H.F.O. The Sharing of Loving is Life

Metamorphic,
Igneous,
Sedimentary.
Are these not the cornerstones
On which.
A Church can be built?
And the silt of ages,
Rubbed from such fabrics as these,
Cloud and make milky the baptismal flood,
Stifling as it chokes off the breath of Spirit of life.
It is these Tangible distractions,
These edges, these edges over or by which we decent,
To our base selves.
When all this while,
Love and trust and service are all that are needed.
To neutralise all which brings fear
And eventually clogs the human heart.
Give love, give yourself.
There is only time enough
In which to help each other.
Love is goodness,
Even exothermic.

©2019 Christopher Thompson
All rights reserved

In Erroratum Vigilans

As was once,
Now it is of the Holy Automata.
How best now to camouflage
The canker of sacramental deception?
The nub of which
Stands at the foot of the Tree Mechanical.
It will not be enough just to say
Then let it be so,
It is the Pilgrims way.
The rift opens between The Spirit
And The Mortal.
Then I say let it be so undone
That actual workings are exposed.
There is too much of humanity
In this Ark of disparities.
Then hold service afresh
For the sake of all clerics.
Because their vestments are as thin
As their diluted blessings.
Wherein nothing can be concealed,
Not even the cardinal error
That has caused such a loss,
Which is that of the abandonment of truth.

©2019 Christopher Thompson
All rights reserved

In Anamnesis – This Time (Will Never Leave You).

In Anamnesis. This Time (Will Never Leave You).

If the first thought was of love
The second must be of obsession.
There is no getting rid of these feelings
Liking or loving or contentment,
Neither is harmful,
Yet.

You are not alone,
Or are you?
Love needs to be reciprocal.
You are living your feelings
So you are definite.
Most probably.
And the eyes have it to the right.
Now where is your head,
Where are your heels?
Submerged, you may forget to breathe.
Do not panic.

It’s just like palpitations.
Then there is the force,
Or rather the drive to consider.
You need to talk.
Don’t begin at the beginning
You will be a bore.
Just be like it is,
Countenance is measurable
Subconsciously.
Just be real.
Do not burst open,
Just blow your flame gently.

Rise up, but also know your limit.
If falling over your words
Causes laughter,
You are like a Prince, and charming.
Do not grip your heart
In a steel gloved hand,
Rather offer it openly as your gift.
You cannot lose
That which you freely give.

In truth your love is always present.
Be patient.
Love wonders a meandering path.
Your route to anothers’ heart is understanding that.
If you land on deaf words
Relax and touch your own heart.
Firstly you are misunderstanding your situation.
Secondly you are at cross paths.
You are kind but you are mistaken.
So leave your love to go.
Letting your lover go.
Is the hardest way.

In anamnesis, this time will never leave you.

© 2014-18  Christopher Thompson All Rights Reserved

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My Title Is Earned

In my memory months

I sit in all wrongs,

In all wrong doing.

And in visiting rage

I fit the bill.

My title is earned

My vision has been blurred,

I carry my hurt, due to unfounded,

Or mistaken representations.

 

The vaults of my life

Are locked in my Own History,

My facts often hidden

In the covers of my books.

I cling with my fingers

To the rhyme or the reason,

The jape or the statement

Of a secret police.

 

They are not up early enough

To counter goodness of heart.

Those who are so infantile,

Those mothers or fools.

 

© 2018  Christopher Thompson    All Rights Reserved

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Field. (this poem is a re blog for new readers)

If I were a room
I would open my arms
And welcome you in,
Closing the door and my hands
I would keep you safe
Within me.

I would let you rest
Keeping you sheltered.
I would love your dreams
And wishes
Safe.
I would watch over you.

But alas,
I am a field.

© 2018  Christopher Thompson.

 

This is a Re Blog to reveal the poem to new readers.

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Speeding to the Horizon, an Infinity Dichotomy (Pt1)

Speeding to the Horizon, an Infinity Dichotomy (Pt1)

There is little I would presume to dismantle
A plate of tectonic proportions for example.
Or a disjointed phrase.
Or a lucid remark
Or stroll along a parapet wall.
There would be great risk
Of failing or falling.

Here is the trap.
There is danger should it
Ever be sprung.

It begins with choices.

Who has the choice
At the outset, the beginning,
or in the twilight, the end of a life?

© 2018 Christopher Thompson

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