To wish for a love
Someone kind to a soft heart
I talk to the trees
Tag: poem
Sunlit Gardenias
Very beautiful
The sunlit Gardenias
blossoming warm snow
Very beautiful
The sunlit Gardenias
Blooming for our love
Bitter Night
Dewdrops to some, sweat beads to others; this is her reality.
Dreams and visions of depravity, horror, and the current, past, and future human perspectives flood her mind.
Dripping and soggy in the atrocities of her fellow human beings, the seer sees what others do not want to see.
Dreaming through the bitter night, to be restored and tired in the morning; a lofty price paid to see what others cannot see
Daylight doesn’t stop the lingering images of what has or may come, yet who is a seer to change what cannot be undone?
Decurro journey through a difficult test, watching the world fall apart and remaining grateful, kind, and courageous.
Tanka: Desert Sand
The hot desert sand.
Walking upon the sand of
countless burning rays.
The hot desert day turns to
night, as we worship the stars.
Haiku: Impermanence
We are beginning
and ending lost in this dance
of impermanence
Garnet and Glass
Beneath ice blue eyes,
Antarctic seawater
conceals magma emotions.
Your lingering eyes
are lost within
a garnet soul
and
a glass heart.
So beautiful and so callous,
you walked past
those lingering eyes
that could have loved you.
Haiku: Lands
My soul calls me back
A traveller’s wish for the
lands of ancestors
Abandoned Places
An eerie remembrance,
ghosts of the past,
we, living in the present.
A broken sadness,
unknown truths are hidden,
weathered decay.
A desire to visit,
photographs never enough,
visiting abandoned places.
Haiku: Rift
studying the rift
water runs between the rock
noises from below
Untitled: Dissiri
All the poems you wrote,
kept safe in a plastic crate.
A jealous lover of your words
finds your crate, and in
dissiri,
destroys your handwriting.
A series of questions follow;
there are no
clear answers, yet you know.
All it takes is one line crossed,
one betrayal,
to leave with almost nothing.
A hurt unknown to your heart,
now broke,
you struggle without a home.
All you must do is stop writing;
a jealous lover
and a life with plenty of money.
An understanding of your worth;
you walk away
and let your words and life flow.
A published writer of many poems;
letting grief go,
and walking without looking back.
All your words are you,
A part of who you are,
A cry of rebellion in a world of conformity;
You need not apologise for the words you write.
C & K 