Metaphysical Thoughts

Do I belong here?
Tugging at the society I live in,
the construct I built for myself

What will I become?
A box of dust to be slowly
as the world keeps turning

Why would I?
Day to day, we see it
all so clearly, yet
humans find a way
to hurt each other

Yes, there is light in the
dark places, yet the
darkness creeps closer

Why go on?
The sound of music tells
me to keep listening,

The desire to treat life
as a gift pushes me forward,
and your love for me

Your love is sunflowers
fresh Turkish Delight

Apple Tree Memories

Picked apples fill up a bucket
the warm sun burns the day away

the dress you wore last year
and the year before last;
still, it remains your favourite

Unpicked apples line the arbour
you think back to your kids
playing on a sunny day like today

yet now they are older
such joys that they held dear
now only for the fools

Picked apples sit abandoned
barefoot and twirling
immersed in the glory days

Twirling a wish for another love
singing to the parrots
A wombat looks ready for sleep

The moment passes
you pick up the bucket
back to your empty kitchen

Perhaps you’ll make an apple pie
the eldest son loves them
maybe he will come to visit soon

Sunny Love

Licking the inside of my lips
watching the scent of her uncut flowers

Blowing daffodil hair in the breeze

Aching for a kiss, to be kissed
such beauty in the urbanised garden 

Is she the witch from all of those stories?
intensifying scents blur my vision

She moves closer, and closer, and closer
amongst the long grass, I am defenceless 

Gone from the consciousness of the living
she is present, yet there remains nothing else

The natural world appears to be vibrating
I am under her spell, her control
She straddled me and won't let me be free

Alone in the long grass
awake from a dream, or was this reality?
Dishevelled and soaked
my shoes have left me to feel the grass
Birds sing about something
Lipstick kisses on my feet and hands

The Ceremony

The ceremony
is the beginning and the end.

reveals her hidden desires.

Wolves in the forest, 
life and death are interwoven.

A foreign voice speaks; 
unrecognisable, yet it is her own.

Smoke and mirrors,
horrors and joys are interwoven.

Dancing to a silent drum,
the forest can feel the energy.

Spirits of the dead rise
as the world of the living and death blur.

A cleansing of herself
reveals a cleansing of the forest;
they are the same.