Poetry | Stories | Photography
From a forgotten forest
at first, a whisper of wolves
and longing for the sea
Taken from the office
transported to a world of snow
and a tyrannical sheep
Staring at the Timberwolf walls
the wolves howl for you to save the pack
and be a dragon once more
Bordeaux Kiss
Summer heat
the sea and the sand
something
sweet to eat
while watching the world
and dreaming
of those lips
a Bordeaux watermelon
laced kiss
with strawberry
and cream hues of winter
about those hips
Umber Dance
forbidden fruit
sinful dancing
hips moving
exotic music
azure sky
ochre sun
umber dress
closer now
red hair falling
warm air moving
many bangles
eyes of green
moving to the music
the Emperor’s kiss
Picked apples fill up a bucket
the warm sun burns the day away
the dress you wore last year
and the year before last;
still, it remains your favourite
Unpicked apples line the arbour
you think back to your kids
playing on a sunny day like today
yet now they are older
such joys that they held dear
now, only for the fools
Picked apples sit abandoned
barefoot and twirling
immersed in the glory days
Twirling a wish for another love
singing to the parrots
A wombat looks ready for sleep
The moment passes
you pick up the bucket
back to your empty kitchen
Perhaps you’ll make an apple pie
the eldest son loves them
maybe he will come to visit soon
Rose petals turn a brown-yellow colour as the roses die on their stems.
A bee aims at your buns.
The sky threatens to shine a bit of sun on your skin.
A fly tries to taste your drink.
The banana chair grumbles underneath your weight.
You relax for a bit. The bee laughs.
To ponder the wind moving the grass. A sense of grace moves through the quiet places of our home.
Not one for religion, yet there is a sense of peace in a church where everyone is welcome.
My thoughts feed the Sunday night existential dread.
I sit and ponder.
A broken canvas
hurling gemstones
piercing the painting
Contemporary dancing
wildly moving inspiration
the wall and canvas collide
A dull one dimensional easel
the inspiration river flows outside
A broken canvas and broken gems
The artwork reveals itself.
“I haven’t seen you before. How did you get here so quickly?”
“Me? Yeah, well, I decided to grow overnight. I’m expecting my friends soon”.
“Aren’t you a weed?”
“Aren’t you a rose?”
“I think so. Passers-by say there are mirrors for that sort of thing.”
So, what’s the difference?
“You look like a tart; I look like a lady”.
“You are a bit thorny today”.
Dead eyes see nothing,
for life has gone from their bodies.
Their blood mixes with the dust
as the Earth tries to cover our shame.
The broken bodies of unjust wars,
their silence goes unnoticed by many.
You fear the ghosts of the dead,
yet you turn away as bombs kill the living.
A selective concern for war,
there is always a right side and a wrong side.
Funnelled news distorts your mind,
thinking too deeply cuts into internet shopping.
You curse Russia for the war in Ukraine,
yet you don’t know where Yemen is on a map.
I hover between sleep and awake, feeling the effects of waking dreams and a death-like calm.
The music presses me on through feelings of exhaustion and stressed-out commitments.
When the song stops, I find myself falling towards the keyboard.
I hover, then give in to my dreams.
C & K 