Father’s Day 2019: A Poem

June 16, 2019 at 10:06 pm (Poetry) (, )

Father’s Day 2019: A Poem

Sundown 
The end of the day 
Early morning
And a new life will call

You were a dad 
And a great one at that 
But now is your time 
To see the Heavenly Father’s face

Beyond the stars 
Is a beautiful place
Beyond what we can dream
And what you see is now Eternity

You were a teacher most of your life
And come June the students would close their books
And you and they would embark on holiday
It’s somehow fitting that in the month of June
you would embark on your Heavenly holiday 
A never ending story

You showed no fear 
The day you went away
You went to your Father’s hands
The birth of a new day

-A poem written by Christopher
Sunday June 16th 2019.
This year’s Father’s Day.

-dedicated to my father George
who passed away 9 years ago 
today 
on June 16th 2010.

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Qonzilqointec and The Statue of A Long-Necked Crane

June 8, 2019 at 9:43 pm (Geopolitics and International Relations, International Intrigue, News, Poetry, Romance, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , , , )

Qonzilqointec and The Statue of A Long-Necked Crane

The Aztec vampire princess Qonzilqointec was in a room in the Dashwood Forrest Art Gallery in London.

Dressed in an exquisite lilac purple evening gown, Qonzilqointec knelt on a neo-Louis XIV royal Bourbon blue chair alongside a modern statue of a long-necked crane raising its beak towards a lantern of good fortune.

Into the room walked her friend and lover the Canadian vampire hunter Dracul Van Helsing.

He had just returned from Jerusalem Israel where he had escorted Miranda Singh (the Executive Secretary to the London-based billionaire ancient Egyptian vampire Set) who was beginning a top secret mission for British MP Renfield R. Renfield.

“Your Highness,” Dracul addressed the Aztec vampiress, “you look the epitome of regal royalty.”

Qonzilqointec smiled, “Those weren’t the words Donald Trump spoke when I lay on his neck and threatened to drain every ounce of blood from his body unless he decided to drop the tariffs he was threatening to impose on my homeland of Mexico.”

“I see you were successful in your negotiations,” Dracul noted, “The U.S. has reached an agreement with Mexico and will not be imposing the tariffs Trump had threatened to impose starting this Monday.”

“Having lived 600 years, I have mastered the art of the deal,” She approached Dracul and gave him a non-fatal hickey.

. . .

The ghost of Orson Welles was having a spectral dream.

He dreamed of his wife Rita Hayworth as Semiramis the former Queen of Babylon speaking to a bird who was a parrot-raven hybrid created by a 1930s mad scientist forerunner of an early 21st Century Transhumanist scientist.

Said Rita as Semiramis to the parrot-raven hybrid,

“Oh bird who spoke to Poe in the bleak December
Crossed with a bird who can’t shut up and is able to remember 
The world is confused and troubled 
And about to burst an economic bubble 
Putin warns of a new arms race
Stretching from sea to outer space 
Because on arms control, the U.S. won’t negotiate 
Preferring to leave humanity’s hands up to a very dark fate
“Nevermore” you might cry
As peace dove falls from the sky 
Lenore is lost but so are we all 
The end result of Eden’s fall.

-A vampire novel chapter
and poem
written by Christopher
Saturday June 8th
2019.

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Haiku For 75th Anniversary of D-Day

June 6, 2019 at 8:30 pm (Commentary, Geopolitics and International Relations, History, News, Poetry) (, , , , , , )


Normandy’s beaches
The ultimate sacrifice
But spirit lives on

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Haiku On 30th Anniversary of Tiananmen Square Massacre

June 4, 2019 at 9:12 pm (Commentary, Geopolitics and International Relations, History, News, Poetry) (, )

Tiananmen Square
Peaceful students are crushed by
People’s Army tanks

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An Evening In The Month of June: A Poem

June 1, 2019 at 9:17 pm (Arts, Culture, Humour, Poetry, Romance) (, , , )

An Evening In The Month of June: A Poem

One pleasant evening in the month of June 
As I was sitting with my glass and spoon
A small bird sang on an ivy brunch
And the song he sang was a jug of punch

And then she appeared riding a wild deer 
On which sat her exquisite self and lovely rear
With her lips she was playing a lovely flute
So I said, wait, and grabbed my Irish lute…

She had recently lost a single red shoe
Somewhere up in the mountain dew
And so one of her feet was bare 
Still she had lovely exquisite hair

The stag she rode had antlers prickly
Causing riders in front to move very quickly 
On the antlers hung dangling apples
I wondered whether they were serpent trapples

So consequently I did not bite any apple
But on her lap I had a pleasant napple
And that’s how I spent the first night of June
The sun shines all day with very little moon

-A poem written by Christopher
Saturday June 1st 
2019.

Inspired by an old Tommy Makem and The Clancy Brothers song
And the above picture 

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Jack O’ Hare and The Lovely Valley: A Poem

May 27, 2019 at 9:19 pm (Poetry) (, , , )

On the edge of the forest
as birds sang their chorus
a lonely jack rabbit did hoppily roam
He leapt through the valley
It was quite up his alley
’till he came to the edge of the fast flowing stream

In the background, the skylarks were singing
And on the hill, church bells were ringing
It was a symphony between heaven and nature
And Jack perked up his ears of very great stature
And hoped the poem’s readers would rhyme nate and state
As stats were damned lies according to Benjamin Disraeli
And the old man on the hill playing his ukulele

As the sun rose over valley and mountain
And Jack stopped to drink from the fountain
A beaver was building a home out of logs
And the effort was applauded by ribbiting of the frogs

Jack O’ Hare hopped contentedly on
making of this valley a home front lawn
it was for Jack a heavenly spot
where he avoided many a fox trot.

