Poetry | Stories | Photography
Jolted from sleep by thoughts of work and unfinished hobbies, he staggers towards the noise.
Aliens or maybe even a portal to another universe await.
Still baffled, he moves closer to the laundry: the dryer malfunctioned.
He hears his wife say, “Go towards the light, darl!”
Wondering which way,
hoping for inspiration,
the ways of the wind.
Spring is on the wind, flowers begin to bloom, and the day is new.
Walking to remember the Winter you cannot forget, walking to shed some of the much-loved Winter calories.
Passing by a new neighbour, the dog greets you with a smile and the neighbour a snarl.
I will meet you there,
between the rubbish bin
and the dying flowers.
To feel the sun,
the warmth of another day.
The birds talk of wild times in the sky
while I sit here typing away.
They never said my days would be long,
nor my paper trail much longer.
I open the window expecting the birds to stay,
yet they get scared and fly away.
A dark bond binds two
standing in the cold forest.
Death covers the ground.
There is not much left.
You find the famous crossroads,
then you strike a deal.
Neverending days.
The workdays never stop, and
the news churns out the worst of us.
Sleep won’t come.
You listen to music in bed;
when the discord starts, sleep takes you.
You sink into chaos.
The madness of the music
accompanies your terrifying dreams.
You run to the creek,
watching the gushing river
from torrential rain.
Etched wooden chairs,
a French polished dining table,
ambient candle lights.
Beyond the dining room
your mind plays on your fears,
the shadows shift, move.
Petrified of the shadows,
a child too young to understand,
darkness frightened you.
Enlightened by knowledge,
you face the shadows fearlessly,
never taking a wrong step.
A touch along your neck,
terror has a name you remember,
you run out into the night.
A windless cold night,
movement within the front trees,
illogical ways of nature.
Those etched chairs,
your father died on one of those,
too long ago, father.
A whisper on the wind,
something I heard you say long ago,
“my darling daughter”.
C & K 