Poetry | Stories | Photography
Seated at the window watching
the way snow falls on red cedars.
Night crept up too quickly,
as the days shorten to hours.
You are never far from my mind
as your tree grows taller, redder.
Snow covers our world of love,
and the red cedars stand tall,
and the red cedars stand tall;
they are a reminder of the blood
and the way you passed from light.
Seated at the window watching the
way snow falls on what was our love.
Weeping from behind the brown door grew louder and louder until one could hear the crying from all corners of the house.
The house lives and breathes something primal; malice lingers in the corners threatening those who venture to close to the flame.
She is only six, so she knows things and sees things the adults choose not to see; things adults choose to forget.
Weeping from behind the brown door stirs something forgotten in her soul as if she knows who occupies those walls.
Taking a torch, she pads tentatively along the hall of rooms to the one that sits at the end; the one with the brown door.
Experienced with keys and as sharp as a knife, she hastily acquires the key and puts the right one in the lock to see if it works.
A click and movement are all the convincing she needs to enter without fear; only to find out why the weeping continues.
Two eyes stare at her, and a quick movement frightens her, yet she holds her nerve and enters further still into the room.
The eyes occupy a person, and the person is familiar to her; the person is her long-lost sister who was feared dead.
Convinced at once that this is the chance, she takes her sister’s hand, they pad along the hall, and out into the night.
The parents awoke the next morning to two empty rooms. Two sisters swept up by a vanishment that created a legend.
For the girls, they made their way through the forest and into the night; now they live countries away without fear of the night.
The many, the masses,
never look upwards.
There is the sky, patterns,
ceilings of Filigree up there.
The many, the masses,
looking towards nothing.
There. Up there is where
I go often;
looking upwards,
when they look towards nothing.
You walked in the busy city, stopping to wait for the right light.
A quick snap below of what’s above, reminds you of Winter’s day.
Looking back, you stare at the image of Melbourne town.
There is a silent way about the grey; a stillness in the sky.
Perhaps you will again see Melbourne moving on a winter’s day.
Howling from the forest,
Wintertime is on the way.
A sea breeze turns wild,
Clouds move overhead.
Woods once silent, now
move in urgency to the sky.
Many crows do fly across the sky,
To show us a Portent of death.
Another day for Squares.
As the theme this month is Up, I’m going back to a visit to Prom Country Cheese located in South Gippsland.
I do love their cheese, so I’m very happy to share the photos of their lovely part of the world.
To sail my ship on your churning waves,
feeling the turbulence of your will, the struggles.
Weathering the storms to enter your port,
sailing wildly into your heart to never sail again.
