poem – Page 18

Wooden Miniatures

Within this structure,
he tinkers with tools and gadgets
away from the world.

Unbeknownst to his sweet wife,
he conjures magic in
the shed that was built for him.

He places wooden miniatures
around the house,
so they come to life at night.

a shape in the dark
the brush of fur against skin
incessant pawing

Afraid of the kitchen
Noises coming from the cupboards
a scrape of some sort

So sick of this hell
Confrontation is the only solution,
the saucepans fly

Hell’s Symphony plays a wild tune
falling to the floor
Only the kettle will save you today

Her heart became mine
beautiful even in death
taking what is hers

Her peach-perfect skin
shedding her skin for my books
an eternal touch

Her soul in the words
a difficulty reading
her curse for my love

a furball, small meow
rolling in kitty litter
sleeping mid meow

the smallest furball
looking towards the sunlight
I found my best friend

the deep Winter day
hanging frost from the window
a single snowflake
falls where we never see snow
a picture of snow falling

whipping winter winds
watching the washing dancing
weary from working

insignificant at the computer
no room to stop the reels from rolling
you ask AI for deep thoughts

unable to stop the voice of AI
the voice that never tells you the truth
consciousness becomes Meh

the stillness of frost
between the night and morning
ice on the windscreen
in the north, they find summer
the winter comes; spring can wait

a wee ship set sail
o’er the rough waves to Bass Strait
like coins in a jar
the angry sea longs for lives
no lighthouse to calm their nerves