Poetry | Stories | Photography
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
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
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 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!
And I will find him
covered in sauteed onion
dancing with the leeks
a potato and leek man
my only tabby kitteh
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.
As the season ends
I think about the kisses
you place upon me
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.
from the tropical north
snow and ice greet a stranger
no racism to be known
a calm freedom
watching the sea_thatch with new eyes
noises so foreign
to appreciate the difference
coming to love the ways of ice and snow
no longer foreign, my home
a difference in the weather
unforeseen changes
the moss carpets our land
the wound-starling visits
talkative, we feed our friend
a spectre may haunt us
the sound of horses’ hooves
soldiers on the horizon
we follow our friend to watch
a soldier lights a torch
fire licks and devours our home
our friend remains still
C & K 