Poetry | Stories | Photography
Wading in the sea glass and the sandstone,
look for the place where you used to stand,
thinking back to every time we came here.
An image of you returns.
I cannot remove that image from my mind;
you continue haunting
my life, my mind, and this place of our own.
Wading with only beautiful memories of you,
hearing the bombs fall,
my heart and my mind yearn to see you again.
We were kind, and we were good,
for our lives were not very good when we were younger.
Rumours of wars and postulating,
for we were never calm enough to say there was no fear.
The old stories from long ago,
old tales recent enough now that we are older and wiser.
Buying a colourful apartment,
for we were going to begin our eternity linked in this place.
We loved for a few years here,
the prospect of a miracle on the horizon quite soon, you say.
The morning snow fell heavy,
for we now had the perfect excuse to stay in bed all day.
Entwined in a warm embrace,
for we could feel something terrible would soon arrive.
The ashes and angst to come;
we would not be part of the atrocities our country faced.
We lay together in this place,
for we never felt death touch us in our linked eternity.
Perspiration and a feeling of heat take hold within the stifling sheets.
Sleep comes slow, yet when it comes, events progress, and I’m standing in front of a light green house with gold-laced windows in a forest at the top of a hill at the end of a cul-de-sac.
Nothing makes sense, as a random stranger dances up with multiple women and says he’s been waiting for me to arrive.
Events progress, then I’m awake from one nightmare only to see something in the bathroom mirror. A heart can only miss so many beats as the sheets become a greenhouse.
Between the nightmares, your side of the bed is empty. You sit in another room playing a game at 2 am, while sleep is inevitable.
Warmth in the morning,
opening crusty eyes.
Grumbling about dreams,
running for the toilet,
a fart escapes on the journey.
A giggle from the bed,
“You’re disgusting!”
followed by more giggling.
Sunshine through a blind,
sitting on the toilet,
chatting to your partner.
Your understudy
within Shakespeare’s dark world;
becoming Titus.
You were born with a silver spoon,
there was never any need to wonder at the moon,
excessive living, the light leaves your cold eyes much too soon.
A silent yearning
you call to me from beyond
flying containers
The professionals arrived to exhume bodies from an ancient grave.
The digging begins, and the bodies form a circle; in the middle sits the objects of worship, a large bag full of Tupperware.
Around the bodies, they find brochures, order forms, teacups, and a teapot.
The Anthropologist says, “I believe this was an MLM gathering“.
Too close not to touch.
Arm in arm standing in the
cherry blossom wind.
You were a whirlwind
of hair, scent and sorrow;
I cannot forget you.
C & K 