An eerie remembrance,
ghosts of the past,
we, living in the present.
A broken sadness,
unknown truths are hidden,
weathered decay.
A desire to visit,
photographs never enough,
visiting abandoned places.
Haiku: Rift
studying the rift
water runs between the rock
noises from below
Anchored to the Shore
Anchored to the shore,
sitting still and afraid to swim for the horizon.
Out there in the blue,
there is a place for everyone out in the blue.
Remaining anchored to the shore,
never seeing and feeling the differences.
Here there is no growth,
so courageously, you pull up the anchor.
Free, you start to swim,
the feeling of freedom and exploration.
Untitled: Dissiri
All the poems you wrote,
kept safe in a plastic crate.
A jealous lover of your words
finds your crate, and in
dissiri,
destroys your handwriting.
A series of questions follow;
there are no
clear answers, yet you know.
All it takes is one line crossed,
one betrayal,
to leave with almost nothing.
A hurt unknown to your heart,
now broke,
you struggle without a home.
All you must do is stop writing;
a jealous lover
and a life with plenty of money.
An understanding of your worth;
you walk away
and let your words and life flow.
A published writer of many poems;
letting grief go,
and walking without looking back.
All your words are you,
A part of who you are,
A cry of rebellion in a world of conformity;
You need not apologise for the words you write.
Absinthe Fantasy
A fantasy,
a glimmer of wings and magic.
Did I dream, or was it a fantasy,
looking into the bathroom cupboard?
A fantasy,
a green fairy flutters before me.
Groggy,
waking up in the bathtub naked.
A fantasy:
no, it was absinthe and the cat.
Haiku: Bush Cutting
Cutting from the bush
Pot planted, fed and watered
Watching a life grow
Humidity Blues
Sitting naked,
boobs fall on sticky skin.
Sipping on tea,
butt cheeks feel warm.
Spa foot bath,
tingling all the way up.
Serenity music,
opium incense cloudy.
So tranquil,
feeling fat and flabby.
Pomegranate and Plum
The heat of love,
a bud about to bloom.
Blooming before those eyes,
a beautiful flower in disguise.
Mistaken by a love,
there is no bud or flower.
Instead, flesh and blood;
pomegranate and plum.
Will the fruit be cut open,
or wait for the ripening?
All beautiful fruits need time,
rare fruits take time to ripen.
Cutting ripe fruit is delicate
until you see what is inside;
revealing madness and love.
Haiku: Mother & Daughter
Mother and Daughter
Checking the bud everyday
Blooming bud rapture
Taste of Tomorrow
The festive season moves on;
another year and the end of another song.
The taste of tomorrow in a mug;
a cup of coffee, milk and sugar: your drug.
It has all been done before;
right now, you require something more.
To remain the same isn’t you;
you think of flowers blooming under the blue.
You step out of your comfort zone;
no one else can walk the path, only you alone.
To the sky, you look in wonder;
it’s clear today, yet inside you hear the thunder.
The new you walking without fear;
you are alive, and well enough, fate is near, and
now you can see that your path is clear.
C & K 