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POETRY
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THROUGH THE GAPS (2023)

Chris Wade's third poetry collection, written throughout 2023. 

UK AND USA

REST OF WORLD

Samples from Through the Gaps...

​The Long-Ago Party
 
In the evening of throbbing temples
Your nephew reminds you of a party
Which occurred when you were not yet twenty
And he was but two
You remember it one way
As a party like any other
With you on the cusp of manhood
A jolly good time was had by all
And so on
This is your memory of it
But then your nephew tells you
From some 400 miles away
That he has found a video of it
And he’s watching it  right now
The long-ago party
Supplying disturbing commentary of the past
Like a time travelling clairvoyant
Who’s seen events from the future
And is reporting them back home
To you in your pyjamas
As your daughter farts around behind you
What he describes fills you with unease
Or at least empties out your ease
Like coins from an old childhood money box
A piggy bank tipped over
On to the old tiles of a forgotten bathroom floor
From his brief visual descriptions
Your mind begins to wander off
And you imagine all sorts of things
Images so vivid that you feel you are there
And what do you see
You see plates of nibbles
Sibling’s exes, people long gone from our lives
Roaming the room casually
Hands in pockets
Mouths chewing
Clad in late 90s attire
Supping lagers, some from cans, others from glasses
The haunting faces of the sepia-tinged past
Oddly, they all seem to have had
Way more teeth than is natural
Their shark-like mouths terrifying in sadistic grins
And their faces, dripping with sweat and lies
Are larger than memory served
They are like an AI nightmare
Long digits reaching out for buffet snacks
Fiendish eyes ogling the tuna mayo butties
Some of these people you will never see again
And that both soothes and unsettles you
And you admit
There and then
As you push aside a certain dread
That you never want to see that video
The old VHS of the party
Of before you were even twenty
That house you roamed
Over sized and ill fitting
For the small numbers who had lived in it
And you were there
Dressed in grey
Like the ghost of a 20th century boy
A mischievous entity winding up the living
By pushing snooker balls into pockets
Standing behind the old bar
Like a vaguely threatening barman
Asking them their tipple of preference
But really, you recall the bodies filling the room
In that party so long ago
You barely remember it of course
But hearing of its documentation
Its archival existence
Within a brown cabinet
Alongside other long-ago shindigs
And rowdy get-togethers
Other videos of past events
Ones that you had forgotten all about
Chills you to the bone
No, past the bone
To your inner core
But you wish
Oh you wish
That just once
You could reach out
Like the Videodrome
Right into the TV screen
With your 2023 arm
And grab a hold
Of a long-ago sandwich
And take a bite
Alongside a former brother in law
Who’d probably try his best
To sink his teeth into your arm
And drain it of blood
As it stretches out for the buffet
In the memory-dream
Of the long-ago party
 
​Never An In-Between
 
Why
In this day and age
Must it either be
The left or the right
The up or the down
A choice between
Closing the door
And keeping it open
Between writing a million poems
And merely jotting down
A quick syllable
Between drinking a thousand whiskeys
And keeping the lid on the bottle
It’s either one or the other
The whole box or none of it
Looting the whole shop
Or spending only a pound
A window that’s open
Or a solid brick wall
Starting new friendships
And severing all that they have
Lifting someone up
While knocking down another
Swearing to be kind
While cancelling an innocent man
Judging those whose views
You find abhorrent
Though your own are hardly perfect
All the world
Or a corner of a room
A belief in one thing
And a hatred for another
There doesn’t seem to be
Any balance at all
There is no shade
No grey areas
No seams
No gap
Never a gap
Never an in-between

​The Gaps of Time
 
There are memories that exist
Covered in dust and fragments of denial
Locked in cupboards of shame
Somewhere in the gaps of time
Between then and now
Between the present and the distant past
Memories that barely register
Times best forgotten
Wasted hours with wasted people
Nights long ago unworthy of recall
Days of dead ends and alleys leading nowhere
Evenings of bleak prospects
With too many hours ahead
Too many behind too
All of them strange as if lived by another
All these disturbed strangers
You wouldn’t want to meet
Let alone know
Nights spent with faces now forgotten
Their features distorted and rearranged
To resemble puppet impressions
Of people you never even knew in the first place
These people represent
The gaps of time
Events that slipped through the net
Though bits of them got stuck
Lodged in the lining
Not much, mind you
But enough to still be there
A fragment of them at least
A word here, a howl there
A glance, a movement, and a hint of a smell
But as the clock ticks on
The hands click and revolve
The calendars are pinned to the wall
And then promptly removed
When the 12 months are up
These fragments will reduce
Edges will be chipped off
Smoothed over by fate
Until they are no more
And they evaporate and melt away
Faces merged with body parts
Boots and shoes with empty glasses
Cars with buildings, streets with the sky
All gone eventually
Making way for new moments
Some of which will stay for good
Filling permanent spaces in your mind
With others burning to nothing
Into the gaps of time
 

 

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PLEASANT CAPTIVITY (2022)

Chris Wade's second volume of poetry. 

UK AND USA

REST OF WORLD

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THE SEA OF THE NIGHT
​(2022)

A collection of poems from Chris Wade, written in the past few years. 

UK AND USA

REST OF WORLD

​Early Winter Day
 
Today's an early winter day
Feels so close to yesterday
My breath is clear now in the air
I watch it float and linger there
 
As I walk towards the big school gate
I realise we are almost late
The front door swings and opens wide
She stops to wave then goes inside
 
Parents darting down the path
Kids in jackets, scarves and hats
Kissing cheeks and scurrying feet
Voices rise in the busy street
 
I take a slow walk through the yard
Hands in pockets, cold fingers hard
I see the church's old cold stone
The graves the departed now call home
 
The park is empty save a man
Who walks like only an old man can
He nods his head when I go by
And when I pass I hear him sigh
 
Across the grass as the sun appears
The sight of home becomes clear
My shoes get stuck amidst the mud
Wish I could run just like a child would 
​The Train in the Distance
 
The smell of cut grass in the air
A studious bird which makes no sound
Stands out of reach of the feline brood
That horn I often hear echoes afar
A train just passing through
Carrying workers and day trippers alike
Two metres apart of course
Rules must be followed
Even by the trolley man
Offering butties and teas
Pulling the cart down the aisle
Careful not to bump into feet and dint shoes
I can hear it screech upon the hot metal tracks
Sweating faces peering through glass
Whizzing past the endless fields
And a weird shack in the overgrowth
As I sit beside the expanding tree
Miles away, unseen by them
And neighbours around me speak but say nothing
Wasted words instantly forgotten
Like a thought I might have myself
Vital now, but worthless within the hour
Up by the expanding tree
With the train in the distance
Which is merely passing through
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