Poetry | Stories | Photography
The stories she told! I don’t see ‘er so well now, yet she’s in my heart still telling stories.”
“She must have been an interesting woman.”
“My Lassie, She was no woman unless women are created from water and shells. No, she’s the sea! The sea is the best storyteller.”
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.
Walking towards work; dreaming about being rich, staying in bed, champers for breakfast, bending our legs together, and trying out the waffle maker.
Reality floods back and I realise my skirt is too tight; the Covid Spread, like a Biscoff addiction, gone wrong, has me in its hold.
Walking down the ally towards the office, noticing the Passion Pop bottles placed randomly near the old broken door, and feeling university nostalgia coming on like an awkward chance meeting.
Turning back, I see the brick wall, and a door leading to more bricks, pipes, a hidy hole for one. A cat passes over there looking for food in the bins, and I feel sad; humans shit me sometimes.
Standing in an ally, hoping no cars come by to take me from my thoughts, and staring into the magical Dandewrong wall portal, hoping it will take me to another dimension; away from the grind.
Nothing happens. It is a hole in the wall, and nothing more. Then I look again and think this is only a reminder of the crumbling history we once knew. Crumbling history before our eyes, as this place becomes something else.
Emotions take hold
a sense of things coming together
Embracing fate
Emotions betrayed
an inability to hold on to formality
Eyes well up, run
Emotions in motion
a meeting of two on the verge of one
Everything we want
Flying to no man’s land,
we fly along an endless road,
flying towards another place.
Fear of the world around us,
we fear what humans don’t understand;
fear of another death too soon.
Flowing water reminds us of the sea,
we fly towards our only home;
flowing seawater, a lighthouse, quiet.
Free to feel no fear,
we fly no more as we find our home;
free to be vampires once more.
Sitting on the couch
Music plays you to sleep
Slumped on the couch
You drift towards dreams
Sleeping on the couch
Sea Water moves over you
Salty sand on the couch
You wonder where you are
The tendon snaps;
you cry for anyone to come,
yet no one can hear you in dark.
Limping loudly along;
you wish for the comforts of home,
to take back those words you said before.
The trap you found;
you scream knowing no one can hear,
as the light of the moon dims, disappears.
Swooping down,
no covering tonight
A creature descends,
perched mercilessly
Waiting for the one
with beetroot blood
Delicious sweetness,
a hint of pineapple
A human burger
with the lot
A room sits amongst the trees; more of a box, less a room, and hidden away.
Within the room lives a Hermit who loves the company of no one and nothing; only birds, animals, and spirits give the Hermit joy and sunshine.
A room so big on the inside and so small on the outside; this is the Hermit’s palace.
Around the room, birds flutter and poop on the skylight. Trees sway to and fro in time with the seasons, and burrows hide wombats, possums, and plump creatures.
A room sits hidden away amongst the trees; more of a palace, less of a room, and hidden away.
I love him, yet I’m am curtailed at every turn.
I love him, yet I’m a prisoner in this house.
I loved him, then threw the kettle in the bin.
I loved him, then he said no open windows.
I left him, to curtail my love and my heart.
I left him, to find the person I once was.
C & K 