Poetry | Stories | Photography
Wavelets move towards the shore,
a cold southern sea on a hot day.
Burning sand with sparse shells,
no sea snails hidden from sight.
Walking on the littered wet sand,
ivory beige skin turning pink, red.
Dirty white sand, dirty white feet;
soon we look like sandy lobsters.
Whispering songs to the sea of light,
playing with our mind, the dark sea.
The blind moves as the breeze flows through the window.
I can see the change sun rays make on my skin, as my arms colour and look like desert sand.
The sun casts rays across the backyard as the cobwebs move and drift between grass, weeds, and the fence, and the bees dance on the weed flowers.
A song from the crickets, birds, a few flies, and the next-door neighbour’s air-conditioner puts my mind to sleep as I soak up the last light of the day.
A change in tempo is on the breeze as the afternoon drifts into twilight, and the time for sweet, soft days of washing going stiff on the line ends.
The heat turns into the warmth of another ending, another night; I won’t miss what I no longer have on this sunlit day, for the night is bright, and the stars are many.
One song ends, and another is ready to begin, so I fight with the pegs and the stiff washing, waiting for the first fresh Autumn day.
Too much sun,
not enough shade.
Flowers in bloom,
too many colours.
Too much light,
not enough darkness.
Birds sing and dance,
too many songs.
Too much Summer,
not enough Winter
to take my heart,
make it cold,
feel the chill,
the Autumn feel.
Warm skin prickles
gooseflesh over skin
Words left unsaid
leaves scar tissue
Warmth left unsung
holding on to winter
Words left unspoken
leaving on the wind
Sunlight moves in to shine a ray of
heated light through the window.
Sitting at your table, thinking about
how you used to stand, talk, smile.
A bowl of fruit on the table matches
the fruit pattern on the sink tiles.
A nook where you stood and made
a cuppa while we talked about life.
Sitting in your kitchen thinking about
all these moments we didn’t cherish.
Sunlight starts moving away from the table
as the sunset turns the sky pink and grey.
December arrives.
Spring isn’t letting go,
as Autumn intervenes.
Version 1
Like the sun,
you bloom spring colours.
Attentive,
you behave like the snow.
I cannot decide
if you are the
sun or the moon.
I like to think
you are both
the sun and the snow;
beautifully complete.
Version 2
Like the sun,
you bloom spring colours.
Attentive,
you behave like the snow.
Like the moon,
you mesmerise, lighten.
I cannot decide
if you are the
moon or the sun.
You are many.
Sun and snow,
moon and sun,
winter and summer,
autumn and spring.
Notes
I thought I would show you multiple versions of a similar poem, as this is often the creative process I go through to get to a final version.
I’m interested to know which one you like better.
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.
Spring has come to your heart, yet I sit here in my Winter world wondering what you’re doing with all of those so-called, “friends”.
I love you, yet you are like a Hydrangea in bloom. Your love will last from early spring to late Autumn, yet it never sustains the Winter.
C & K 