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Kristopher Curran Poem
The dog looks pleasant, desperate for praise
and attention.
It shivers in the cold, tied to a chair
It cannot go far.
It's owner, holding a cigarette, pours some crumbs from a used bag
A treat for the dog.
The crumbs go unnoticed, for the dog looks up at the passers-by
desperate for praise and attention.
Copyright © Kristopher Curran | Year Posted 2013
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Kristopher Curran Poem
To know how it ends is a curse.
To know this curse is my life.
It's when I heard you say "life is hard", you spoke with such anguish, I could not relate.
For I too have discovered this truth, in all fairness I say "So what?", "Carry On", for although your accusation of
self-pity and tragedy is all consuming at the time, mine is forever or at least until the end.
To know each day that this condition exists.
To know this condition is eternal unto my end, is also to know that your anguish, to me...
Is nothing more than a momentary inconvenience designed to interfere with our time together, your pain has a
duality, it spreads from you and is exorcised only when it's debris has exploded from your anger and it's remnants rest on those around you, to me, your anguish shall always pale in comparison...
To my condition.
To know this truth is to be sad.
To know this sadness is my curse.
To destroy this sadness is my mission.
To accept this mission is my madness.
To live with this mission, this madness, this curse and this sadness...
Is my condition.
So I say this, with conviction.
Please.
Try to remember, your anguish is brief, a moment of pain, but for me...
It is my eternal condition.
Copyright © Kristopher Curran | Year Posted 2012
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Kristopher Curran Poem
Sat in Glasgow, George Square.
I told you I was psychic, I know you and know we are fated. I guessed right the birthdays of the people passing in the night and we joined in with your laughter. They labelled you a god of hell and I mocked their insinuation.
Your friend was fair and doing cupids work with honest and deep intentions.
That night was Joy, like you, held up by slow promise and a connection worthy of a pact with Satan.
We went from one more kiss and messages of promise. Nicknames of love. We went from passionate want to you giving me not one shot at the best for us both.
Sat in Glasgow, pick any chair. I will always be waited.
Copyright © Kristopher Curran | Year Posted 2017
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Kristopher Curran Poem
To have all the money in the world
That was dropped onto the ground
Every day, would uniform richness
But that isn't the way it is
Eyes glued to the pavement?
Head hung to the streets?
To every place trampled
There it goes
A poor, poor presence
Trying to have it all
Out of gas for everything
Lucidly latched onto a hopeful head trip
Wearing masks to guise dreams whilst knowing
Its belly will not go up in flames.
Penurious promise shall control all
When the presence does nothing
But observe.
Copyright © Kristopher Curran | Year Posted 2015
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Kristopher Curran Poem
“Time is nature's way of keeping everything from happening at once.” - Woody Allen
When I was much younger, previous decades seemed so distant, so far away. To me these older and impossible decades existed only in cinema from their time. Cinema, the older I get, the more it becomes a source of time measurement.
“The Seventies! How great the Seventies would have been!” Nineteen-Seventy-Five, the year that Jaws came out, Nashville, At Long Last Love, all those great classic films that I now love... One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest...
Nineteen-Seventy-Five, in truth, was only Ten years before I existed. Not that long a stretch.
Ten years... It was Ten years ago that we had Finding Nemo, Pirates of the Caribbean, Return of the King, all those big family films... Does it feel that long ago?
The Last Samurai, I almost cried, I saw Kill Bill twelve times, Lost In Translation, Old Boy, Last Life In The Universe, The Cooler, Ten years ago, Two-Thousand and Three. It is not that far gone.
Twenty years ago. Nineteen-Ninety-Three, a great year of personal cinematic discovery. At this point in time my favorite director was Don Bluth... Films of his I watched, The Secret of NIMH, An American Tail (”There are no such things as Cats in America!”), The Land Before Time, All Dogs Go to Heaven and Rock-a-Doodle. Nineteen-Ninety-Three. It was a good year. Films like Jurassic Park, Naked, Schindlers List, Short Cuts, True Romance, The Thing Called Love, all those brilliant directors, telling great stories. I was too young to appreciate any of them or see them... That year I enjoyed films like Super Mario Brothers, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles Three (the one in Japan), The Nightmare Before Christmas and Hocus Pocus. I hated Free Willy, my favorite film was called Heart and Souls and on a few occasions I managed to sneak in a viewing of Hot Shots: Part Deux and Falling Down on VHS.
