Nothing tangible
to touch tonight,
his ghost
an ethereal plume.
Forest of Forgetting
A bird chirps unknown thoughts from a branch in a tree that I have not seen before today. The air feels thick, with the taste of a storm or rain; I cannot tell for sure how the weather will play out, for I do not live in the clouds.
I stand in a potato sack dress, oblivious to my situation; I do not know how I came to be here, nor do I know the name of this country.
I know nothing, yet I feel the very fabric of my surroundings. The connection with nature, as if words are spoken directly to me and only for me to hear, guides me forward.
Trees remind me of the Tree-Folk and their many stories; the wisdom they share with only a selected few. I feel closer to something as I step across an invisible threshold into the forest.
The weight of some emotional distress lingers on my skin and in my mind; I hold back the welling of my heart and those tears wanting to spill and run free towards the forest floor.
Something is missing from my many layers. It is as though my past, personality, and me, the person standing in a forest, ceases to be what she once was.
I walk to remember. I walk to forget. I walk through the ever-increasing darkening of the forest as rain does not come. Instead, snow begins to fall.
The snow should be cold. The snow should make me feel cold, yet it makes me feel calm.
I stand still, waiting for something to come.
In the forest of forgetting, I walk, and I walk until I remember what it is that I must finish.
Returning to the City
The grey of the morning passed,
turning the day into a Spring Day.
Returning to the city after so long,
so jittery and awkward in my skin.
Picking a cafe out of the busy way,
to sit and process many feelings.
Sipping a cappuccino so far away,
jolted from thought by a kind pug.
Sea Spouse
Footprints in the sand
dancing to sounds of the sea
Fingering a shell
dancing into the wavelets
Forever my soft sea spouse
Wild Rain
I wrote this one yesterday.
We have experienced Winter in Spring.
It’s lovely, as the rain is everywhere at the moment, yet the thought of Summer makes me wish for more rain and cold weather.
A rain cloud kind of wild day
Petrichor blew away by the wind
The wild rain calling outside
Placing my empty porcelain cup
The inside smells cannot win
Walking outside to feel the wild rain
Friday Night Blues
An unused coffee cup,
milk in the fridge, yet the kettle is too far away.
I sit working away;
working, and working, and working the day away.
Results mean little,
as the dollar signs are all they care about here.
Tired of the stress;
too many tasks leave my body tired and frazzled.
Friday night blues,
as thoughts of catastrophic failures, haunt me.
Night Owl
Hiding all day,
living all night.
The stress of the day,
the wonder of the night.
Over and over again,
no sunlight, only moonlight.
One night sleep came
until the light of day shone.
Stepping outside,
a blue sky, the sun, a cloud.
Standing still,
to apricate.
Wild Scents
Coffee aroma
floating towards the wild scents
lips press coffee cup
Written Innocence
Your innocence,
writing between the
lines of your poetry.
Between the lines,
all the novels are about love,
romanticising complexities.
You’re so young,
so full of windswept lovers;
in time, your words will change.
He reads your words,
waiting for the change,
not too soon.
Troublous Soul
Me, a troublous soul.
Sitting up too late at night,
Hiding in my home.
C & K 