Poetry | Stories | Photography
Photo – Thensure Yang
Memories move through my mind,
reminding me of what we used to do.
Sunday times at Lake Tinaroo,
when a paddleboat fit more than two.
A Summer’s day at Yorkeys Knob,
swimming in nets and dreaming away.
Looking at this view I remember
all the remade childhood good times.
Yet the bad dreams move away,
just like the fade of this soft short day.
Standing still
feeling the mist
as the forest breathes
in the coming of winter
Burning red sunset
paints the sea with soft colours,
as the moon arrives.
Photo – Sven Leveque
The world isn’t meant for the weak, but am I that strong?
I see you in another land with a pink smile and shining eyes, yet is that you in there?
Sitting at home looking at the mould on the walls and feeling the cold chill that seeps through, I think of my place in society, my poverty.
Yet, when I look out the window, I see the Highlands calling. The streams and mountains call from somewhere ancient to tell me it will be alright.
As I look at the mirror black, I see a face I barely recognise staring back;
yet there’s familiarity in those eyes and those lips.
Undecided yet hopeful, I run outside and leg it towards the hills.
It’s not awful to run, but the sky is so beautiful and grey today.
I wonder when you’ll find me standing by a bin in some random street waiting to touch you again.
Winter holds you frozen within her frosty grasp,
for she’s waited so long for jealous Autumn to go.
Your heart beats slow in her cold wild arms,
yet she knows Autumn’s fate will be her own.
The snow falls on your hair and face to warm you,
as Winter dances her wild cold dance around you.
You love the way the snow makes your body feel,
for your heart is ice and your veins beat glacial water.
Sleep takes you into Winter’s slender arms again,
yet when you wake, the sun shines down on you.
In the ice, you lay as your heart starts to melt,
then as you look left, and then right, you see.
You slept within the pines last night, to your dismay,
only to find you did sleep between the Snowdrops.
The Snowdrops remind your heart that love is well,
as the shoots rise from the ice to find the sun.
Her mind was calm
until she saw
those pink roses.
Now, with his help,
she starts dissolving;
dissolving and
running into puddles.
She can’t stop the ache,
which clouds her mind and
blurs the pink roses.
There is only one cure;
only the trees need stare now.
There is something gentle
and uplifting about a yellow
rose in the spring.
It blooms, even
from within a cage.
The roses in this caged garden
remind me that beauty can be
found from within a prison, even
if that prison is within one’s mind.
C & K 