Twenty Years ago I began to curiously follow cinema, Ten years ago I was immersed, incurable, Melville, Goddard, Kurosawa, cinema from other countries and other decades... Ophuls, Cassavettes, Pabst, Sokurov, Powell, the list of artists goes on and on...
Nineteen-Seventy-Five, I never knew you, I know your cinema.
Cinema, I know you, I know your decades, I know your writers, your photographers, your directors... alas, the excitement is not the same. The measurement of time is upsetting...
So long Don Bluth, thanks for the memories.
Copyright © Kristopher Curran | Year Posted 2013
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Kristopher Curran Poem
For now, you are gone (or so it
feels) and so are my eye's
All I ask, is for one occasion in
this life
Where I can bless your ear's
with my explanation
Written words for me this far
have been unkind
they have failed me
Constant mistakes from a
passionate and misunderstood
soul
Possibly unaware, you drift on
A gentle, beautiful breeze
It whisks you away on a whim
of your own discomfort
You alone FEEL what you know
is true
However, so do I
A private, lonely mind and one
simple, needed and wanted
communication
It has been denied (as you feel)
If only I could talk, questions
that would taste rich with
honesty, feeling and
amusement
Say anything, anything and it
will be greeted with a perfected
calm.
An honest response would ease
(I know it would) and illuminate
your kind nature
A nature, existence, person,
communication
My mind and eye's truly, deeply
miss...
Copyright © Kristopher Curran | Year Posted 2012
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Kristopher Curran Poem
Lost and isolated I fear, I hear myself internally speak.
Connections come at the most costly price, to be left out, to be forgotten in plain sight, to be lost and isolated.
Salvage and hold on, I tell myself internally hoping.
Feelings are always held back deep in the human spirit, to be ignored, to be remembered, to be regretted for their costly silence.
No motto's about short life and briefness and how things were created at random seem to linger.
Lost and isolated.
I fear.
Copyright © Kristopher Curran | Year Posted 2013
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Kristopher Curran Poem
Listen as I listen, I hear all your cheap talk of self flattery, attention seeking and shallowness. Why make it all so hard for the good souls?
I hear your speeches about the unjust things that exist, of the hardships life throws you and you deserve it. We all deserve it.
To be conscious is a quotidian battle, help will come from nowhere.
It is what we deserve.
We don't deserve you though, nobody does, you the vain, you the selfish, you the accuser of hipness, you the self centred and self loathing.
When will you leave the good souls alone?
A different time would have seen to it your dreams were caved in and it would have made for certain that it defiled your self projected image,
an image which pollutes.
Not once have you spoken words that are original, not once have you roared an interesting thought.
The demeanor you choose hides you well, I applaud.
This unobtrusive ovation I create, it shall be the only deference you shall receive from me.
Listen....
Copyright © Kristopher Curran | Year Posted 2012
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Kristopher Curran Poem
As I awoke from a nightmare of false reality,
my mind was blessed with ease,
I could make out features of beauty,
resting beside me...
My mind, tosses and turns, I now live in an immutable vision.
A vision of impatient passion, ardor, tranquility and thought.
Embracing beauty, I can not halt,
combined we slept.
Sensitivity overwhelmed my body, as nature acted out, raw passion distilled.
Beauty embraced entirely.
Permanent desire for our bodies,
together,
a naturally designed system.
Copyright © Kristopher Curran | Year Posted 2012
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Kristopher Curran Poem
I have been dropped. I fall fast,
Plunging into rage.
Inanimate.
I have no feelings or thoughts.
My end is to expose,
The cardinal demigods.
Through heartache and devastation no person should feel.
I fall, oblivious, augmenting anguish to everything,
Here and there.
Copyright © Kristopher Curran | Year Posted 2015
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