The dead sea scripture poet…

Hated heathens, planned war
Awaited the cycle of destruction
Wore sandals, a white robe
Smeared himself in oil
Practised the covenant
Hid from Romans
Lived in communes in the wilderness

Walked the narrow streets
Heard people boast of killings
But his tongue cleaved to the roof of his mouth
One foot in the grave
One hand around a wine jug
Then he discovered the Lords path
Began writing thanksgiving poetry

Learning nothing was done
The Lord had not foreseen
He was a trueborn priest
With insight into God’s workings

Truths like fingernails and hair
Grew long after his death
Sunlight held a secret
Looking into the sunlight he saw a movie
A boat sailing
With all the works of the Lord

While alive he waited and waited
For the vengeance of God
But no vengeance came
Only Romans and Jesus Christ

The Dead Sea Scripture Poet
Because he kept the covenant of God
Is said to be alive today

Israel, Kibbutz Ziqim near Gaza 1977

From “Beautiful Words” collection

Song: You Are Here

PDF. chris hall poem fine

I think the song is finished now. Thank you for your support. And I hope it works.

You Are Here by Chris Hall

In that darkest hour just before dawn
When night-time terrors clutch my heart
In black-dog moments when tears well up
And despair’s dark hands wrench me apart
You are here.

When sun-beams stream forth as storm clouds part
And laughter and song fill my heart
And we will survive this troubled world
Because together, my love we are strong.
You are here

The Outline of Her Colour Image

The outline of her colour image creates a spectrum in my belly
Its invisible blues and purples and beyond enwrap my heart in light

And then vanishes like a dream into heavy clouds
Leaving behind memories that are revealed in the stillness of the night
Or they produce a memory of her voice, her speech and words
As if a visiting nightingale nestling on my bosom had begun singing

But still, I’m saturated in the light particles of this experience
I walk in a colourful blizzard of her influences
And I try to put them together again into a real woman
That collapses like a house of raindrops

And her moods are as pleasant as her round figure
They rise and fall like hills in the progress of light into the dark
Where I lose myself in the exploration of her being
both the fire and the rain of her emotions are a healing to my soul

There Is a Journey I Have Discovered

There is a journey that I have discovered
There is a journey that I know is true
There is a destination that all must journey too
There is a path that can be mankind’s first and last

From the vault of a dark waterless seabed
To the great rainbow in the universe
From the first embryo of life
To the greatest thought in time and space

When your feet find this pathway
they begin to glide along on oiled feet
They slip on the slime left behind
by the millions of people upon the route
If people die on this golden glittering road
they die from broken hearts and excess
If people live forever on this road
they live because they learn how to drink the water

It begins in the ruins of war wrecked cities
It ends in the hearts newfound wisdom
It begins in the corridors of sin bashed slums
It ends in the fulfilment of insights

It must be taken – to live and never die
It must be taken – to know life
It must be taken – to find happiness
It must be taken – to see peace

It’s the discovery of the images of dreams
That appears after a time of darkness and hunger
They appear like black and white crystals in a broken mirror
They run down your nose and ears as you sleep
They frighten and distort you in your isolation
You’re like a dead barbecued carcass in your sleep

They begin to collect together in a narrative
They begin to piece together a message
They begin to attract a strange sweet solution
They begin to coalesce into a partnership

This is a journey that I have discovered
This is a journey that I know is true
There is a destination that all must journey to
There is a path that can be both mankind’s first and last


Tribute to Heidi

singing in mid-range with a throaty wisp
she’s singing a David Bowie song

her crisp white hair was a shock at first
but now she is changed into the beautiful Snow White

She forgets then remembers to smile for her followers on Facebook
with her new message – what would They do now?

the camera captures every change of thought
every rehearsed queue, every tentative smile

this Celtic Snow White sings her song
from her palace wonderland with her childlike joy

my mind races through avenues
along highways and arrives

back in the chair in Camden Working Men’s College
where I sat in an evening class for the first lesson

the equality of her teaching, her kindness
with her Arthurian round-table approach

after my lessons were over I searched but did not find
another Celtic songstress with her endearing magic

I was fortunate to sign up for Heidi Berry’s songwriting class
for a few seasons in about 2000





Samson and the city gates

Oil Painting
Samson trapped by the Philistines inside their fortified city, removes the city gates and escapes and carries the heavy gates to the top of a high hill where the philistines could never hope to retrieve them


Two further changes need to be considered to this painting: he eluded the assassins by leaving in the night; he had seven locks of long hair.

The hair cannot be resolved easily because is hard to add the detail to the actual size of the figure. The figure of a small Samson in a big landscape is an interesting contrast to how Samson is usually depicted. The cartoon nature is also a contrast to the usual realistic way of picturing him.

I have tried to depict an early morning scene looking west as the horizon gets brighter. My Samson is perhaps more of a circus strongman than an Israelite. But is better understood these days. I imagine the term “to gird up your loins” would apply here as Samson tucked his gown into his belt in order to move better, but I like the Circus strongman image better than the probable ancient clothing. But who knows?





Don’t leave me anything when you go

Don’t leave me anything when you go
Don’t leave me anything when you say goodnight

Take everything that was yours
Take everything that was mine
Even take the day and take the night

Now I stare across the wind
Now I stare with the face of time

At the horizon so far, far away
And here is where it ends
And here is where the night becomes the day

The world has taught me bad things

The world has taught me bad things
Like how to follow history
When the answer was inside
And never was a mystery

The world is like a tipper truck
That spills its garbage at your feet
And obliges you to recycle
The paper, cans and rotten meat

But you will search till doomsday
And never find yourself there
And until a lover digs you out
You will end up buried there

Your secret fears are played out

Your secret fears are played out and appear unloving
Like poison leaves that wither
Like mouldy flowers that shiver

Your loved one begins to feel
Incarcerated, tortured and kneels
For forgiveness in front of you
And you know not what to do

Is it secret fears, hidden long?
Wrongs done you long ago
Forgotten, buried, left to starve
That surface as the joker’s card

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