Many books spill over and out into the landscape of my home. Tumbling and falling, they cry out for attention.
They sit and sit, yet some receive nix; others, a cursory glance or an occasional flutter of my fingers.
Many books sit in a crate, ready to be loved by someone.
“It’s a lovely day.”
“So sunny and cool.”
[8 hours pass on the sofa]
“I love how we have all these amazing escapades from the couch, yet we never go outside.”
“It’s not so good for the waistline, though.”
“Yeah. Do you care?”
“Not really.”
“Feed me cheese, and-.”
The sound of the desert
moving in the vibrations
from many components.
Shades of nature sound
in this ancient place
to bring hidden things
towards the surface.
The sounds of music play in
the middle of nowhere
bring feelings of somewhere.
Sounds of ancient times
never lost, yet always
found,
as she plays for him.
“Keep going! We need to get to England. My wife wants more gold.”
“Bloody hell! Helga is wild. Can’t you give her something else? Maybe if you slept with her once in a whil-“
“She gets plenty of satisfaction! Keep the scull shit going.”
“Sculling, brother.”
“Shut up!”
You are so far away
over there somewhere,
someplace I’ve never seen.
“The forest is alive here”,
you say to me from so far away.
“I can see the photos,
yet I can’t be there with you.”
“Come, be with me, here.”
That is your dream, not mine;
My dream is here in this land.
You love your dream.
I love my dream;
Surely, there’s a way
to merge the two.
I didn’t hear
from you yesterday.
Yesterday afternoon,
I dropped our
favourite fruit bowl.
I watched it smash into
so many pieces.
I found out today you died
in the forest
yesterday afternoon my time;
a heart attack.
Now I’m travelling to you.
It took your death to bring
our dreams together,
if only for a short time.
A passenger.
A splash of organised colour
far off
behind closed eerie fences.
A feeling.
A splash of purple flowers
sitting still,
lonely, isolated, and alone.
A memory.
A window sill so far away,
where a flower
sits on Mum’s window sill.
A memory,
climbing in cable cars.
Layers of mountains,
rising to the sky.
At the top, we arrived,
standing on the snow.
You felt sick too soon,
I wanted to stay awhile.
Goodbye to sky and snow,
descending to down below.
Longing to go back,
stay a while at the top;
Sit with you and watch the snow
falling on the Klein Matterhorn.
Dancing rubiginous leaves,
moving towards their death;
a colourful display of life.
We step amongst the leaves,
along the Melbourne streets.
Wishing we were also the leaves,
dancing without any inhibitions;
Knowing that life is too short.
I dreamed of us walking through the Melbourne streets.
The city was dark. All the people walked around with candles of different shapes and sizes.
We shared a candle and watched the way all the candlelight shapes moved on the building walls.
You and I never felt so free in the ambience of no electricity, yet the city never looked so beautiful.
There was no coffee to drink, no sweets to eat, no food to feast, so we stood for a while looking at the Yarra River.
Thousands of people with candles moved along the river, over the bridges, and into the night.
We used our dying phone charge to take photos of this beautiful night.
When we awoke, the photos on our phones were all blank. You couldn’t erase the, “I love you” that escaped your lips.
Tall trees hide many birds,
as we walk into the forest.
Unfamiliar bird chattering,
puts our quiet time to rest.
Onward we go dreaming,
wishing for the old times.
We spread out rugs, food;
looking up, down, around.
A bird pounces: one, two;
bread slices disappearing.
Another bird pounces soft;
fruit pieces are vanishing.
We nibble on what is left,
photographing the birds.
