{"id":3123,"date":"2019-05-27T20:02:09","date_gmt":"2019-05-27T20:02:09","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.iwabogdani.org\/?p=1291"},"modified":"2023-12-21T13:16:42","modified_gmt":"2023-12-21T13:16:42","slug":"chris-laurence-england","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.iwabogdani.org\/sq\/chris-laurence-england\/","title":{"rendered":"Chris Lawrence, England"},"content":{"rendered":"

Chris Lawrence, England
\nMember of IWA BOGDANI<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

I live in a coastal town West Kirby with its spectacular sunsets, with my wife (muse) and family with two cats a sled dog and some fish. I was born in 1964 a son of a teacher and a booking office clerk , I was an avid reader and turned to writing quite quickly , poetry came first then stories and screenplays, I have been published in many magazines and won a United Nations Poetry for peace contest, and to the here and now I have also fallen into acting as well so all is well and I hope you enjoy these poems.<\/p>\n

removal day<\/strong><\/p>\n

in this green and pleasant land
\na turmoil has begun
\ncousins once embraced
\nreviled in tirades and taunts
\npulling away
\naway from all that is foreign
\ninsular thoughts
\nclinging to a past
\nforgotten and fallen
\na future and past
\ncreated in one gasp
\nsome speak of it
\nothers speak to it
\nbut no one addresses it
\na shattered dream
\nand ripped up promises
\nthe only happiness
\nwill come with the afterlife
\nand itscruel persuasion<\/p>\n

plenty<\/strong><\/p>\n

beneath the trembling of the moon
\nshimmer sheer shine
\nover folds of dune and sea
\neach flash foam
\nsalted spray
\nholding hands in youth remembered
\nrunning haphazard
\nstumbling with wine filled veins
\nmore laughter muffled
\nsoft coughing
\nfalling into the fullness
\nof each other
\nmemory flourish held suspense
\npassions dilation gaze
\naccepting golden sand
\nand those seaside memories<\/p>\n

my mouth in the kitchen<\/strong><\/p>\n

I inhabit this house
\nboard and billet
\nwith the chattering of others
\nfleshy pods of
\nmy fallen dna
\nfrom cockerel to sunset
\nodours of cooking
\nthose teeth cutting food
\ninto particles
\nI look about
\nat this plastic coated table
\ndishes in array
\ncursed with being so forgiving
\ncan I speak
\nedging words out into
\nthat space of air
\naround us
\nbut I cant
\ninvisble lips a sealed face
\nsinking into
\nirrelevance<\/p>\n

wretched way I am attached<\/strong><\/p>\n

love can be so weird
\nyou can bless it or curse it
\nbut to me
\nlove is that sweet honeythread
\nthat can seem wretched
\nyet it is so beautiful
\neach moment be it silent
\nor the briefest touch
\nI cannot resist
\nthat awfully wonderful flutter
\na judder of the senses
\nmore depth than fear
\nin fact fear fled
\nin the face of it
\nattached so willingly
\nthreaded by kisses
\nand tender loins<\/p>\n

edge of the acute<\/strong><\/p>\n

waste from the body
\nskin speckles dust
\nhair coils into spools
\nupon the floor
\nwe shed our self
\nupon others
\nfood devoured excreted
\nsweat in the sweatness
\nof love
\nbut what if semen
\nexpelled ejaculated
\nspread as a film
\nover warm flesh
\nand downy fuzz
\nto be rubbed off
\non sheets twiste
\ninto urgent knots
\nand the vibrancy
\nof another tomorrow<\/p>\n

eyes upon the corpse<\/strong><\/p>\n

it is a violent need
\na figurative urge
\nto drag someone
\nacross linoleum
\nstreaking a crimson smear
\nsilver fox sacrifice
\nnot for fur or flesh
\nman is worse than
\nthe angry dogs running
\nchattering jaws
\nswearing unforgiveness
\nis it a strategy
\nto eliminate for love
\nhide in shadowy doors
\nlust and other elements disquiet
\nnot a moral narcotic
\nalone now
\npredator vocalizing to prey
\nopponent gone
\nslithered in its own gore
\ninto the trash
\nto be carted off
\nas an incidental offering
\nto what god
\nrules passsion<\/p>\n

spirit on the child<\/strong><\/p>\n

waxen lip kisses
\nsorely benevolent
\nbeyond the yearning
\nof smaller hands
\nreaching skyward
\ntowards a blue fixture
\nlong before dark rolls in
\ncrescent moon
\nscything into dreams
\ndisturbing mind and heart
\nroiling in a bed alone
\nanother room
\na voyage away from the parents
\nbut for now
\nthose hands
\nreach around a fleshy neck
\nhug and embrace
\nsuccumbing to the care
\nof a deep embrace<\/p>\n

blazing flowers<\/strong><\/p>\n

collapse deeper into sleep
\nstains of the night
\nworn into the pillow
\nthere are holes in the sky
\nhe could not imagine
\nthat originated
\nfrom spools of promises
\nthat never happened
\nsleep no longer sweet candy
\nbut a bitter writhing mass
\nworried with desire
\nand ageing falling trees
\nstood on the lawn
\nripping dark canvas
\nfinding blazing flowers
\nbehind<\/p>\n

narrow path convert<\/strong><\/p>\n

until the day of when
\nyou can count upon
\nridged finger tips
\ntimes in the amount
\nof moments
\nthat have been breathed
\nbetween each cigarette
\nlit inhaled extinguished
\ndreamt of
\nand now remembered
\nthat to avenge
\nan unjust death
\na crime to be comitted
\ngun tucked in waistband
\nwind pushed at bank doors
\nclosing car door
\na decision made<\/p>\n

book of teacups<\/strong><\/p>\n

is that cat
\nyou stroke from next door
\nof authentic colour
\ndo its eyes match
\nor are they discoloured
\nlike the stream
\nit was rescued from
\nsoft mewling
\nplaintive needing much pity
\nyou want to be pious
\nget a can of paint
\nof colour more befitting
\nusing the organ
\nof your heart
\nbefore consulting another
\ncolour guide
\nfor the colour you want
\nto be yourself<\/p>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Chris Lawrence, England Member of IWA BOGDANI I live in a coastal town West Kirby with its spectacular sunsets, with my wife (muse) and family with two cats a sled dog and some fish. I was born in 1964 a son of a teacher and a booking office clerk , I was an avid reader […]<\/p>","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":3656,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_exactmetrics_skip_tracking":false,"_exactmetrics_sitenote_active":false,"_exactmetrics_sitenote_note":"","_exactmetrics_sitenote_category":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[171,162],"tags":[],"book_author":[],"book_publisher":[],"acf":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.iwabogdani.org\/sq\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3123"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.iwabogdani.org\/sq\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.iwabogdani.org\/sq\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iwabogdani.org\/sq\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iwabogdani.org\/sq\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=3123"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/www.iwabogdani.org\/sq\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3123\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":3655,"href":"https:\/\/www.iwabogdani.org\/sq\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3123\/revisions\/3655"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iwabogdani.org\/sq\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/3656"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.iwabogdani.org\/sq\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=3123"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iwabogdani.org\/sq\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=3123"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iwabogdani.org\/sq\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=3123"},{"taxonomy":"book_author","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iwabogdani.org\/sq\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/book_author?post=3123"},{"taxonomy":"book_publisher","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iwabogdani.org\/sq\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/book_publisher?post=3123"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}