Poetry | Stories | Photography
Staring at the sky
Your heart feeds your mind an impassioned reel of memories
Seeing the colours
You are impatient to take the
perfect picture for the likes
Sorrowful clicking
You aspire to take an impossible
image of your complex feelings
Parchment paper lined wooden draws
the smell of vintage parcels hidden under our lingerie
Wooden smells mixed with the older smells
breathing in the scent of what we once were
Loving you with parchment paper lined wooden draws
parcels of scent and the smell of you close to me
You and I will be forever together in those draws
moving to our music
whispering kisses and parchment paper love scents
A journey we take
golden memories we make
by the tranquil lake
The Amber Girl
She was my sunshine girl,
full of light, flowers, and bee stings.
When I saw her in amber,
my eyes were never more opened.
She might be somewhere,
yet she is no longer in my old life.
I think of her often with a smile,
to have been the one with an amber glow by my side.
Picked apples fill up a bucket
the warm sun burns the day away
the dress you wore last year
and the year before last;
still, it remains your favourite
Unpicked apples line the arbour
you think back to your kids
playing on a sunny day like today
yet now they are older
such joys that they held dear
now, only for the fools
Picked apples sit abandoned
barefoot and twirling
immersed in the glory days
Twirling a wish for another love
singing to the parrots
A wombat looks ready for sleep
The moment passes
you pick up the bucket
back to your empty kitchen
Perhaps you’ll make an apple pie
the eldest son loves them
maybe he will come to visit soon
memories
the scent of what was
haunting my Spring days
Leaving me in the Winter
ghosts
what was and what was not
dancing with me in the misty mornings
sitting with me as I read about other ghosts
dreams
the smell of what was
black and white, sometimes colour
thinking about you
Flashes of a ballroom
vibrant 1950s green,
black and white tiles
blood red river running
between the tiles
Never to return, or so
it seemed once
Stepping over the threshold
into childhood screams
A solitary figure with
no one to greet her
The renovations were simple,
that green colour she loved
Turning away from this
place of painful memories
Leaving behind the good and
the bad for modern colours
We were so modern
Lace gloves, balloon skirts, wild hair
Now, it’s Gold FM
A heavy grey day
out and about for a stroll
A rare quiet day
No raindrops fall
the wind doesn’t whisper
No birds singing
A recluse to many
walking past a cafe
A nostalgic scent
from 1832
C & K 