From The Rooftops You Can See: A Poem

February 21, 2017 at 7:21 pm (Commentary, News, Poetry) (, )

From the rooftops you can see
the skylights of the city
From the streets down below
viewpoints can be hollow

Like Metropolis in that ’20s film of old
many a story can be told
of workers who toil down below
as elites gaze at neon glow

The city has been split into rich and poor
a boiling pot too big to ignore
the elites play and dance and sing
while others feel poverty’s sting

When despots arise, the elites are surprised
because despots arise on populist tides
blame the refugee, blame the foreigner
they’ve taken the country to death’s coroner

To be out of a job or just getting by
weakens your mind to accept a lie
The elites feel self-righteous and proud
yet it is they who let these things be allowed

If they had truly governed for us all
then Tyranny wouldn’t now threaten a wall
Despots must fall we can only say
but elites should know, they caused Hell to pay

-A poem written by Christopher
Tuesday February 21st

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In The Heat of The Night: A Poem

July 15, 2014 at 7:28 pm (Detective story, Poetry) (, , , , , , , , , , , , )

In The Heat of The Night: A Poem

Memories of Raymond Chandler’s Philip Marlowe stories come flooding through my mind
as floods of perspiration fall from my forehead
As a kid I was enthralled reading of Marlowe’s exploits on those hot humid Los Angeles nights
when the City came to a halt in the all encompassing heat
and the only thing that moved were criminals up to no good
and Marlowe who set out to stop them.
The alluring femme fatale standing in the doorway of Marlowe’s office
as the fan worked overtime to keep Marlowe cool
from the heat being generated from the humidity outside
and the heat being generated from the woman in the doorway.
A sip of bourbon
the cool taste of a menthol cigarette brushing the lips
such handy implements meant to lower the temperature.
Such were the stories I read of Marlowe in the Los Angeles of the 1930s and ’40s.
The California West Coast sweltering in unbearable heat.
As the British Columbia West Coast swelters in unbearable heat
and Vancouver cooks like a hot pot unattended on the stove
I perspire and seek the coolness of a lounge with first-rate air conditioning
and think of that metropolis far to the south
where Marlowe once walked the streets.
And then I think “but Marlowe wasn’t a real person”.
It says a lot about Chandler, his words and his writing
that his creation casts a long shadow
and seems to take the form of a real ghost
on those hot summer nights when the mercury soars upward like a rocket
and the perspiration falls like a waterfall
when the fan on the ceiling becomes a knight in shining armour
and damsels in distress flock to the office
where the bottle of bourbon is on the desk
and the cigarette smoke rises
to catch the reflection of the shining neon light outside.

-A poem written
by Christopher
Tuesday July 15th

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City Before The Storm

June 8, 2014 at 5:32 pm (Poetry) (, , , , )

City Before The Storm

Look out
sunny day
clouds in distance
Like every day this week
Think nothing of it
Head out
Walk along street
Touch of breeze comes out of nowhere
Brushes face
Gives hint of what is to come
Strange sensation
but think nothing of it
Clouds continue to build
but despite clouds
Air still feels hot
Stifling hot in fact
Who turned up the thermostat in the sky?
One wonders
breeze becomes stronger
Rushes through fountains in front of buildings
Never noticed that before
Fountains make strange noise
when a powerful breeze
blows through the rushing water
A foreboding hissing sound
signaling the chaos that is to come
Clouds become darker
Wind starts to pick up
Humidity becomes unbearable
The city waits
and waits
Waits for that momentary silence that is to come
That momentary silence that stops the wind
That stops the clouds
That stops the hissing of the fountains
That momentary silence that stops the city…
just before…
the storm hits.

-A poem written by Christopher
inspired by today’s weather
in the City of Vancouver
Sunday June 8th 2014.

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