Poetry | Stories | Photography
a virtual museum
the children watch humans from centuries ago
their attributes are
so different from anything the children understand
an uncontrolled sea
landscapes with rolling hills, trees, and sunlit animals
A natural freedom these children will never know
the gushing water
antiquarian buildings
moss covering stone
the spring-born rushing water
drifting on tranquillity
Rain drenched cement
between patches of death, green grows
Moss meets the fence
underneath the death and green hides red soil
Inside looking outside
drowsy from the drugs and the stench of decay
The deepening greys
watching the afternoon turn into a wild winter night
Walking with the trees
Majestic redwoods hover
hiding their feelings
Shy at first, one starts talking
wisdom from the ancient ones
Winter tells the Woods, “The time has come for you to leave Autumn behind.”
The Woods hear Winter, yet Autumn still calls from far away.
The trees understand Autumn’s end and shed their sorry leaves.
Walking through a wintry green garden,
listening to the raindrops fall on the plants, trees, and the house.
What a delightful dream this green garden,
beckoning me never to leave the moss, grass, and the quiet life.
Work sounds jolt me back to a busy Monday,
and somehow, I know the corporate world is not my calling.
Waking to the smell of herbs and nature clicks,
and I know that I can never return to my previous mindset.
With my work cup, my bag, and a picture on the wall,
I take the back way out of the office and travel towards home.
A sea of red and bright lights
bumper to bumper
Trying to get home from work
The bus rocks you to slumber
constructing worlds
A fantasy world full of nature
You bramble on a wild journey
animals talk to you
A dragon carries your luggage
A horn ruins your fantasy
From the window stands a tree with bare branches
a Host preen and sing under the grey of the Autumn day
The Sparrows dart and dance in the cold May wind
I watch them going about their busy lives and their day
They hear the window slide; spooked, they fly away
I longed to listen and to hear the stories about their day
From outside, the tree watches me standing alone
another human taking time to watch nature in their day
The moon hides away
we pass fluorescent Lichen
covering the trees
I contemplate rest and the feelings of a Sunday afternoon as the sun of a late Autumn day touches my skin.
From my favourite window, I sit at my desk watching the trees on the hill, the movements of an occasional cow, and the birds speaking in a foreign language.
With the accumulation of knowledge, humanity, and the experience of nature, there is a feeling of the “other” ancestors who are not my own.
This land is the land of spirituality and has a connection to many nations, yet she is losing herself to housing, commerce, and people.
I contemplate the passing afternoon with a sense of quiet, think about how I live, and realise I am becoming one of those people.
C & K 