Poetry | Stories | Photography
Out there with the heavy clouds hanging around you and the sea never far away from your messed up heart, I listen to you experiment with the notion that not all humans are here to grow old.
Fearful of your words, I listened to you tell me how you want to caress a Lobster.
a bell rings in the distance
silence around the void
another bell begins to ring,
ring, ring, ring, ring, hiss
a peek from under the table
growling as the void arrives
a stand-off fit for cinema
the cats start getting uppity
ring, ring, ring, ring, meow
they retreat to hide all night
A Sunday afternoon longing and a yearning for those fragments of what I thought I was before I took this path.
Rain droplets splatter the glass of my window, so I raise the blind to see the wind moving the unkempt grass, and I watch the droplets run down the glass.
I gather all of the friends from my dreams I have not yet met, and I hold them close to me like the ghosts of the loved ones who died.
Rain droplets continue to splatter the glass of my window, and the wind and the rain create music I often long to hear.
I revel in the quickening rain which showers the glass of my window, the increasing wind, and I wish for more of this quiet music.
Yellow roses adorn an Italian scarf given to her by her mother.
The scent of roses in summer lingers on the breeze of her homeland.
Spring comes to the old land to take the winter from her again.
Something found and now lost, as the scent reminds her of love.
The scarf moves about her in the breeze as she says goodbye.
She remembers the scented perfume of the roses as she thinks of her lost homeland.
happiness expectations in the office
saying hello like your life depends on it
contemplating another coffee by 9:05 am
co-workers fuel your addiction
people calling before 1 pm is sacrilege
what the feck am I doing?
Overwhelmed,
you attack the biscuits
and cry at your desk.
At the desk,
between the mortgage payments and the kitty litter,
I have a think.
All those dreams
from years ago when we thought being successful
was for everyone.
As the years passed,
we learnt that the road to success is not always fair, equal, or merit-based.
happiness expectations in the office
saying hello like your life depends on it
contemplating another coffee by 9:05 am
co-workers fuel your addiction
people calling before 1 pm is sacrilege
what the feck am I doing?
Overwhelmed,
you attack the biscuits
and cry at your desk.
They line up at the dragon shelter. Some like to look, others like to pat, and some want a pet.
Harold considers himself a dragon connoisseur.
At the cage of Peffy, quintessential comes to Harold’s mind until Peffy coughs, farts, and sets Harold’s beard on fire.
The trees loom softly, wise, silent, judging.
The ground sounds under hollow footsteps.
The way is long, and the night moves in
until only the moonlight lights the way.
Shadows of many unknowns deepen,
yet fear does not live in this soft place.
The trees know someone walks among them,
they live and understand, so I talk as I walk.
Talking to the trees on the way to her,
telling them all of my secrets in hope.
The trees move as if my story is enough
to convince them that I may pass through
the forest and find her alive or dead.
I do not care. I must find her and tell her
I did my best;
that this world is wicked and cruel, yet here
she is safe from harm.
The trees know the truth of my heart, her heart;
they wait for the final sigh, then the emotions.
I crumble. She is dead.
The forest moves within me in ways I never knew;
I am home with her. She and I will go to that place.
Winter tells the Woods, “The time has come for you to leave Autumn behind.”
The Woods hear Winter, yet Autumn still calls from far away.
The trees understand Autumn’s end and shed their sorry leaves.
C & K 