by the willow tree,
meeting me there at midnight
spin a spell and
tell me what you see behind the veil
conjure bewitchment
and pull me asunder, to never return
from your love and sorrow
Haiku: Untitled
The receding stars
Born into the world fresh, whole
Slowly fragmenting
A Drey Dream
Dreaming again
mumbling something in his sleep
too much beer turns on the snoring
He wanders in the bush
snakes greet him too full to care
A wombat emerges, thinks twice, and retreats
A Drey seems to be the treasure he seeks
he journeys on
and wakes kissing a tree-rat
Dividing Winds
cold winds whisper thoughts
divide people with money
some smile, others freeze
Grey Comfort
The grey day hangs. Sometimes there is wind, sometimes rain, and sometimes there is stillness.
The rain and the wind lash the house.
We sit inside, loving the comfort of home, composing dreams to the sound of the wind and the rain.
We are safe in the comfort of our home.
Bus Thoughts
A sea of red and bright lights
bumper to bumper
Trying to get home from work
The bus rocks you to slumber
constructing worlds
A fantasy world full of nature
You bramble on a wild journey
animals talk to you
A dragon carries your luggage
A horn ruins your fantasy
A Host of Sparrows
From the window stands a tree with bare branches
a Host preen and sing under the grey of the Autumn day
The Sparrows dart and dance in the cold May wind
I watch them going about their busy lives and their day
They hear the window slide; spooked, they fly away
I longed to listen and to hear the stories about their day
From outside, the tree watches me standing alone
another human taking time to watch nature in their day
Night Walking
The moon hides away
we pass fluorescent Lichen
covering the trees
This Land
I contemplate rest and the feelings of a Sunday afternoon as the sun of a late Autumn day touches my skin.
From my favourite window, I sit at my desk watching the trees on the hill, the movements of an occasional cow, and the birds speaking in a foreign language.
With the accumulation of knowledge, humanity, and the experience of nature, there is a feeling of the “other” ancestors who are not my own.
This land is the land of spirituality and has a connection to many nations, yet she is losing herself to housing, commerce, and people.
I contemplate the passing afternoon with a sense of quiet, think about how I live, and realise I am becoming one of those people.
A Stall
Whispers on the wind
a stall calls me, come over
The Clairvoyant smiles
C & K 