Poetry | Stories | Photography
A pair of heavenly legs,
they moved towards a body of light;
beauty in the summer sun.
You looked at me with
eyes of flame,
challenging me to speak,
or so I thought.
Beauty on the beach
masks the truth within those eyes;
I looked past your truth.
Cold and sweet,
you were my summer girl;
never meant for Autumn or Winter.
Thoughts of your world,
a hot and hazy hell;
melting, you might sigh.
I picture you over there,
sipping cold water;
cursing the burning sun.
Thoughts turn to my world,
a cold night of ice rain
with a Winter’s full moon.
I wonder if you picture me,
over here wet and cold;
dancing naked at 2:30 am.
After many years of love the bow broke,
then the music of love stopped playing;
we began to drift apart and separate.
Littered among the remains of
the two of us
are the ashes of music instruments.
All the music we played for each other
is now burnt
to the ashes on the floor of our parting.
The sound of the desert
moving in the vibrations
from many components.
Shades of nature sound
in this ancient place
to bring hidden things
towards the surface.
The sounds of music play in
the middle of nowhere
bring feelings of somewhere.
Sounds of ancient times
never lost, yet always
found,
as she plays for him.
You are so far away
over there somewhere,
someplace I’ve never seen.
“The forest is alive here”,
you say to me from so far away.
“I can see the photos,
yet I can’t be there with you.”
“Come, be with me, here.”
That is your dream, not mine;
My dream is here in this land.
You love your dream.
I love my dream;
Surely, there’s a way
to merge the two.
I didn’t hear
from you yesterday.
Yesterday afternoon,
I dropped our
favourite fruit bowl.
I watched it smash into
so many pieces.
I found out today you died
in the forest
yesterday afternoon my time;
a heart attack.
Now I’m travelling to you.
It took your death to bring
our dreams together,
if only for a short time.
A passenger.
A splash of organised colour
far off
behind closed, eerie fences.
A feeling.
A splash of purple flowers
sitting still,
lonely, isolated, and alone.
A memory.
Mum’s window sill, so far away
where the
African Violet sits near the curtain.
A memory,
climbing in cable cars.
Layers of mountains,
rising to the sky.
At the top, we arrived,
standing on the snow.
You felt sick too soon,
I wanted to stay awhile.
Goodbye to the sky and
snow descending below.
Longing to go back,
stay a while at the top;
Sit with you and watch the snow
falling on the Klein Matterhorn.
Dancing rubiginous leaves,
moving towards their death;
a colourful display of life.
We step amongst the leaves,
along the Melbourne streets.
Wishing we were also the leaves,
dancing without any inhibitions;
Knowing that life is too short.
Tall trees hide many birds
as we walk into the forest.
Unfamiliar birds gossiping
puts our quiet time to rest.
Onward we go dreaming;
wishes for the old times.
We spread out rugs, food;
looking up, down, around.
A bird pounces. One, two,
four, bread slices disappear.
Another bird pounces softly;
fruit pieces are vanishing.
We nibble on what is left,
photographing the birds.
Leaves turn red, yellow and brown;
fluttering in the Autumn winds.
A leaf moves from the Petiole
on the wind,
and collides with your face.
Dry leaf feelings on your skin
reminding you that nature is true.
There are no sunshine feelings between
the leaf and skin, yet you take the leaf,
put it between the pages of your book,
and take it home.
Leaves dying on their leaf stalks,
floating off, they move freely in the wind
more alive now the air has captured them,
to take them on an adventure.
C & K 