Poetry | Stories | Photography
A summer dress in winter
Sometimes green, sometimes black;
never brown or orange.
Unconventional stockings
A contrast of colours that stands out;
offensive to the conservatives.
Elegant and controlled
Walking in every nature season;
odd looks fail to offend.
A daydream within a dream
Falling madly in love with the park bench;
continuing the journey.
rows of women accompany rows of vines
as generations before had done, they picked the pink crimson berries
too young to understand the status quo,
she imagined
a palette of pink, crimson, seal brown, and black pouring from the sky
as the women became formless, saturated colours
all the colours falling, all the women unseen, and slowly
the women, the vines, and the farm dissolved away to be replaced by blues, greens, yellows, and greys
unlike the other women, she left the farm when she was old enough
she was an outcast
no berries touched her fingers
yet she saw all the colours in a new light
felt the sea on her feet
the desert sand touches her face
and she became free
The season changes
ice winds whistle loudly through
the power lines, trees
the sunlight plays a subtle
song through the dying flowers
the caress of a throw rug
your favourite chair by the fire
listening to the crackling
Undercover, yet exposed
vast skylight flooding the night
movements in the sky
My respective words
the silhouette of my misshaped words
They sound disjoined
a laugheratic continuation of childhood
Ridiculed for being tall
a small person hidden within a giantess
My made-up words
just a case of laughter meeting low opera
Stare at me, my love
Come on, stare a little more!
spinning around you
silken shadows moving fast
bend reality
your unforgettable fire
lashes my skin
until we burn so bright
There’s an idiom about you;
you clutching at old words.
Wondering about you again;
again I make haste slowly.
Frightened by the night sky;
sky dreams telling me lies.
Waiting for your love again;
again you’ll choose to hide.
There was an ordinary day,
on that day, I met a beautiful willow tree
with eyes of many colours.
With her hand in another’s,
I looked upon that willow tree with doleful love
that could never come to be
A golden-haired willow tree,
haunting my memories with her beauty and grace;
a ghost of a love unfulfilled.
Summer’s Secret shrine
Sailing on the sea slowly
Sun setting sunshine
C & K 