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Chriss Todd Poem
Who's that staring through my window walls, with eyes as old as time
the clock has not yet moved and the wind outside has died
no breath for me to find nor the strength to check the time
unless the minute hand is lying theirs a chance i may have died
I wish this all a dream but the eyes i see dont lie, they have told me with their watching that all men do really cry
yet in vain is all my wishing but perhaps this is delusion of a sedimentary man with his mind ripe for losing
Come at me then red devil, I shout within my mind yet the tension I had hoped for was delayed and rather dry
no ravishingly velvet flame encircled this such room, nor were the furniture and ottoman thrown like an old shoe
marvelous the time in which a demon throwns your home and his only one intent is to stare right through your soul
to that i bid goodnight to you, to do as you wish, regardless of the manner I am nothing more then fish. to be shot out of a barrel for a fellow such as this
If you do deem it fit that I wake another morning all i ask is that the clocks all please return to working order
Copyright © Chriss Todd | Year Posted 2013
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Chriss Todd Poem
letter Q the leopard lives alone amongst the shelter
that to him he calls a home but to us the jungles grown
we are children for the wonder and what thus dwells we cannot ponder
possibility in tact, rabid beast and wild cat
cataclysmic compositions come to mind in bloody visions
leave to mind what is to wonder letter q's a second longer
Eyes the constellations in the jungles patient waiting
lingering what's to be sought in these fields that Q does plot
seeds were sown in feudal tones, not know by it before us
Letter Q the farmers fued between the teeth they show us
A sickle beast the turnip theif and slaughter house subduer
sanctify the burning bibles, what is man if not to idle
under rays of burning idols made of letter q's disciples
Copyright © Chriss Todd | Year Posted 2014
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Chriss Todd Poem
Show me who you are and i shall paint out broken columns on the valleys of her back as if such figure is un-common
i have found no beauty bending as the vines that are her hair and the frailty of man upon her back is what she bares
bleed her body for the harvest let them feast upon her soul for the nurishment of mother is leaps beyond so bold
she is like the flower growing in the deepest of dark forests,amongst the ivy and hemlock but her skin is much too porous
to concern herself with games that tantalize the men, as they marry on crusade it is her children that she tends
sheath your swords with her ambition and tip your arrows with her will, craft your armour from her strength and in the battle you will kill
come now children from the pasture and lay each upon her side, suckle gently at your mother although theirs pain she does not hide
though the water leaks from rooftops her leaves are thick and block the rain, as the water level rises cling to her branches with no shame
she is the stone upon the beach, once a mountain pound and breached
yet still her disposition clear to love her children that are near
inspired by Roots Frida Kahlo, 1907-1954
Copyright © Chriss Todd | Year Posted 2013
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Chriss Todd Poem
i have crafted and shafted and then re positioned
divulged and indulged to precise disposition
yet frankly my points are most blunt at the end and my walls tend to fall at the slightest of bends
be it not such a bridge but a try at amends, with a friend who is quite hard of hearing
come step in my cauldron both women and children, these are the crimes i admit to both willinging and wildered
For i am the poet of pilgrims ,
what was left has been pillaged and raped, and only i who had managed escape
have been left to rebuild from the timbers
Copyright © Chriss Todd | Year Posted 2013
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Chriss Todd Poem
come quickly
come quickly
you silly old dog
when they thought of the name,
they'd probably had thought of a creature like you-well then right on the dot
for a pig with a stick in his eye and a stye for a leg could have begged his way faster to freedom
and found more to eat in a day then you eat in a week-but you stay?
