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Christopher Looper Poem
A faint hint of spruce
Winter’s bite, it’s just no use
St. Peter brings Spring.
Copyright © Christopher Looper | Year Posted 2015
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Christopher Looper Poem
I stand here with the water at my feet,
Chapped from the wind and naked.
Perched just below the overhang,
My arms reach out over the water.
I grasp, using all my strength
To keep hold of my garments
Being torn away by nature’s
Heavy breath. Though I stand
Steadfast and rigid for God has
Given me strength to endure.
I am the guardian of this river.
I am the sanctuary for weary travelers,
I am history, I have a tale of heroism.
Reach for me when you need rest,
I am solitary, I will give you solitude.
Rest upon my fallen drapes
Bury your thoughts at my feet.
Let me stand tall for you.
Copyright © Christopher Looper | Year Posted 2015
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Christopher Looper Poem
These are not battle scars,
These are not to be ashamed of
This sturdy warrior has journeyed far.
From the forest, to the gates
Of my own Valhalla, mercy finds me
In a second life, in another shape.
Battle scars branded upon my brow
These dark rings are not from battle,
But service more rewarding for now.
I am a warrior of the home,
I battle many enemies but always
I stay on my feet firmly below.
These rings are proof I am stable
I have seen much as a
Solid oak coffee table.
Copyright © Christopher Looper | Year Posted 2015
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Christopher Looper Poem
Collecting my things as best I could,
I head out into the barren woods.
Tempted to put it off another day
Though I mustn’t, I hear him say:
“Do this and I shall be proud,
Go forth and beyond the clouds
so that you may one day become
the figure that helped you see the sun.”
This sun has set, though this son I bet,
will grow to be a man and never forget
the words his father held in his breath:
“Do this and I shall be proud,
Go forth and beyond the clouds
so that you may one day become
the figure that helped you see the sun.”
The sun arose, yet this son I do suppose
Is now a man - as he should be
Will finish this task set forth from He
As he recalls the words given to those:
“Do this and I shall be proud,
Go forth and beyond the clouds
so that you may one day become
the figure that helped you see the sun.”
The sun has set, lest this son forget
He who taught him what he should know.
Returns to spread his ashes upon the snow,
A father, this son will never forget.
Copyright © Christopher Looper | Year Posted 2017
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Christopher Looper Poem
This is a cold I have never felt before
Though I have little flesh exposed,
This must be what she felt that night
Though it is a white morning, the Black
Consumed her. Just an shadow of where
She lay on the bed.
The night arrives faster than before
it knocks gently on the door and pushes it
Slightly open like an intruder upon my solace.
It carries with the whisper of frost and void
And takes heart and joy and life from me
and delivers it to death.
Perhaps the woods would be more
Comforting, perhaps they would listen.
Their branches reaching towards my collar
Ash and flake fall together this night
Winter has become my fire and despair is my fuel.
Stain my coat with damp and suit,
Until I fall like the rest.
Copyright © Christopher Looper | Year Posted 2015
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Christopher Looper Poem
Collecting my things as best I could
I head out into the barren woods.
Tempted to put it off another day
Though I mustn’t, I hear him say:
“Do this and I shall be proud,
Go forth and beyond the clouds
so that you may one day become
the figure that helped you see the sun.”
This sun has set, though this son I bet,
will grow to be a man and never forget
the words his father held in his breath:
“Do this and I shall be proud,
Go forth and beyond the clouds
so that you may one day become
the figure that helped you see the sun.”
The sun has arose, yet this son I do suppose
Is now a man as he should be
Will finish this task set forth from He
As recalls the words given to those
“Do this and I shall be proud,
Go forth and beyond the clouds
so that you may one day become
the figure that helped you see the sun.”
The sun has set, lest this son forget
He who taught him what he should know.
Returns to spread his ashes upon the snow,
A father this son will never forget.
Copyright © Christopher Looper | Year Posted 2016
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Christopher Looper Poem
She dances,
I come to her at midnight
When the night is darkest
And my rescue is foremost.
