Poetry | Stories | Photography
Light upon the mountain peaks,
a winter mist shrouds the land.
Snow carpet covers our hearts,
snowflakes of our love fall softly.
You reach for me with mitten joy,
I say silly lovey things in my head.
You look at me I hold you close,
a winter mist encases us in a hug.
A coral coloured dress with hints of blue and green moved only for me on that March day.
Now only a photo remains of you standing on the Littoral with the sea winds moving through you.
I keep the dress in a special box marked, “Coral Heart”, with a note to bury it with me.
You worship at his altar and believe every word spoken through botox bonded lips.
Tangerine hues colour his pale pampered skin as he mouths words of the one truth.
There lingers a touch of malaria on his cheek as he meets and greets your love.
The one and only god of material heaven on earth caress your deeply held beliefs.
You cling ardently to the truth you were born and raised to love without question.
As the world spins out of time and the wall falls, you stare blindly into the sun.
Cow manure hides in grass pockets. Pigs dream of staging a riot, while the chickens only care about designer hats. The cat meows, “Bastards”, and the dog barks at unseen things.
On the farm, a cool wind starts up as Bob steps in manure, and the cat meows, a smile, “Idiot”.
Winds from the south blow over the hills, to move the paper around my room.
My poetry journal ribbon moves, as the cold wind makes it flutter and dance.
Green hills seem so close, yet they are so far away for I am locked tightly inside.
To the hills, I look hoping the cold winds will blow all the hatred from my heart.
Then the rain starts to show, and the window to the outside must be closed.
My poetry journal ribbon does not move to the beat of the wind anymore.
So, I stand up straight and walk into the rain and the wind so I can feel it all.
I say to the winds, “Promise me this. Promise me that you will take my heart, make it cold, and blow your love through me.”
Sounds of the sea
move through
many parts of me.
Down I go into the
place no one will go
to find another clue.
Infernal tidings come
as the gates of Hades
come closer to me.
Stepping one, two, three;
I go forward without fear
of the ghosts calling me.
Once, we slept little
and
moved around often,
chasing ambitions
and
seizing the long days.
Now, we sleep little
and
haunt the nights
looking for signs of life
and
who we used to be.
At night we write
and
overthink the future;
in the day we sleep
and
peel back the layers.
One day I slept too long
and
peeled back your dreams –
the colour had
drained
from the images.
Night turns to day,
Day turns to night.
Night and Day become
meaningless states of being.
Insomnia takes hold,
a cursed Monday child;
the moon loves them so.
Writing in the cold and quiet
night where dreams once lived.
Where have our dreams gone?
Dreams have taken over the Day.
Deconstructed horrors, terrible acts,
death and torture, our daily drugs.
Gorging on nightmares throughout the day,
wishing for dreams to stay in the night-
Far away.
Wind from the hills moves down,
moving across fields of colour.
Waves of the sea move through
the spring blossoming flowers –
moving, swaying, blooming.
A melody plays in the wind,
a song from the many birds.
Whispers of so many scents
dance in a poem on the wind –
melody, music, movement.
Soft colours play in the light,
her figure once so near to me.
Scattered sunlight plays on my heart,
and her figure vanishes from my sight.
So near to my younger skin –
now, I’m so old.
I stand in the Satie sounds –
no longer young.
C & K 