Chris Wiggins Poems

Through an old decaying window
I feel a gentle breeze,
In this cool quiet morning
I can barely hear her breathe
...

Dust gathers on my picture of you,
My love, my dearest departed
Seasons change warm to blue
And the hands of time keep marching
...

The poison in the needle is not the cure,
It will not bring you back to where you were before,
Twill suck you deep within the depths of hell,
Spin you round an' push you down a crooked well.
...

My mental illness plays
Against my better days,
Scorched by a ferocious heat,
From my head to my feet,
...

You may conspire with politicians,
Coerce judges to be thy slave,
You may bribe the fickle jury,
But thy will not escape the grave
...

Poetry is about finding beauty in unlit places.
We can all agree the ocean is magnificent,
But what of the barnacles hidden beneath the pier,
where crustaceans lay year after year.
...

She resides in beauty, so delicate,
So perfect nature dare not conspire.
God himself an admirer of his work,
Heavens soft clouds desire.
...

Our differences could spread the length and breadth of two continent's.
Where as, our similarities could fit through the eye of a needle and still have room to spare.
I sit across from him in the office.
Oh, how i detest and loath that man.
...

You don't need a fishing boat,
A rod or some bait,

Often, the best poems
...

You fall, as silent as snow, into a hole
of unwanted thoughts and panic.
To slow a fast beating heart while still
In fight, is as impossible as it is to pull
...