I must be close to her
Though her reach is far
I dare not go beyond.
The evil that hides is
Never far this late hour.
The night is patient and
Welcoming. Any vestige
Of hope for her bleeds
And falls among the dust
At my feet. I am too close
Now. She warns me and burns me,
But my will burns hotter
And with one quick motion this
Midnight dancer, she ceases.
The night is silent here
And with this dancers blood upon
The toes of my boots I walk beyond
Her reach now. It is too late for her
And she lays cold now
In the hallway. What have I done?
Is this what waits for us all in the night?
The new sun will not
Reveal joy, just a lifeless body where
My midnight dancer once was.
I guess I'll head to the candle store
In the morning for another.
Copyright © Christopher Looper | Year Posted 2015
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Christopher Looper Poem
Segment 1
Under the moon I do the darkest of deeds,
To send another man to Heaven,
I pick his pocket.
As he ascends, I must pay my way
For the boatman.
Coins and locket.
It has been two years to the day
Since I have found myself
Under that moon.
I must confess, but to whom?
Shall I be condemned by laws
before The Almighty?
I hear stories of a river north
That listens to whispers
And carries them forth.
I must find this river and confess
I must speak my truth
And free myself.
My chest weighs heavy as this
Horse and carriage of remorse
Trample me and perish.
I reach the river, foggy in mind
The sediment, thick with truths
It runs with haste downstream.
A whisper floats along the fog
"Speak it below"
I wince and nod.
I kneel down, smelling the murk
And mist, pressing my lips
Against the surface.
I lean further and drown my face
In such cold, cold trust that
My confession flows with haste.
I speak immersed, beneath the cover
Of such a moon, my secrets sink
To the depths, swept by current.
I fear this river is too well known
That this bed I have sewn
Wicked weeds have grown.
I dry my face, my scarf now soaked
This deed I have done,
This confession I’ve spoke
Drifts down stream and out of sight.
Cloaked and muddied,
I walk home this night.
Segment 2
Cold is this day when the frost
Has covered our fields
And the river has slowed.
The fish can be seen through the ice
Feeling safe they swim
Waiting to be snatched up.
They tell stories of foul fish
Tasting rotten and dead
Though they are moments old.
The youth love fish from the river,
They eat it up until
They have had their fill.
They begin to foster illness in heart
The devil’s sins begat man, and
The girls turn courtesan.
Where does this come from?
Why has our river town soured?
Whence has this evil poured?
We eat fresh fish, and fresh grain
Yet this evil is around again
Always under this moon.
Copyright © Christopher Looper | Year Posted 2015
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Christopher Looper Poem
Verdant fields submit their hues to the rime,
She hangs in his stead with a soft glow.
Wild things of this land find refuge in the pine
Hoarfrost gathers where the owl goes.
“In silent flight, the night blinds the fright,
from the gliding grasp, clasped from hiding.
Never knowing, but ever showing how
The owl can have sight so keen and
Preened coat of white.”
The owl and winter seem to come as one.
Does my fortune hold so little?
Perhaps my purpose lies in servitude
Offering myself to such a beast
If a beast at all.
Copyright © Christopher Looper | Year Posted 2016
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Christopher Looper Poem
I have doused this lamp
Not just to smolder
but to hide outside the light
I have grown bolder
While this night grows damp
?
My deeds, wicked have grown
As my lamp lay lifeless and cold
I trust only myself and the dark
my cross hangs dusty and old
And stricken pleads have sewn
?
Without the lamp glow I fall
I am too desperate and weak
Will someone light this lamp once more?
And be the light I wish to seek?
Before the night sends his call.
?
Please, Please bring this lamp oil!
Is my cry not loud enough?
Have I silenced my heart and soul?
Please! let this lamp not remain snuffed
Please, someone! bring this lamp some oil.
Copyright © Christopher Looper | Year Posted 2016
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