Chris Pitts Tells his story School dunce, scorned worker, exploited nursing care assistant. Despite it all, Chris has led a colourful life as ‘a butterfly that escaped the wheel’. There is no fiction here; from the Summer of Love at St Ives in 1967 through to the relief at finding the missing body in the …
A book by Chris Pitts Broken Body is available on Amazon as a paperback or as a Kindle electronic download. It is A story of failure, the Church – “The Body of Christ” and its failure to engage positively with the disempowered. “Chris tells his life story and explains how, unlike many of his friends, …
In the London autumn rain, he walked into the flamboyant fashion shop on Carnaby street – 1964. It was a London at peace with itself, pencils of the sun warming wet clothes. A strange clock chimed in the corners of infinity, a vast array of passengers perhaps nothing more than a thought in the eternal …
(A poem inspired by Charlie Chips) LABOURER on the Suffolk fields, cycles of sunrise to sunset. Seeking out the unseen tides of the mind, lusting for The sweet sleep of the labourer. In the soul centre of the wandering fields he hears the Suffolk hymn Sang in the tonal beauty of home winds welcoming ………. …
Friendship is a commodity for some people, it’s negotiable. Some truths come from lying tongues. From those who don’t know that their self-protection can make manifest the truth from lies. The world the country becomes a theatre, there are those trapped in the same performance day in day out. The truth and lies are the …
The green grass of Star meadow, now imprisoned under thick concrete. Leamington spa on a windy autumn day long ago, you, the clown of all glory, like some strange spirit on the lonely street, trying to make sense of two people crashing into a 1960’s dream. Black P.V.C. overcoat, long black hair. Torn between life …
After the birth of their daughter Jill and Peter could not agree on a name. They had a celebration party and a lot of new parents with the same problem attended. As the wine flowed the parents got more and more frustrated about not finding a name. One of the parents piped up; “I’ll turn …
“You don’t ding dong merrily on high, without dog dinging manically below” Signed GOD.
The fast ticking clock that knows no despair, tangles the mighty clouds of youth, skies no longer friends, come to kiss my weeping. Silk children weave to the thread of sweat, in factories where Hell’s hopelessness, tells beautiful black and white lies, to ruling class poets. So soon the tomorrow breaks in, like the cruel …
Whatever hope is yours about the future of our world, I know I will share. My every waking hour perpetuates that hope. ‘Young men see visions, old men dream dreams’ When I was young I had visions about changing the world, I encountered the aging cynic’s laughter, but also I encountered the giants of that …