I’ve no reason to think he ever really left,
For the soil doesn’t allow us to rest,
It puts our bodies to work
As undersecretaries for flowers and oak trees.
I get to check up on him each autumn,
When his beard turns the leaves russet
And I imagine him being belched out,
To be mixed with the mid morning air.
Christopher Ware is a poet from London, England. He writes under the sobriquet, Charlton Poetic – an ode to his South London roots. Poetry is something of a therapeutic exercise for Christopher, who began writing again after suffering a breakdown a couple of years ago. As a result, he work uses the narrative of personal experience to explore wider themes, with an intense focus on the lyrical.