Poetry | Stories | Photography
Footsteps on the stairs,
a reminder of what was to come.
Remembering times with the one you loved,
love, live with and love
as a ghost.
Feeling the warmth from
a favourite spot now your spot.
Rewinding, repeating, replaying memories
of the way she moved, the shape of her, her
warm breath on your neck.
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.
A flutter, notes vibrate
and he takes your hand.
A feeling, two alone
and dancing hand to hand.
A flood: emotions,
and you know
his hand is the hand for your heart.
No one to greet you at home
No home to hide from the madness
No way to know what will come next
You meet a stranger on the path
You see an angel in disguise, a reflection of a ghost
You find yourself in her house, sipping something sweet
Mayhem grows as the boat splutters and growls.
Dark plumes escape from the engine.
Something wet touches your foot.
Nothing is left for you to love.
The water is rising fast.
Panic grips your heart.
You consider dark options.
No one will remember your writing.
Dark plumes may mock you forever.
Mayhem lingers as you swim for the shore.
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.
The Joik begins.
I feel the cold sea
taking me away.
Taken on a journey
from my chair,
moving on the wind.
The song continues.
I touch your land,
feel the falling snow,
swim in the cold sea;
finding lost things.
The Joik ends.
I never left my chair,
yet I’m different;
I play your song again.
C & K 