Christian Allen Poems
|4.||Sleepily I Wake||8/30/2009|
|6.||Hills And Battles||9/16/2009|
|7.||Smoking Creek Side||2/7/2010|
|8.||Sunday February 14th 2010||2/14/2010|
|11.||A Gentle Breeze Knocks The Grass||8/30/2009|
|12.||For Whom My Heart Bleeds||8/30/2009|
|14.||Georgia Is Wet In Summer||8/30/2009|
|15.||As If I Shouldn'T Have||8/30/2009|
|16.||The Old Man Sits On His Porch||8/30/2009|
|19.||The Book Keeper||8/30/2009|
Comments about Christian Allen
The Book Keeper
The Book Keeper, smells of ashes and cherry wood,
Of pipes and tinder, and of things ancient and grey.
His beard is a forest, of thick white hair,
Even it has seen things, that I haven’t.
The Book Keeper, with eyes of amber,
Knows what to say when I am lost, he knows.
The Book Keeper, I hear, never says where he’s from.
But I will know, when he speaks to me, tonight, I will know.
The Book Keeper, loves his books, as his children.
With the utmost kindness, he sorts them, again, and again.
He cleans them, studies them, comforts them, again, ...
“I will sail for you, Darling, on an ocean to your heart”
November, chilly not cold
A note rests on the porch, bold
Leaves are dead, yellowed and old
A breeze blows in, from the ocean to the east
As memories of you tickle, and tease.
I remember this house, built in early June.