Christopher P. P. White
Christopher P. P. White Poems
The blackbirds have nested near my window.
All I see when my eyes meet the morning
Are these birds and their black feathers.
They remind me of death;
...
I look around for solace or a place to run to
But all I see are empty shops and lonely benches.
The promenade was once filled with laughter and ice cream—
Now it's full of silence and sadness.
...
Higher powers and moments of weakness;
Guilt is surely the easiest pain to feel
When all you are getting is a vile judgement
From a bunch of wrong Samaritans.
...
A delicate note from a terrorised tongue
Or a melody born out of sadness.
I long to hear the story that's scattered
With words
...
I am stuck in time like the poor fly
In a spider's web
Waiting to die.
Maybe minutes will move
...
When all that rain fell towards the earth
Like an almighty stream from the sky,
The only thing we both held onto was
That old umbrella.
...
Blossoming from a minute spark,
It dances with passion—
Igniting a host of naked flames
That surround untouched bodies
...
This music transports me to a noir America
With sin deep in its heart
And dirty brown liquor in its mile long veins.
And at the front—
...
Listening to a woman with
The voice of an angel
Is the pinnacle of virtue.
A rapturous vigour
...
Her warm body radiates
As my cold hands
Rest upon her strapless shoulders.
The bra she wore
...
I go to that coffee shop every day.
The coffee is never made
The same way
And the girl behind the counter
...
Those big wheels have fallen off
The train and we lay
Derailed in the mud.
...
I unfold the paper and read
This love letter I've found in my wallet...
It's covered in glitter
And doused in perfume.
...
On the outskirts of wherever I've rested my head
On the cold grit and tarmac of a ghost town
At 5am,
The only ghost in town with a phone that's
...
I used to go looking for easy women,
Now I go looking for bargains
Down the vegetable aisles
In supermarkets.
...
Christopher P. P. White Biography
Christopher P. P. White is a poet that explores every facet of this mortal coil with a mind doused in cynicism and hope. He lives in Derby, England with his wife and two daughters, with dreams of writing for a living because he can't do anything else. He already has two poetry collections out there called 'The Bare Bones of a Melancholy Life' and 'Higher Powers and Moments of Weakness' on Amazon and is published on numerous websites. Feel free to tell him he sucks on Twitter at @CPPWhite or visit his site at christopherppwhite.weebly.com.)
The Best Poem Of Christopher P. P. White
Blackbirds
The blackbirds have nested near my window.
All I see when my eyes meet the morning
Are these birds and their black feathers.
They remind me of death;
Maybe it's just the colour in their wings
Or maybe it's something else,
Something hidden in their songs.
I listen for a word in a note but nothing ever comes,
Only that false sense of hope that I wake with every
Morning.
I've started to drink half empty cups of coffee
Because I hate orange juice so much.
It seems so optimistic and content in its glass.
Not surly and miserable and black.
I watch the news to feel wholesome and to give
Myself a reason not to doubt but there is far too
Much dereliction in people's minds
That they are so free from conscience and kindness
To look compassion and empathy in the eye.
I can't seem to shake the drowning.
Falling below the surface daily,
Bringing my eye line above the waves
But struggling to catch my breath
As the fluid is already a part of me and my lungs.
All of these metaphors sounded better in my head
But maybe they'll look better on
The crumpled paper that will shortly be next to me,
Lying parallel to my still hand.
For now please take them as they are.
The honest truth is that my life,
Filled with routine and monotony
And abundant loneliness is waning.
Tinkering with the infinite grapple of an eternity
Is tiring,
Even when all you do is lie on an empty bed,
With empty dreams and half-empty cups
Of that surly, miserable, black coffee.
Ending it is the only comforting thought.
I'll probably keep my options
Open but leave my choices locked up
Where my free-will shall never find them.
I wish not to disclose my identity to the masses
Or to ever tell those closest how I feel.
I just need to tell somebody—
You.
Because you're the only one who'll ever read this.
Suicide is painless so here it goes,
Unless it goes wrong.
So I'll do it right,
With the right tools.
I'll use the greatest method there is;
Get your heart broken
And watch your time run out on its own accord.
Luckily for me I'm halfway there.
I'm lying here at dawn and the blackbirds have gone
And the silence has fallen.
There are no songs anymore,
Only serenity.
I hope God doesn't exist because he's going to be pissed.
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