-A Jack O’ Hare poem
written by Christopher
Monday May 27th 2019.

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The House On The Hill: A Poem

May 21, 2019 at 9:56 pm (Ghost Story, Gothic, Gothic poem, Gothic romance, Poetry) (, , )

The house on the hill was haunted they say
That common belief helped keep people away
Only the brave ventured to play
At the house overlooking Appleton Way

What happened that night many years ago
whispered by people who claimed to know
was loud shots in the night
a desperate search for a light
A woman’s screams
Lace curtains falling at the seams
And then silence fell
No more would dwell
in that house on the hill
Tenancy rate fell to nil

Those who ventured inside that place above Appleton Way
would always return with their hair white or gray
even though their hair colour did not start out that way
when they ventured forth at the break of the day

Their mistake was not in returning before the sun set
Nightfall should have told them, this was no place to let
Visiting the place subject of many a bet
while dark mystery remains at the heart of the Net

It was with this in mind that young Rousseau set out
On a night when the wind was howling about
Dark clouds rolled in
The night blacker than sin
Lightning flashed
Thunder crashed

And of course the door of the house would naturally be opened wide
And Rousseau stepped across the threshold to where the unseen did abide
And Rousseau came face to face with the ghostly vision there
While rainy lightning in the window flashed glowing white glare

Rousseau’s thought then was different from what he had at the start of the day
With this supernatural life and supernatural sight he felt inclined to stay
So now he too inhabits the house above Appleton Way.

-A poem written by Christopher
Tuesday May 21st 2019.

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Not An Algorithm: A Poem

May 12, 2019 at 8:55 pm (Poetry) (, , )

In school, he never did well in Math
He was so much better in English, Language Arts
and Social Studies
Algebra perplexed him
Geometry hexed him
Shakespeare did inspire
History was his fire
The square root of pi did not make a dent
Lemon meringue pie made him content

And now a world of Facebook and social networking
would reduce him to an algorithm
By studying his likes and dislikes
they thought they would come to know him
That they could dissect his soul
The way a frog’s body was dissected in a biology lab

But one thing that not doing well in math had taught him
He was not an algorithm
He was so much more than an algorithm.

-A poem written by Christopher
Sunday May 12th 2019.

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Ghost of Orson Welles Recites Poetry While Waiting On Shore For Russian Spy Beluga Whale Defector

May 4, 2019 at 10:14 pm (Commentary, Geopolitics and International Relations, International Intrigue, Poetry, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , )

The ghost of Orson Welles stood on the Norwegian shoreline waiting for a Russian spy beluga whale to defect to the Norwegian government.

Standing alongside Welles was the Norwegian defense minister who was busy eating a can of Hertfordshire frozen peas and a can of Norwegian frozen cod.

As Welles sipped a glass of spectral red wine, he recited poetry:

On a sultry Arabian night, fair Scheherazade began the first of her 1001 tales
Whilst here I stand on this Norse shore and wait for a sign or spash from one of the beluga whales
Julian Assange meanwhile is in a British jail
releasing Hillary’s emails may prove a major fail
Does he have a cell mate who’ll sodomize him in the ass?
While Joe Biden laughs, this too shall come to pass?

Today Turkey’s President tweeted another verbal attack against Israel
Because Erdogan thinks he can an Ottoman sultan’s slippers fill
This past week a group of Catholic scholars charged Pope Francis with heresy
Had Francis lived in Christ’s time, would he have been the chief Pharisee?

Another coup attempt in Venezuela
ear marked of CIA hubris-philia
John Bolton and Mike Pompeo continue to beat the drums of war
Whilst Xi and Putin may boot the U.S. through Hades’ door
Are these the times foreseen by William Butler Yeats?
Is humanity’s thread to be cut by the deadliest of the Fates?

Yeats wrote in his poem The Second Coming
in his mind hearing distant war’s drums drumming
The best lack all conviction while the worst are full of passionate intensity.
Today it’s all pride and prejudice, little sense and sensibility.

No Sunday Masses being said in Sri Lanka
Because of Islamic State fanatica
Violence eats innocence with each passing hour
Statesmen are concerned not with truth but with power
And the foot of the god Ares has crushed many a flower

And now I wait for the sight of beluga whale
Humanity’s passing grade is F for a fail
Is dust in the wind all we shall be at the end of the day
As I watch the salt water splash on these shores of Norway?

-A poem written by Christopher
and recited by the ghost
of Orson Welles
Saturday May 4th
2019.


My childhood cinematic hero the great actor, director and writer
Orson Welles
in a poetic, poignant and powerfully compelling scene
from his movie F Is For Fake.

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Melody By The Sea: A Poem

May 1, 2019 at 9:29 pm (love, Poetry, Romance) ()

It was a melody by the sea
Played on strings for me
On the rocks she stood
With instrument of wood
And from that wood a symphony
That matched the rhythm of the sea

On the rocks waves crashed and golden sun did set
But neither her violin, bow or dress was wet
For the sea too loved the sound of her golden symphony
And gentle wind ruffled her hair in homage to her melody

-A poem written by Christopher
Wednesday May 1st 2019.

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