And i wonder and ponder by ponds full of water collecting my thoughts in a vase now discolored
what marvelous mischief might happen if beast were no sanction and all things with thoughts were judged solely on actions
morality then would weigh heavy with sanction and perhaps no man dines at the right of the lord
only a creature, deemed fit to absorb his observance
for now, it is begining to get very hot in this furnace
Copyright © Chriss Todd | Year Posted 2013
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Chriss Todd Poem
This is a rash initiation
rushed calibration
brace yourself my child in the water things are waiting
I'm not much for celebrating
more for penetrating thought
what a rush it is to see a man asleep beneath his cot
join us at this table for a bounty of the flesh
then let us scribe the tales of monsters, who to us are us to them
go to sleep my sweet young sparrow as I pray for picturesque
for the mind is but a canvas that we colour in with stress
I have spent the darkness dreaming of the light that is to shine
but in the daytime I stay longing for the rays within my mind
in the end there is beginging and at the start we long to finish
what a finicky transparent way to be, my prayer is finished
Copyright © Chriss Todd | Year Posted 2014
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Chriss Todd Poem
scrolling
my friend scrolling
all I'm ever doings searching
upon the nets of mother spider - tis the nature of the beast
with sharper teeth a bigger mouth-without famine is no feast
For I once had known a leper who was eaten by leopard
Now the sheep have taken arms but to rip apart the Sheppard
what a subtle revelation in my mind I've found vacation
but the sands of time do torment those who choose an allocation
cometh now my saddest child, weep to me all things are foul
I have wandered fields of flander - Families dead inside their camper
death is still above the reads, skin and bones is all we keep
wooded hampers full of damper, sons and daughters, tin decanters
Copyright © Chriss Todd | Year Posted 2014
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Chriss Todd Poem
The night was cold and dark , the wind strong and harsh pressing against his back and for a moment he entertained the thought that some divine force was watching and smiling, perhaps even encouraging him.
Encouraging the tendencies that drove him, muffling the voices inside his head that asked what he was doing.
He was beginning to transcend into the setting and situation, begging to embrace his role like an instrument in an orchestra, each working in different ways yet still all part of the same song and only together do they create orchestral music.
Him the same as the violinist who has never played in the orchestra before, playing alone he understand solely the violin and the music he plays, in his mind he cannot fathom what it would be like to play in the orchestra and the process of a variety of sounds coming together.
Yet upon the incorporation the violinist understand that it is no different than the music he makes alone. The violinist does not appease the orchestra; rather it is the orchestra that calls upon the violin and all the instruments of the orchestra calling upon each other, working to each other’s strengths and weaknesses this is what creates the bountiful flavour of the orchestra.
It is then that the violinist understands what it means to play in an orchestra. One may listen to orchestral music and perhaps it has even inspired him or her to take up an instrument of their liking. Yet this does not offer them the same insight that the violinist in the orchestra has.
They can imagine, maybe they play pieces from their favourite orchestral movements, perhaps they even go as far as playing along with the recording of an orchestra, entertaining the thought of what it would be like to play with the harps and drums and flutes, yet regardless of their manifestation they can never have the same insight as that the violinist who actually plays in the orchestra, who makes it a reality.
And if it is not that reality, then it never will be and the fruitions of it will never come to ripen in the head of the pretender, because if the tape stops, it’s over.
Copyright © Chriss Todd | Year Posted 2014
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Chriss Todd Poem
Come to me my brightest sun and shut your eyes and go to sleep
For now the time has come for dreams and shiny stars the father weeps
your mother moon the mountain tops shall feel her soft embrace
and time and space and clover fields will rest upon her wake
There is no place too far away and not to near you see, that darkness cannot carry out the
odes that ought to be
O silentest of the messengers that meet amongst the reeds
to a billion strands of darkness travel hastily bringing dreams
Copyright © Chriss Todd | Year Posted 2014
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Chriss Todd Poem
Your only as sick as your secret, but this was only the tail end of his secrets, secrets buried so deep that not even he himself could exactly put his finger on the difference between what had happened and what he may have imagined. Never the less, it didn’t hurt him, so it only must have made him stronger. As he crouched on the outside of his housekeeper’s home he knew tonight would be over even before it happened. Leaving him teased by the feeling, what kept him looking for an experience that would satisfy such a hunger. The whole experienced seemed surreal, kneeling down he brushed his hands along the grass. Was it the same grass he had at his home? He thought to himself, Where the bricks on his house laid in the same way? .For a moment he just enjoyed the pleasantness of the experience, the calmness before the storm. The anticipation was a rush of ecstasy wrapped in delusion but Sam didn’t care this was the reality he enjoyed.
Sam knew that his house keeper lived alone, that’s why he was so particularly surprised when young women in her early 20’s opened the door. For a moment they only looked at each other. Sam felt caught, as if he was wearing his intentions on his sleeve, caught and angry, angry that whoever this girl was she was intruding on a very special moment of his. She was trying to take something from him, going against his plans purposely. In anger Sam reached into his inside jacket pocket and when he removed it he extended his had outward in an arcing motion slicing a horizontal gash along the young women’s face. He had meant to slice her neck open, but he missed and in turn placed what now appeared to be another bloody mouth from cheek to cheek, slicing her upper lip open along with her septum and left nostril. The young women fell backwards and Sam stepped inside closing the door behind him never taking his eyes off the young women.
Copyright © Chriss Todd | Year Posted 2014
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