Words From An Unlikely Poet: Further Thoughts – Free on Amazon Kindle. 

Words From An Unlikely Poet: Further Thoughts – Free on Amazon Kindle. 

Softer Seeds – (old post)

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.

Atonement – (old post)

I wandered a broken man,

Devoid of soul,

How my diamonds did roll,

And slice my barren hands.

 

On white hot sands, of changing lands

I wandered amongst ghostly dunes.

With haunted eyes and muffled cries,

I hummed a quivered tune.

 

And met was I, by an echoed cry

Of a dog I know by name,

Red eyes glared, as mine froze scared,

His eyes a ruby blaze.

 

With a matchbox fumble and a liquored tumble,

I fell to my prayer-less knees.

And there I kneeled, with no strength to yield,

No words to muster my way.

 

It was at that moment, in the search for atonement,

The injury had become my own.

And there in the rain, the beast lay slain,

Alas, my truth had run me down.

 

Copyright © 2017 Charlie Hasler.

 

Mind Radio (a poem from my new book)

Turn down the volume,

It makes me want to scream out loud, while standing amongst this bustling silent crowd.

 

No volume button at my discretion,

To sooth my thoughts or allow for a calmer expression.

 

A tortured look butterfly sliced across my face,

Here stands 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.

Dead As A Nail – (old post)

I feel I am dead, as dead as a nail,

All hammered and coffin

All bent and rust.

Buried back down deep beneath the cold

And frozen black dust.

 

And yet I still breathe, a tired man’s breath,

Albeit a sigh, a solemn draw,

While I hammer at the window

While I wrap at the door,

My mind has locked me out.

 

Or maybe I am locked in, I am not sure,

Either way I am standing here once more,

Standing on the wrong side of this bastard bolted door.

I am searching for the right key

But the bunch is far too big.

 

So as it is, back to the shadow I have returned,

Where no warm does glow, no hope does burn.

Back to the bottom of hells staircase,

Locked behind the door and staring at my once stood place,

All dead and nail inside.

 

 

Copyright © 2017 Charlie Hasler.

Ocean Glass – (old post)

Cast across ocean glass, how the winged fishes wept.

Dew be a diamond crystal, of silky hair regret,

How the winged fishes dangle,

They be caught upon the net.

 

I have a simple deck of wood, no grass or house of grand,

No need for beach or oceans, no need for golden sand.

I am not a holy man, no bible held in hand,

But if heaven were a place, 

It be on this plot of land.

 

With ember bud glowing, at my rebuilt side,

I have the means to reclaim, what was lost in once raging tide.

No current will pull my flame, back to the Davey Jones,

I have rebuilt my sail, and with steel rebuilt my bones.

 

So through this window I ponder, with my new brighter outlook,

My time is now mine, I returned that broken book.

My demons lay dying, withered upon the floor,

I won that ghastly battle, 

Now watch me win the war.

 

 

Copyright © 2018 Charlie Hasler.