POETRY
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THROUGH THE GAPS (2023)Chris Wade's third poetry collection, written throughout 2023.
UK AND USAREST OF WORLD |
Samples from Through the Gaps...
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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 USAREST OF WORLD |
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THE SEA OF THE NIGHT
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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 |
