Poetry | Stories | Photography
Standing at the door
to your room, you
are oblivious, her gaze.
Standing, looking at you,
thinking of your hair,
feet, the way you love.
Standing still, hoping you
won’t notice the way
she lingers, doubts much.
Standing by the door,
you feel the presence
of your beautiful star.
Standing behind you,
you know she looks at
you with so much love.
Standing there, you pretend
not to notice, to feel
the warmth from your sun.
Chatter from all sides,
the sound of glasses,
cups, knives, forks, spoons.
Ambient comforting feelings
come and go as the
music starts to play.
Moonlight shines far off,
as the river calls for a
swim, you talk nonsense.
A dance begins, then
the wine flows faster,
the night spins, you relax.
When there was nothing left to say, no words worth speaking, those times were the loudest.
You lived in the noise of it all, trying to find the quiet places and spaces for you, yourself.
When you spoke, the words wouldn’t come out and you found that there’s no relief.
Dressing up with friends,
he is Ragnar Lodbrok
the Viking King.
With a helmet from Bunnings,
a shield from the kitchen and
a vacuum cleaner hose for a sword,
he fights invisible battles.
All fired up, he attacks the
kitchen cupboards,
harasses the cats,
pretends the lounge is the sea,
and drives Mum up the wall.
We were the ones always taking action,
being the first to break taboos,
never afraid of what others thought.
Now we hide behind computer screens,
cook food most people will never taste,
think about moving up the social ladder.
We got caught up in a materialistic society,
moving closer to aggressive, heartless society;
fighting to make another dollar, and survive.
Letting the self go,
sitting staring at the sky,
feeling the firelight.
Letting the conversation
flow between zen and starlight.
Different opinions,
ways of living life;
too much water
under the bridge.
Unable to visit, not
wanting to see him;
he’s not the Father
you idealised, loved.
Years passed, water
passed, life passed;
no time felt right to
go and visit, talk.
You felt it before it
came; a knowing;
a death too quick
for you to digest.
He danced with
death deliberately
on his own; no time
to give anyone time.
You made your peace
with him on the telephone;
he said he has beautiful
children, then the guilt.
Another Ibrat for you to
understand, to learn from;
sitting here looking at
his box filled with ashes.
Hidden underneath,
yet glimpses of those
eyes, lips, hair, beauty.
Before me, she stands,
a marble statue forever
etched into my memories.
Thoughts of Catholicism
from childhood days
burn through my heart.
Burning candles, flowers,
the smoke of incense,
her ecstasy on my skin.
A wanting, like a Giovanni
Strazza, as the pew bends,
candles flicker and vision fades.
Big stars burn down from the sky,
the moon lights part of the way.
Bronzed grass lines the streetscape,
this land is crisping under the sun.
Blossoms on the breeze do smell,
as a lost memory emerges, & forms.
Big stars burn down from the sky,
the moon lights part of the way,
so I walk to the end of the street.
Black sky, big stars, a bright moon;
the hills sit in luminous shadows,
no cows moo at this time of night.
Bronzed grass lines the darkened
hills flowing beyond the shadows,
to remind me of other landscapes.
Blossoms on the breeze do smell,
reminding me of the landscapes
of my life and how the landscapes
of this land changed me over time;
how this land’s landscapes change.
A wave breaks the sadness
you feel looking at the sea.
Young hearts shouldn’t hurt like
yours hurts under a perfect sky.
Another wave crashes into
many pieces of aquamarine;
water gems breaking and
moving back into the sea.
You take a false step forward,
not grasping the consequences.
A wave misses the target,
failing to deliver the blow.
Your heart moves you to stay,
so you remain standing
on the shore, heart-pounding;
shivering at the thought of
what could have been:
you, the aquamarines,
the sea none the wiser.
C & K 