Poetry | Stories | Photography
Your innocence,
writing between the
lines of your poetry.
Between the lines,
all the novels are about love,
romanticising complexities.
You’re so young,
so full of windswept lovers;
in time, your words will change.
He reads your words,
waiting for the change,
not too soon.
Me, a troublous soul.
Sitting up too late at night,
Hiding in my home.
Alone in the darkness.
A sheet is no protection from
the monsters lurking unseen.
She squints to see what is absent,
to quiet the fear within.
Alone in the Eigengrau,
waiting for the terror to begin.
Soft unnatural footsteps freeze the fear,
almost stop her heart.
A silent scream fails to break the silence.
The closer it comes.
The closer it comes.
The closer it comes.
The clos-… “Mum”.
The power went out to start the day.
No coffee,
no tea,
no computer.
The weather grew fierce, and the wind
lashed the house with cold rain, hail.
The wild dog broke free from its chains
to show us what we take for granted.
When the power went out,
I thought of
showers,
writing,
work.
Between the cliff and the sea,
walking along a sandy path.
No, shells left for you to see,
nor the feelings you once felt.
Beautiful this place once was,
when we did not need shoes.
No heart in this place anymore;
destroyed by pollution and plastic.
Masquerading.
No limits when hidden from sight.
Playing to the crowd, they blast music
from the pinnacle into the pit;
an orgy of vibrations moving through
flesh, bone and emotions.
The song comes to an end.
The next song beings.
Grey clouds,
fog in the morning,
feeling the weight bearing down.
A hidden disease cripples your body
and leaves you broken yet whole.
An obtuse workplace,
work-life balance is only a theory.
Afraid to tell anyone,
you battle on with your demons.
A glimpse of clarity,
sleeping the sick workday away.
Grey clouds,
no fog as the day passes,
feeling the relaxing rain falling.
I want to run;
you want me to walk.
I want to feel it all;
you want me to feel you.
I want to love like a song;
you want me to love only one.
I want you to let me fly;
you want me to fly only with you.
I wanted you to see;
you wanted me to see it was me holding myself back.
An old heart moving
against the Warragul wind,
to feel the cold rain.
Admiring the wild green hills,
slowly devoured by houses.
Mr No Name sits in his usual spot beside Adelaide Rose Davies. Tonight is quiet, dark, and it smells of half-dead roses from so many fresh graves.
A man who used to have a name is now known as Mr No Name. A man not even worthy of having a first name.
This evening he thinks about the smell of the half-dead roses on the breeze and what he lost. Tired, he lays his head down to sleep with his only friends, the dead in the cemetery.
Homeless and alone, this is the only place he finds peace and quiet to sleep and dream of his painful memories. His memories of a loving wife, two loving daughters, a house full of light, and the day she walked away because he lost his business to a cruel recession.
He dreams about his daughters in colour. Any money he has he spends on his mobile phone to see their faces from time to time.
Sometimes, when he is lucky, he sees his wife holding the arm of that famous person. He sees her, and he falls in love every time.
Laying there, he writes a message to both of his daughters on Messenger. Perhaps they will see it, or they won’t. He writes a forgiveness message of kindness and love to the mother of his children.
There are no pillows anymore, no kisses from his girls, and no feelings of warmth and happiness to mend his broken heart.
He rests his head on Adelaide’s grave, then asks a question he never thought he would ask, “Adelaide, can I please come down there with you? I always feel calm beside you.”
The cemetery remains serene as the night moves along; there is no snoring anymore, for the broken heart stopped beating at 3:15 am. Ten minutes after his girls and the love of his life deleted his messages.
C & K 