Poetry | Stories | Photography
A dark room,
the smell of roses and
breathing from the bed.
Alone and waiting,
wanting to touch;
quickening from the bed.
A touch in the dark,
the room melts away and
so do the sheets, clothes.
A play of shadows;
moonlight from the skylight,
ecstasy in the dark.
Soft pink petals
budding ready to bloom
against the soft grey sky.
Droplets, dance, splash
and cling to the petals
of a new budding bloom.
Soft sounds whisper
a song of endings and
beginnings, as buds bloom.
The door opens,
she steps outside.
The night is warm,
gardenia nearby.
The moonlight full,
a forest all around.
The sound of a friend,
a call from the forest.
The door closes,
she runs for the forest.
The blind moves as the breeze flow through the window; I can see the change sun rays make on my skin, as my arms colour and look like desert sand.
The sun casts strong rays across the backyard, as the cobwebs move and drift between grass, weeds, the fence, and the bees dance on the weed flowers.
A song from the crickets, birds, a few flies, and the next-door neighbour’s air-conditioner puts my mind to sleep, as I soak up the last sunlight of the day.
A change in tempo is on the breeze, as the afternoon drifts into twilight, and the time for sweet soft days of washing going stiff on the line comes to an end.
The heat of the day is turning into the warmth of another ending, another night; I won’t miss what I no longer have on this sunlit day, for the night is bright.
One song is coming to an end and another song is ready to begin, so I fight with the pegs and the stiff washing: waiting for the first fresh Autumn day.
A sea smell drifts across the street, into my room, and I am called towards the waves.
Drifting along with my favourite thongs and my togs, off I float away.
The sea sounds sing a song of waves, boats, humans, and the thrill of another day.
Dipping a toe, then a foot, then my whole I am lost in amongst waves.
Soft still snow-covered streets
sit still waiting for paw prints.
Soft still snow-covered night
stays still and dark until light.
Soft still snow-covered trees
stand still watching paw prints.
Brokenness,
bleeding from files stacked battered,
bruised and
banded together with six-minute increments.
Blossoming,
beautiful flowers blooming from outside;
bright and
benign, together they beckon and call to me.
Brokenness,
bleeding scent from the battered files,
burning and
blowing away from my desk on the wind.
Strategy on the wind
too much thinking about ideas
she imagines
the leaves on the trees
turning into chess pieces
Shapes replace the leaves
moving rapidly,
then falling or blowing away
So many shapes
falling and moving
Strategy on the
ground and the wind
Flying to no man’s land,
we fly along an endless road,
flying towards another place.
Fear of the world around us,
we fear what humans don’t understand;
fear of another death too soon.
Flowing water reminds us of the sea,
we fly towards our only home;
flowing seawater, a lighthouse, quiet.
Free to feel to no fear,
we fly no more as our home is found;
free to be vampires once more.
Too much sun,
not enough shade.
Flowers in bloom,
too many colours.
Too much light,
not enough darkness.
Birds sing and dance,
too many songs.
Too much Summer,
not enough Winter
to take my heart,
make it cold,
feel the chill,
the Autumn feel.
