Poetry Blog by Chris Hubbard

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Chris Hubbard on Not Quite the Same (Tue, 9 Feb 2021 01:10 am)

Brian Hodgkinson on Not Quite the Same (Tue, 9 Feb 2021 12:33 am)

Chris Hubbard on Into the Storm (Tue, 26 Jan 2021 12:01 pm)

Chris Hubbard on Into the Storm (Tue, 26 Jan 2021 10:52 am)

Chris Hubbard on Mercury (Thu, 31 Dec 2020 05:56 am)

Chris Hubbard on Falling (Wed, 30 Dec 2020 02:24 pm)

Chris Hubbard on Mercury (Tue, 22 Dec 2020 10:31 pm)

Chris Hubbard on Islander (Sun, 13 Dec 2020 10:45 pm)

jennifer Malden on Islander (Sun, 13 Dec 2020 04:46 pm)

keith jeffries on Islander (Sun, 13 Dec 2020 02:38 pm)



Django woke slowly as the heavy dusk closed in,

Framed within a simple deal window. The street below

Began to quieten. Stray comments wafted from the inn;

Across the way drinkers cursed the gathering, drifting snow

As he lay in semi-wakefulness. The dying sun flicked

A parting salute along the cobbled roadway, her crimson

Painting its gaudy standards in fairground red. ...

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The Dark Land


The Dark Land


Surveying this place I tend to ponder

What it means to be torn asunder,

Divided between two unlike worlds

And no-man's land where the bagpipes skirl.


On one hand the fires burn so high

As to illuminate an empty sky.

On the other, myriad darkened places

Embrace broad ranks of fearful faces.


Their hopes serve merely to calm their fears,


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The Train Won't Wait


The Train Won't Wait


The train won't wait in the station,

Its four-faced clocks command

While I clatter past startled travellers

Threadbare luggage in hand.


I watch as a carriage begins to slide

And my race is almost run; oh

The Devil's work without a doubt,

A scalding in place of fun.


The scene dissolves in disorder,

The station crowd's undecided;


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Hope In Any Other

Hope In Any Other


Sitting outside the Welcome Break

where mental meteors abound

In armoured constellations:

Money, love, my ownliness

Lie shattered on its grimy ground.

No mask denies my consternation,

The burnt ones being still alive.

The city churns out embedded harm

At passing motorways of hopelessness;

Conveyor belts that strain and strive

To deliver start...

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Not Quite the Same

Not Quite the Same


Move stealthy as the dusk on

cloudy, blustery days when voles emerge

and the ravens, mere black arcs,

flap dysfunctionally at receding skies.


Creep like highwaymen surprised

among discretely flowering hawthorns,

demanding instant admission

to a secret surge of beauty.


Follow as a narrow stream, emergent

from its bubbling creator, pour...

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Into the Storm





I saw great billows fill and build

over verdant hills of grace

as shining songbirds danced and trilled

and the sun fell into place.


Then behold the mighty nimbus

alight in their dying flames,

strike like an angry mistress,

her thunder her crying shame.


Up, up they roiled and soared

in righteous indignation, as

lightning's fla...

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