Certain silver circle spheres are made of glass then shaped like tears,
And all the years just disappear through jaded shades of wines and beers.
Yet all my thoughts have come to naught though sought have I to steer my fears,
With tattered clothes and shattered prose all I am is uttered here.
And all I am is broken dreams, a failing of my self-esteem,
A life at last that’s lived and past, I’m just a Don of Oxfordshire.
By Chris circa 2007
Chris submitted this poem for inclusion in a poetry compilation book, and it was accepted. It drove me crazy that he not only didn’t have a copy of the book, but he couldn’t remember the details of it for me to get a copy. After much contemplation he thought that perhaps it was with Forward Poetry, so I contacted them to ask. They confirmed for me that it had been accepted and should have been published in the book ‘Through Different Windows’. Unfortunately they had never received permission and so it wasn’t!
frustrated confused puzzled by this and asked him why he hadn’t given them permission. His response was that it didn’t seem important! (Seriously!) He had already had another poem published and just wanted to make sure it wasn’t a one off! (Seriously!) Men … I am quite sure I do not understand the logic!
You can find more of Chris’ poetry in the Word Blurbs section.