An old heart moving
against the Warragul wind,
to feel the cold rain.
Admiring the wild green hills,
slowly devoured by houses.
The two of us stood in this place on countless occasions,
as you talked to me about so many unimportant topics.
I listened to your words, not because I cared for them;
I listened to your talk because I knew the hunger
for your flesh and blood would be satisfied soon enough.
The way you looked at, “the big old elegant green one
with unkempt hair like mine” was a woman’s talk to me,
yet it never moved me.
I think of you, and I play your mannerisms, your face,
your voice, your speech; I play them over and over in my
mind so that I will never forget.
The riverside willow of you. The unkempt hair that hung
around your beautiful face, like the weeping willow
branches hang down into the river, is all I have left of you.
I realised too late that your time with me here in this
place was more important than only the hunger, which
is all I knew, for your flesh and your blood.
Your flesh and your blood was my desire for you, yet
your words, your actions, your love, and you,
the unkempt hair you, was the reason for my hunger.
I watch you walk into the room;
you are a beautiful masquerade.
A confident air hangs around you,
for you have never known “No”.
I watch you stand and sit so well,
then give me a look of disgust.
The player amongst many players,
you are an amusement to watch.
I sit and wait for the hammer to fall,
it doesn’t, and I wonder when it will.
A fault in that elegant demeanour shows,
for one man sees behind the masquerade.
I see you frown and flinch at his words,
then recede into the shadows tonight.
An entertaining amusement for the sick,
I take no pleasure in seeing you fall.
Tonight I will sit and wait for you to return;
so many lessons to learn, sweet daughter.
I gave you my youth
I give you all my wrinkles
My youth, My wrinkles
I gave, and I give all I
have without expectations
The Scent of Jasmine,
sweet, delicate Gardenia;
falling springtime snow.
Your heart yearns for the sea.
Sitting in your office, you drift towards the southern saltwater.
Lost in the south sea, you drift unnoticed and unafraid of what may become of you.
You float on the waves, the sun begins to set, and you think of nothing.
In the middle of burnt dirt
with the odd Mulga
lookin’ like unbrushed hair.
We don’t dare fan the flames
of the dead ones
out here in this no law land.
In burning heat, we suffer
muddled into dirt and sky.
We wish for cold grey skies
with kept trees
lookin’ like English Butlers.
In the outback, we wonder
about the dead
as the daylight turns to night.
We stand sipping hot water
feelings about this old land.
Outside we look towards the
sea of starlight
in this dark open landscape.
We remove all traces of the
us as we finally understand.
Your fancy porcelain throne
has stood the test of time.
A safe haven from your nagging love,
where a zen calm resets your soul.
You sit upon the throne looking at memes
and giggling uncontrollably.
A knock at the door shatters your zen
calm, and you look startled.
Your love peeks in to remind you there’s
a boring lunch on soon.
You say something pleasant, and the eye
rolling from your love begins.
The door doesn’t close properly, and the
zen moment has passed.
You let the trumpet play a wild tune, then give
your sweet porcelain pot a pat.
The thought of being one with the seat again
makes you smile.
A cobalt blue sky.
You with black-rimmed glasses bitching about my grey-rimmed glasses.
The heat intensifies a longing for romantic love once felt long ago.
The sky shifts.
Then the clouds appear in a rush to make rain before too long.
The sunder coloured sky,
just like you and I.
You were all about those pretty pools
filtered into oblivion on social media.
I preferred violent seas, as the sound
of waves crashing made me feel alive.
You could never understand those
violent seas and I could never understand
your love for pretty pools in paradise.
I stood on the shore of a storm raging
sea while you watched from a pretty pool;
I walked into the sea and found home.