I move along the memory lines –
A rosy filter fills me with nostalgia.
Those days before technology –
watching movies with the parents,
and listening to cassette tapes.
I move above the memory lines –
all the filters fall away to reveal
Brown.
Author: C and K Words
Human | Lawyer | Poet | Story Spinner | Finding inspiration everywhere | Writing poetry and words from different spaces and places | Photographing nature and things |
Home Sick
The gloaming fades slow
into the cloudy darkness
where there are no stars
The whispering night
scintilla of loneliness
too far from our home
Our Sadness
A dream from space,
watching the Earth from the heavens.
Insignificant in size,
wars and genocide ravage the planet.
Up here is the quiet,
a place for contemplation and dreaming.
A jolt from the cat,
the reality of humanity fills the room with
Our Sadness.
AI
The sky is full of AI,
you cannot remember the sun and the sky.
A collection of before,
all is regurgitated into the producer of myth.
For a moment longer,
my mind strays to a sunset of fading colours.
And, the remembering –
our suffering compounded within the absence.
Russia is a Season
Alone with thoughts of wars and the sun,
the one human I cannot forget pops into my head
A beautiful, mad mess of character vagaries,
shacked up with some designer labelled Oligarch
All the thoughts of one human seem soft,
the wind picks up, and the leaves change my season
Moon, They Appear
eyes to the starscape
stardust falls on my glasses
the moon, they appear
Words
enigmatic tree
a rustle of lush green leaves
the forbidden words
Guru J
Nostalgic thoughts help the intricate cocktails go down as they recall their time with Guru Malcolm at university.
What they once brushed off lightly seems so interesting to the grey-haired group.
Once called an evil genius with a taste for Jurisprudence and role-playing, no one was safe from the Plato theatre. They once debated Capital Punishment through a conversation between Aquinas, Rousseau, and Bentham.
They laugh and consider how different their lives would have been if they had listened to Guru J.
Magical Ancestor
A calling to walk in the forest.
Hoping to find something that keeps calling back to the same wilted tree.
Taking more time now that the adults do not have the power to intervene.
Under moss and vines lay the inscription of her great-grandmother’s name – The Progenitor of Magic.
Waiting
Between human and ghost, the old one sits waiting for the inevitable.
A liminal being, he is already in a place unknown to the living ones.
His cats chirp and meow as if to say, “Hurry along, Dear. You might be tasty.”
He waits for the one who will not arrive.
C & K 