Amazing journey

After two years of hard work my new poetry book is now available to pre-order on Amazon and in other book stores.

I’ve been writing for years and not always when I’ve been in a good place. But that darkness makes the words honest, and to an extent brutal.

From the start of having confidence to edit them and send them off to publishers, I said to myself that I wouldn’t hold back, if I feel it’s too much, or maybe a trigger.

I decided if I ever felt that way with a poem I would write it anyway. No more avoiding life and escaping from my true feelings.

Suicide is suicide, pain is pain, and fear is fear. No need to dress it up. Don’t get me wrong every topic is used in context, not just for shock value.

Each poem reflects a stage in my life. They are deep, to the point, and honest.

I wanted people to feel what I was feeling when they read them. But also being able to interpret them in their own lives and history.

I believe that people with messy minds and ill mental health have great imaginations. Just imagine if that was used creatively, in art, music, poems, anything. The results would be unique and wonderous!!

I am very proud of this book. I’ve been able to step into the darkness without fear of being sucked in. What saw I put down in words, and this is my story and journey in poetry form.

My Book – Encryption of the Mind by Chris Chant.

Now available to pre-order from Amazon and other good bookstores.

Book release

The front cover and Amazon preview of my poetry book due for release at the end of August.

It contains old and new poetry using a mental health concept. Each one along with my own photographs.

Not available for pre-order yet but watch this space.

Be who you want to be

Birth is wonderous beginnings
Fear is in the leaving
Thoughts prey on fickle minds
Bringing truth to on-high believing

Love won’t send for the reaper
Death will scare the fear
Compassion excites misty hope
Killings just so clear

Are we blind to concern
Selfish towards our end
Living is constant moments
After-death, is just pretend.

Brick walls

If I had to write this with compulsions
It would take a hour for each word      An empty shell with a story to tell
Thank heavens I can now be heard

Blurry lyrics or a collection of genius
My perception they all make sense
A messy mind had a complex calm
Writing this feels so intense

My lowest point, I’d be counting letters
Fragile with anger in my darkest hour
Turning pages a bittersweet torment
Anxiety risen, a story turned sour

Six months I’ve received this calm gift
Continued to put paper to pen
A thought stuck in the back of my mind,
Will my creative desire be grounded again?

Youth was hell, middle age is now
Although the middle feels like pretend,
Because what if this just six months relief,
Keep questioning how’s it going to end?

This thought really struck hard
A pool of water drowning my flair
The best way to be guided forward,
Is to make it real, stick it out there

A clear mind feels to good to be pure
Intrusive thoughts, a form of creative theft
If I couldn’t produce my written work,
My impression is, I’d have nothing left

I’m pleased my lyrics are not lost in translation
It’s where my silent mind has its speech
Forever fighting this fermenting stigma
I hope its helped someone, the people it has reached…

Passing By

Only an hourglass can drown me
Stop my obsessional time
From Flooding my senses
Where paradoxically, numbers play god.
Here I stand
Watching clocks
Counting seconds
Until minutes are lost.
Cursed to view existence
Consciously through life,
Living to the speed
Of a hand wound by a hand.
Its symbolic in nature
Ticking to the hearts beat
And When the cogs finially stop
It’s time for me to sleep.

Shouting at the rain

Empty spaces filled with souls
Risen by false pretences
Offering shelter to the storm.
Worrying minds the most vulnerable
Of all catastrophes,
Affecting visionaries with regret,
The brave shrunk down
To shadows of cowardice.
When will we realise
To ignore the whispering talk
Expressed by deemed prophecies of hell
Who live to shorten life.
Thunder has rumbled
The inner soul for too long,
Time has come
To bathe and cleanse internal scars,
Dry our spirit from the rain
Hang our skin out to burn,
Because If we follow ourselves towards oblivion
Only darkness will return.

First Thought-

Echoes in the mind

Flow rampant, encircling

Affecting most prominent responses

Albeit listened

It is unmoving

Though unnerving

The primary speaks truth

Imitations less reliant

Consistent in its perseverance

A skimming stone

Simmering to a sunken weight

Dead in the water

Sits of an innocence

Vibrating ripples of continuance