Burning red sunset
paints the sea with soft colours,
as the moon arrives.
Photo – Sven Leveque
Lost in Stories
Photo – Holga Jen
The trees bend towards me
as the forest listens to my stories.
I spin stories for the greedy trees
as birds circle and animals play.
The trees beg for just one more,
so I stay a little longer waiting for the rain.
Office Love
Office love.
You wield the mug,
he becomes the coffee.
A Million Desert Stars
You stand by a lighthouse smiling warmly.
The Faroe Islands have awakened your words.
You say to me that it may be our home soon.
The desert doesn’t feel rain from a grey sky often.
The sea is a dream for the people of the red earth.
The desert doesn’t understand why you say, “leave.”
I love lighthouses and the many ways of the sea.
The Faroe Islands excites me, yet not with you.
I picture myself alone, looking towards the sea.
You stood with me in the desert under no moon.
A million desert stars lit the sky and my heart.
You stood with me to tell me you were leaving.
I will remember the sea and the colour of your eyes;
Such an adventurous soul with a great love for denial.
I will take my love for you and bury it in the desert.
The desert knew what the sea felt like long ago.
I will feel the sea flow through my heart again.
You can have the sea for now until it takes you.
The Trappings of Love
Rusty razor blades sitting in the bin,
hairbrushes and combes, laying loose.
Bathroom items lounging about,
and something fluffy is stuck to the floor.
Empty plastic bottles and bits sit still,
and dirty laundry piles up even higher.
Packets of surfboards hide from sight;
sex toys blush, quietly contemplating life.
The drain gurgles about your love life;
the trappings of love have found you both –
as you fleece each other with the tweezers.
Changing Landscapes
The vision is not that of the city;
Those lights do not shine here.
Instead, there are hills of green;
A cow moose in the distance.
At night the darkness is quiet
as the rain touches the structure.
I thought I’d miss your charms,
thinking of all the things I could do.
Yet, when I lived as one of you,
I never did most of the things I could do.
Tempted to become a hermit,
I resist with both hands stretched out.
Yet, in my heart, there is turmoil,
for I didn’t come from the concreted hustle.
I’ve felt the land for most of my life,
yet I’ve resisted the call every single time.
Looking towards the rain covered green;
it might be time to embrace my truth;
I’m not so in love with the city as I once thought I was.
The Moody Sun
The sky holds the bad-tempered sun,
in one of those moods;
the dry land is burning.
Humans walk along in a forced daze.
Animals take shelter.
Birds steal old chips.
The fiery winds blow through the cities,
new hairdos flee freely,
cracked lips are now “in”.
Winter white skin turns bright lobster pink.
Different pigments burn;
natural tanners strip off.
Burning hell is the new spring, so it seems.
Bushfires strip old towns,
heartache echoes loss.
From out of nowhere, he moves so freely.
Sunnies for Mr Cool;
Donning linen luxury.
Moving in a saunter to defy the sun.
The sky looks down,
wishing for rain.
Rain drops on Wood
raindrops fall slowly
droplets splash onto the wood
sorrow seems fleeting
touching the wood that is you
tactile grief in letting go
Sunday afternoon
After so much grey,
sunshine warms us.
Floppy sheets now
feel cool and crisp.
The cat lays feet up,
rolling in the rays.
Sitting on the couch
feeling all my years.
Time passes quietly
in a Boketto trance.
Napping on Sunday
with eyes wide open.
The Artisan
Mystical signs beckon the patrons to enter.
New age bling moves all around town
like a carnival goer craving something.
Entering an opium scented open space;
woods, metals and stones sit still, moving.
Defined and undefined shapes seduce.
The Takumi sits, creating magical jewellery.
Standing as if a slow spell is being cast
he looks up from the unique creation,
and I am forever changed by those eyes.
C & K 