Poetry | Stories | Photography
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.
Not one for gardening
you feel compelled to wear Chanel
a showy pearl necklace
An upmarket designer wheelbarrow
bedazzled gold shovel
Odd looks from passing strangers
A joyful countenance
walking amongst the fairy tale snow-touched trees
A distant bird sings
a song to a plump bird singing and waiting for preening
A stillness overcomes
looking back to see footprints in the powdered snow
All the world is still
doom and gloom left at the door to appreciate nature
The house greets us with fragrant smells
of citrus tarts, homemade lemonade,
and images of a long, familiar kitchen we love.
Stepping into the home from our childhood
we each process the way we feel
about the good and the bad memories made.
A nostalgia for idealised memories saturates
the memories we wish to deny
as Mum brings the teapot to the old cedar table.
The croissant moon hides
behind faithful clouds
to have some alone time
The sturdy main oak branch
is a place to contemplate
our existence and the trials
The croissant moon is tired
form being consistent
so I will wait to see her again
Broken houses
the sea crashing into the rocks
Dark sea spray
Below, quiet sea business
twilight faded from hours passed
The deep darkness arrives
Lonely empty houses
unlived and unloved since the war
The sea and the rocks
whispers of a place now a non-place
Hidden in darkness
the moon betrays my form
No longer hidden
The houses long for me to stay
Gathered around the fire
the woodsman came to tell us a story
about a wolf and a raven
The woodsman’s voice
a melodic pagan music to our small ears
delighting imagination
Too young at the time
Unaware of the woodsman’s power over us
I was plagued by dreams
of the old gods, wolves, and our destruction
The woodman’s voice
came to me when the sunset colours bled out
on an ominous night
Too loyal to my family
I stayed despite the incessant booming voice
frightening away life
Gathering up my life
running towards the sea instead of the forest
I resisted his power
and I remained the wolf, not what he wanted
Between scents of wood
you come to me as a living ghost
speaking to me, yet close
to the unconsciousness
of death and all that they desire
for the quota must be met
I dream of you tonight
caught within the ghostly fireflies
lighting the fiery darkness
A bitter heart
Too long on the land, too long without love
Bleeding hills
Rain swept longing and the sound of the wind
Too far away
The sea is too far away to transform his heart
Old and ruined
No children to see, no grandchildren to love
He withers
until the sea comes to him
My daughter’s scared of death,
yet the dead live all around us.
She cries to me about the ghosts,
yet the ghosts won’t harm us.
My daughter shivers at the corners,
yet there is no one to scare us.
She tells me of the evil monsters,
yet there is no evil to touch us.
My blossoming daughter, she runs,
yet dead sorrow cannot touch us
for she lives
and
I am dead
C & K 