Tea Cosy warm thoughts
what could have been fades away
Sprawled empty tea cups
pieces of music vibrate
happy memories building
Slowing Down
We begin to slow in Autumn as the days shorten and the nights lengthen.
Salads turn to casseroles, and coffee turns to rum.
We find our cosy corner, a stack of books, and turn day after day into night.
When the rains come, we wear our favourite socks; we slow down.
Noodle Warrior
A mighty warrior
traveller of many lands
A lover of noodles
Ramen and sake
cantankerous words and dancing
A Geisha’s fan cuts
Angered at the offence
drawing his sword
The laughter of Geishas
A 30-centimeter sword
hardly Arthurian
Perfect for cutting noodles
Sunny Canvas
Too much red and yellow
blazing sun on the canvas
chunks of paint melting
The spectre of burning canvas
paint strokes are inevitable
Embers fall from the old easel
Time for the sun to appear
smouldering fire of paint and canvas
The painting comes to life
Covid-19
The fever intensified.
Staring into space, images of ghosts, demons, and magical creatures appear in the lounge room.
Unruffled by the images, she dances into what appears to be the corpse_fjord.
She woke up on a pile of clothes with empty bottles everywhere.
Morning Grass
morning frosty grass
barefoot walking to the fence
my feet are stained green
tip-toeing to the kitchen
embracing my black kettle
Happy World Poetry Day!
Soup + Tabby = Tanka
And I will find him
covered in sauteed onion
dancing with the leeks
a potato and leek man
my only tabby kitteh
Inspiration
Watching the way colleagues climb the corporate ladder.
Whispers behind closed doors, muffled voices gossiping about such and such, and toxicity oozing from the walls.
Anger turned to disappointment. Disappointment turned to creativity.
The draught_of_giants hit me. With a pen on paper, I jot all the words down.
Kisses
As the season ends
I think about the kisses
you place upon me
The Fireflies
A sight to take my breath away,
from the tall trees,
a forest spirit or an ancient god
walks toward me.
There is no malice in her walk,
the trees bow low,
a firefly becomes many to light
her ethereal path.
Aglow in the amber firelight,
I cannot stop smiling
as the moss begins to grow
between my toes.
C & K 