, looks like a Nigel, was a wild-eyed wanderer back in the day,
What day was that Nigel?
Don’t ask him, he can’t remember, the memory has been pecked out of him.
Engage evasive manoeuvres for lady pushing pram,
Sorry I didn’t move quick enough,
I will dive faster next time,
Mother with child everyone, coming through! I call,
To alert the others in her path,
He dosent look at me the same path,
He likes that woman in work I know he does path,
She’s younger path,
Should never have had kids’ path,
Can’t you see I have a pram?
Hit till now,
Right, let’s have it,
Fire my items down the black rolling strip to the tone of the beep,
Person on check out dosent even register me,
Registers everything else though,
Hawk eye, fastest scanner in the West,
Already guessed amount,
Being the “Rain Man” shopper I am,
Pack car with items,
What did I forget?
I always do,
To hell with it, I’ll just have to chance it,
I got to get out of here,
Sweat forming on back,
I can’t go back,
They will all know I forgot something,
Followed by the subtle eye roll.
I am off,
Worst case scenario,
I can stop at another shop,
Solved that crisis,
Like a champion.
Copyright © 2018 Charlie Hasler.
Before the sun had raised his head I was up and out of my winter bed.
Shoes laced and treading fast, my frightful time a distant past.
The sun now blazes my soul alive, with burning fire this man does strive,
For today is no longer yesterday it would seem, a new chance is born, a wondrous dream,
That awakes, and guides my soul once more.
No more am I knelt on the floor, nor rapping at that window, nor hammering at that door,
I am in, I am back inside, back to life my worries have died.
My eyes were red and sunken ships now pierce life’s horizon with their razor arrow tips.
That bastard bolted nailed door, is now unbolted,
And nailed no more.
With each sink and soul demise, there is always a tomorrow, a chance to rise.
Although my greys collect and gather pace, this life is a marathon, not a crippling race.
Whatever it is this thing, this dark, this shadow. I have faced it now and stood the gallows,
Yet to drop and hear the crack, I keep in mind the sun is always at my front, and the dark,
Always at my back.
Copyright © 2017 Charlie Hasler.