1 - "Footsteps And Shadows..."

"Echoing Thunders..."

Chapter 1 - "Footsteps And Shadows..."

Its little things - on nothing days ~ I listen to every tick... each hum, the whisper of the wind pressing on the windows.  Sometimes I want to breathe, other times - well, those are just moments that eventually pass.  Some days the magyk is just so heavy inside... waiting and waiting, growing all the more. 

"There IS no such thing as ...Magyk."  I've heard that oh so many, many times... and it's always said with such real finality!  And it's always true - UNTIL - its YOU that got touched.  YOU that felt the fingertips right there and you KNOW where that "there" was.  So what echoes in your life?  ...and how do the "thunders" - feel?


"Friday..."

A storm came spiraling
and thundering through...
the power "blinked" here
mind-to-black,
mind-to-black...
mind-to-empty
- for a fair bit.

I saw you wander in -
though not the focus...
probably some catch-up
maybe some day- or almost - eve
-dreaming... 

I listened to the rain
- empty drumming
flowing
- in waves and waves
roiling, swirling
filling everything - except
me
...as I sat - listening
listening
- to the rain falling
...inside.

Chris


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"8:10 Coffee..."

8:10 coffee...I wasn't awake
I could have been - but wasn't.

You wandered your mind
paused and peeked within shadows
listened to soft echoes
...then with a sigh moved on.

I slept - fitful
dreaming - yes, lots of
lost things, reaching for's
watching shadows moving away...

8:10 coffee...

Chris



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"I Missed You - Today..."

I missed you ...today
and I'm missing you more right now
- than even before.

Because? 

Well, I held your hand
and you held mine
...and now you let it go.

Yeah... right...

Seems its all a silly bit of 'nothing'


- really? -


that didn't, couldn't - be...

But its after 1 AM
here
...now...

still
...and I'm awake
and missing you.

Chris



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Footsteps and noseprints, pauses and tears, we wander so far afield and yet its only a blink away.  Just a blink and its a Spanish Meadow.  A blink, and a German street, another and it's a pier on a Deutch Canal.  And we wander more and more - and the faces!  All of the faces begin to swirl and twirl.  And so many voices echo inside...each with a life to live, share, touch and grasp!  Each holds me and each other me that dares pass!


"Becoming The Woman She Wants To Be..."

More than a girl
caught up in the world
not yet the dream
and yet 'tis the start...


of places for her feet to wander
of moments for her mind to ponder
of wishes and whims and fancies
and stars...
and always the wondering
...of who you are?

Chris


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...and you've never the clue , not EVER the clue of how precious you are... and hell girl, woman, lass...you - I'm shaking, damn... it' s moving through me that intense... shaking.

Monday morning, collection day... and I've been taken away...


At a place that always was...
yet never will be - at least for me.

Writing this isn't hard,
not in the least...
its the breathing while I do

"A Master's Muse..."

The lost little store -
you can smell the scent of
ages gathering smooth and heavy
almost swirling as you enter, pause,
then move on again.

Round and around within
- to left - gaze and pause
right - center, look, await...
reach, touch - move on
that oh so slow shuffle
peering-pause-peer again.

Moment after moment caught -
framed, held captive -
for the world to pass and review...
Life in the inches,
niched and fitted, crowded tight
and crooked skeins of themes and dreams
and starlit-moonlit sights.

...And then
gawd... and then -
frozen - I stand
not lost at all - so found
so very, very found...
a Master's Miss - life-full and timeless
so gazing INTO me ...me.

I can hear her waves,
feel the currents taking me
where she always is,
will and ever BE.

Etheral, sun lit, and oh so -
"Grande" is all that fits.

Such is a Master's eye
each brushstroke - clean and crisp
the immortality of her smile
the love within her gaze
a time within another world
sought, captured - now tasted evermore.

...And I so far beyond pennyless - stand
so enraptured swept and away
and dream and sway and stand before
-a Master's Miss ...
forevermore.

Chris


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Senyru is an art form...
what I find engaging is the level of thought
the writer has to internalize
to externalize 17 syllables.

Chris


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One little poet wandering along - yes sir, here sir - hear, there... no where at all.  What is whim and fancy... Where are the faerie?  I so want to danse!  So want to ...see...  and it's just Empty benches round and around.  Dizzy and floating - falling to the ground.  The TREES!!  The ...trees - not ever a sound.  I've ne're seen a tree as beautiful as a ... single whisper on a mid-summer's night, when the moonlight was thick and my eyes shimmered with the moment's dreams


"Magyk..."

Magyk

is ...a mind's weave
that brings us back
at whim
to pauses and the need to catch
our breaths over and over - again.

is ...a life's weave
that holds us where we stand
as images flicker behind our eyes
and fingertips touch - again.

Magyk is a heart's tears
falling in our nights
that mingle and merge
- with the stardust,
and fade with the pale moonlight.

It's all and ever dreams.
some mine, some yours ...it seems.
And in the end
well, that's what we have
and it's held so gently tight
caught 'tween our fingers' tips
and pressed to wishing lips.

Magyk is...
you in me
and if we ever, ever disagree
it's still you...
in me

...Magyk.

Chris




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