a heart’s desire cobbled streets romance once set in the visible sea no sign of the ship waiting for x to come home the cut-out walls clean glass for a short time amorous longings silence louder than a bomb a heart lost at sea impossible to cage freedom all the more exciting when x brings the sea home
I work from home alone.
I raise my eyes to the window,
and look out towards the hills, cows.
Magpies snap up worms from our lawn.
At lunch, I stand in thongs and a coat,
watching everything between heaven and Earth.
The wind wails of Winter, yet it is Summer.
strong and courageous
take whatever is dished out marshmallow inside
Two Haiku: A Weekend Away
longing for something
you keep feeling everything knowing of nothing
missing your essence
longing to see you again keep thinking the worst
I sit without you
in the quiet nighttime hours writing poetry
I arrive early,
come back later.
When I arrive later,
a certain look.
Sitting and waiting
on the wooden seat.
Shaded by the Plain tree,
leg hair moves in the wind.
odds and ends on election day.
A crow talks shit.
Maybe it’s a pissed off Cockatoo; no, it’s a crow perched on the sign Drinking Water.
Waiting and watching,
everything hurts from the hard seat.
Learning about people
and listening to random conversations.
The crow is a squeaky wheel;
the cloud cover dims the soft light.
The odd looks continue,
and my finger keeps touching the keys.
Saturday morning, in the madness
bursting with cars, and a shit Council incapable of foresight.
On election day,
a day we should be grateful for, I wonder about this two-faced place.
The hustle and bustle
of the blue stone streets.
They gather for a feast
to celebrate the New Year.
They never saw the grace
beaming the colour of light at the short wavelength end of the visible spectrum watching on.
Thinking only good thoughts,
they eat from the lucky golden roast.
The grace watches on as
a vine starts to move up the table legs.
A heavy grey day
out and about for a stroll A rare quiet day
No raindrops fall
the wind doesn’t whisper No birds singing
A recluse to many
walking past a cafe A nostalgic scent
We both grasp the things we once thought we had, those things that made our love a fire.
Since David died, you said I changed. I did. I started to write again after many years.
With each word, we move further apart until the last word we say is goodbye.
Enveloped in fog;
driving to nowhere, we falter.
In the aching abyss,
the fog comes quickly; we brake.
Voices hold us still;
downtrodden cries, eerily alive.
We disappear softly;
as if we are nothing, forever gone.