Poetry by Sean Chapman

                          ​Matthew Paul Argall CC



this man was a model

in admiration I stood
inspecting
the grizzled beard of the sun
dried man, sporting slippers
as his feet swung--
sat smoking atop his home
the pedestrian bin
the circular garbage container
held his buttocks drooping inside its rim
hunched forward to stop himself 
falling in.
he puffed smoke between knees
as he made friends with the birds
not discriminating between 
the pigeons and the crows.
in admiration I stood
modelling this man--
who could make friends and home
anywhere he drooped.





Flailing Stars

A whole life grabbed 
by the arms and legs,
stretched out and swinging 
through the crisp night air,
scything the darkness, 
slicing it up one piece at a time--
each pendulous touch an offering 
presented to the stars. Body 
meeting with shadows
at every swing—looking 
over the cliff edge 
at every approach--
the grip on ankles and wrists
tightens until they don’t.





but not now

as soon as the lighting is just right
as soon as he lives long enough to dance
as soon as work quietens to whispers
as soon as the sea speaks
as soon as the ghosts of empty bottles stop talking
as soon as he is not him
as soon as he thinks of another excuse
as soon as rains run backwards 
and the winds inhale all the troubles of the world
as soon as the pen in his hand spills gold 
as soon as he can hear death rapping its knuckles
as soon as he can see death grinning in his face
as soon as the clock starts ticking
as soon as it's too late
as soon as soon can be but not now

​
​

Sean Chapman is a British writer living in Cornwall beside the capricious Atlantic Ocean and amongst the blur of a blue Whippet and a red fox Labrador, named Ronnie and Charlie. Between daydreams of cowboy adventures and surfing escapades he writes poems, all of which are dedicated to Maggie and some of which have appeared or are forthcoming in Marble Poetry, Raceme, Dreich and Trouvaille Review. 

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