I sit without you
in the quiet nighttime hours
writing poetry
Category: Poetry
Waiting
I arrive early,
come back later.
When I arrive later,
a certain look.
Sitting and waiting
on the wooden seat.
Shaded by the Plain tree,
leg hair moves in the wind.
People watching;
odds and ends on election day.
A crow talks shit.
Maybe it’s a pissed off Cockatoo;
no, it’s a crow
perched on the sign Drinking Water.
Waiting and watching,
everything hurts from the hard seat.
Learning about people
and listening to random conversations.
The crow is a squeaky wheel;
the cloud cover dims the soft light.
The odd looks continue,
and my finger keeps touching the keys.
Saturday morning, in the madness
bursting with cars, and
a shit Council incapable of foresight.
On election day,
a day we should be grateful for,
I wonder about this two-faced place.
The Grace
The hustle and bustle
of the blue stone streets.
They gather for a feast
to celebrate the New Year.
They never saw the grace
beaming the colour of light
at the short wavelength end
of the visible spectrum watching on.
Thinking only good thoughts,
they eat from the lucky golden roast.
The grace watches on as
a vine starts to move up the table legs.
Nostalgic Scent
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
Moving Apart
We both grasp the things we once thought we had, those things that made our love a fire.
Since David died, you said I changed. I did. I started to write again after many years.
With each word, we move further apart until the last word we say is goodbye.
Roots of Love
Twisted bodies
intertwined
the roots of love
Hemlock dreams
gnarled twists
do devour hearts
Agony & Ecstasy
frozen
together forever
Love’s Word
We look towards the horizon without saying a word;
you, and I know we are beyond those words.
Yet we dream, we laugh, and we think of one word;
we look, we think, and we say love’s word.
Prodigy
An urbanised prodigy.
While playing the violin, his teacher said, “You need to understand nature for this piece”.
Baffled, he said, “I don’t understand”.
The teacher said, “You hold wood and shellac; you touch horse hair and resin. Is this not part of nature?
“I guess”.
A Warm Fire
we walk in the mist,
we walk in the cold
you talk about nothing,
I talk about everything
we arrive at a warm fire
we arrive at a hot stew
you set the table,
I pour the champagne
and
then
the ice wine
Finding a Friend
Out there in the forest,
running from herself;
determined to hide from him,
even if her teeth rot out of her head.
She will not yield.
Crying alone in the forest;
a wolf appears in the distance
and she is caught off guard.
The tears stop.
She is lost in the fur of a hug and a kiss.
Found, she stands up and walks away;
for so much of her life, she ran from herself.
Now she walks with a friend.
The man with no heart can rot in hell.
C & K 