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Christopher Bunton Poem
Leave Me Alone!
You Dragged Me From My Warm Hole!
It's Too Early!
I Can't Predict The Weather!
Put Me Back And Go Away!
Copyright © Christopher Bunton | Year Posted 2012
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Christopher Bunton Poem
The sea waves
washing empty shells clean.
Laid in the sand, just where each should be.
The being
gone from inside the shell,
leaving colorful beauty behind.
In life's waves
we are born and we grow,
only to die and be lain to rest.
Our souls gone
from this now worthless shell,
leaving behind a unique story.
Christopher Bunton
For the "Parallelogram de Crystalline" Contest
Copyright © Christopher Bunton | Year Posted 2012
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Christopher Bunton Poem
Cardinal On The Bough
Flashing Crimson In The White
He Takes Flight In Fog
Copyright © Christopher Bunton | Year Posted 2011
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Christopher Bunton Poem
Two Old Flames
Holding Hands In The Park
Always Together
He gives Her A Rose.
Sixty Years With Her A Joy,
He Is Thankful For.
She Squeezes Him Tight.
Kissing Him On The Cheek,
And Never Regrets.
Copyright © Christopher Bunton | Year Posted 2012
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Christopher Bunton Poem
Time Marches On
Time marches on,
but things can change.
The flow of life is the same,
but we can spin away.
Find a place to abide;
a life to call your own.
Find a way to live;
a way to feel alive.
All the road blocks,
will guide your way.
Till you are strong enough,
to crush them all.
That path of least resistance,
is how the water flows.
Carving a river, a gorge,
a valley, and canyons deep.
Find the path,
that works for you.
Seek the way,
to grow and shine.
You are important.
You can make a difference.
As time marches on,
and you flow with it.
Copyright © Christopher Bunton | Year Posted 2021
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Christopher Bunton Poem
The Monsters Come
Every morn, the monsters come.
They come to attack my day.
Every morn it’s the same,
and every day, they strive away.
The skeletons from closets scream,
while vampires claw from crypts.
They draw and draw until I am spent.
Every day they come. The Monsters come.
Ghosts of words unsaid,
and desires of demons ripping.
Wraiths of past things done;
chasing my peace away.
Giants stomping out hopes and dreams;
while spewing fear, doubt and shame.
The Worm digs and burns through;
everything. They destroy the day.
The darkness hangs like a cloud.
It smothers my hopes today.
I need coffee, and some light,
to stand tall, and live loud.
Let’s drive the monsters away.
chrisbunton.blogspot.com
Copyright © Christopher Bunton | Year Posted 2020
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Christopher Bunton Poem
Hearing of a Persian invasion,
the Spartan King marched for his nation,
To a narrow pass, he would defend.
Persians demanded they drop their weapons,
Spartans replied, their future destined,
"Molon Labe" Come and get them!
Copyright © Christopher Bunton | Year Posted 2013
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Christopher Bunton Poem
He remembers times with her.
Sharing moments alone in,
the cafe terrace at night.
Not too long ago.
The Cafe Terrace At Night.
Vincent Van Gogh
For the "Famous Art" contest.
http://artsunlight.com/artist-NV/N-V0002-Vincent-Van-Gogh/N-V0002-0019-cafe-terrace-on-the-place-du-forum-cafe-terrace-at-night.html
Copyright © Christopher Bunton | Year Posted 2013
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Christopher Bunton Poem
Nine lives are bestowed upon a cat to live,
In this world full of danger we travel through.
None may escape the final time appointed to them,
Even the cat has it's last moment to breathe.
Living a life of adventure, demands some extra chances,
It's the curious cat, trapped, who really needs it.
Vain cats cleaning themselves on a slim, lofty ledge.
Excitable cats trying to catch the mysterious red dot.
Silly cats flipping their tails at a dog pack.
For the "Nine" contest.
Copyright © Christopher Bunton | Year Posted 2013
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Christopher Bunton Poem
The sea roars as it breathes
in and out, to rise, in the tides,
along the shores of all the seas
as one, moving where the moon guides.
Waters lapping the isles tiny beach,
gently touching her from beneath,
seeking the mountain out of reach,
among rocks like jagged teeth.
On the water little rafts float,
above the sacred, ancient beds.
Down, down they go with plunging stroke,
past the coral of blues and reds.
On the floor a searchers leg is hung.
Working they fail to set him free.
That night, a funeral song is sung
for the one who now breathes with the sea.
Copyright © Christopher Bunton | Year Posted 2012
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