Bastard Page – (old post)

I do not seek your acceptance; I do not ask for your forgiveness nor offer my repentance, to ones I do not love.
For all the wrongs of my blinded rage,
They were mine to write across my life, its tortured page,
Albeit turned and fresh anew,
On whitest white and written with ink,
Of forgiveness blue.

I held the chickens wishbone stick and could break it with a quick turn, an idle flick, no wish to make, no prayer to drip,
From my godless black spit tongue.
I held the bird aloft, skin of pale, light and down as feathers were soft,
And fading were its dying eyes.

I was the beast in the dark, with darkest stare and silent bark,
And black was my ink-stained page.
Written in hate, bled in rage,
On carved lines I wrote my bastard page.
Words of hate filled by malice did empty and spill from my coward’s chalice,
And how the poison did flow, and course my quivering veins.

Now I write upon my tear-stained page,
Repentant I orbit my bastard page,
Through tears, I call, I cry, to clearest moon, to darkest sky.
I’ve paid my debt; I have served my time, locked in this guilt prison,
Bound by its sentence, created by mine,
My hands of blackest blue.

I am no longer the bastard on the page,
I have no more hate, no more rage,
Flick back a few to see this bastard’s page,
His imprint try to look past,
His clay be broke, his mould be cast,
And left a broken man.

With now my kind eyes are hazed in their sadness dew,
I kneel with head bowed, forgiveness be cast down, 
Remove my periled shroud, my burning crown.
Of what was reaped let now be sowed,
And haunt my thoughts no more.

 

 

Copyright © 2018 Charlie Hasler.

Under the Hammer and Clock

Under the hammer and clock

Promised a diamond

Presented a rock,

Under this hammering clock.

 

Under the hammer and clock

Morning engines tick their tock

Churning their fumes,

Waiting our turns, under the hammering clock.

 

Under the hammer and clock

Weathered lines storm the flock

Masses the stirring brick, cracking the immovable rock,

Hammers continue to stone, this forever hammering clock.

 

Under the hammer and clock

We curse the hammer, we spit at the clock

White as doves our hands crumble,

Ash beneath the dust and eternal hammering clock

 

Under the hammer and clock

We lasso the hand, scramble the rock

Swaying we swing ageing, chime the greys we rock.

Till dust and shadow we sit under, under the hammering clock.

 

 

Copyright © 2018 Charlie Hasler.

Dead As A Nail

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.

The Ring Walk

All quiet now against the roaring crowd,

Head down through the taunts and cheers.

Focus is what grips

Not nerves

Nor fears.

A numb feeling of purpose and pride,

All doubt is cast, all cares aside.

It is now when the sprinting red eyed mornings will show their worth,

Pounding those weary feet,

Against the always awake and woken earth.

Skipping echo’s and razors the cracked dust ground,

While agile feet keep their beat and mirrors,

The guiding tone.

Rounds upon rounds sharpen the blade and arrow tip,

Burning the arms and fatten the lip.

Weeks of repetition ground down into a powder and paste,

While in the present is always bitter and venom the taste,

But sweeter,

Is a future risen arm.

 

 

Copyright © 2017 Charlie Hasler.

 

 

Words From An Unlikely Poet

Hi all,

My book will be available for free on Kindle between tomorrow and Sunday.

I would hugely appreciate it if you could spare the time to download it, have a flick through it and leave me a review on Amazon. I think there is an option on there for you to lend it to someone if you do so chose, you may not, you may think its awful.

British Amazon link as follows below, I am not sure if this link will work in the States etc but if you type the title of this post into Amazon it should come up.

https://www.amazon.co.uk/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=charlie+hasler

Cheers.

Charlie

Book Now Available

Book Cover Idea 5

After many weeks of frustration, perfectionism and recent reluctant compromise, I have finally got together  kindle/paperback versions of my book that I am happy with. Kindle is available on Amazon now for 0.99p and contains some of my personal favourites. Paperback is available at £4.50 (I get £1 from that) I know it is a bit more expensive but anything less seemed pointless.

Thank you to everyone who has commented on my poetry in such a positive way on this blog, it has given me a platform to write and self publish my work and get it out there to a wider audience. (if it pays for a new couch in the meantime that would be a bonus)

https://www.amazon.co.uk/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=words+from+an+unlikely+poet&rh=i%3Aaps%2Ck%3Awords+from+an+unlikely+poet

Cheers

 

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.