Poetry | Stories | Photography
The Cherry Blossoms
And if this is my last Spring,
I will share my Spring with you.
We may talk about the old and the new;
silences will not be unknown to us.
And if the cherry blossoms bloom,
we may watch the way they move.
We may lose ourselves to our love,
thinking back to when we were young.
And if we forget that we are older,
I will dance with you upon the petals.
Returning to a short sleep,
I served for another year.
My sister awakens warmth,
I am not without a heart.
She knows I often take time,
so slow to let the North go.
Before sleep, we often talk,
I do get carried away.
My sister knows it is time,
before sleep, a naughty smile.
She and I are creative,
we produce a sun shower.
Returning to dreams and sleep,
see you soon, my sister Spring.
Saturday morning
Autumn leaves and a puddle
Coffee and the tree
Strokes of madness.
Coral dreams; caves below the surface
of the sea reveal the hidden depths of you.
What was to be one now seems to be another.
The paint won’t quit.
Strokes compel you to go on.
Who is in control? The artist or the art?
The music moves you, and
the paint moves in original ways.
The sea calls, coral dreams come together,
and you have a painting worthy of yourself.
Picked apples fill up a bucket
the warm sun burns the day away
the dress you wore last year
and the year before last;
still, it remains your favourite
Unpicked apples line the arbour
you think back to your kids
playing on a sunny day like today
yet now they are older
such joys that they held dear
now, only for the fools
Picked apples sit abandoned
barefoot and twirling
immersed in the glory days
Twirling a wish for another love
singing to the parrots
A wombat looks ready for sleep
The moment passes
you pick up the bucket
back to your empty kitchen
Perhaps you’ll make an apple pie
the eldest son loves them
maybe he will come to visit soon
Cinnamon Rolls
in conjunction
your fingers move across my lips
licking sugar
sweet rolls do bake
the intense heat in the kitchen
perspiration falling
an intermingling
the rising rolls look to be ready
beeping starts
sugar and spice cover the floor
memories
the scent of what was
haunting my Spring days
Leaving me in the Winter
ghosts
what was and what was not
dancing with me in the misty mornings
sitting with me as I read about other ghosts
dreams
the smell of what was
black and white, sometimes colour
thinking about you
connected by a spiritual cord
the scent of flowers
far from each other
yet both smell the scent
connecting together
so far from each other
their vision fogs
both run for the door
a rendezvous
Blue sheets in the sky
a deepening afternoon colours the sand
indigo, purple, and blue
Standing together in front of the camera,
locked in a beginning kiss
the loving tide behind
the sea towards the horizon
Reflections and vibrations
a journey to this moment of rapture
two no longer separate
standing together on the afternoon sand
Licking the inside of my lips watching the scent of her uncut flowers Blowing daffodil hair in the breeze Aching for a kiss, to be kissed such beauty in the urbanised garden Is she the witch from all of those stories? intensifying scents blur my vision She moves closer, and closer, and closer amongst the long grass, I am defenceless Gone from the consciousness of the living she is present, yet there remains nothing else The natural world appears to be vibrating I am under her spell, her control She straddled me and won't let me be free Alone in the long grass awake from a dream, or was this reality? Dishevelled and soaked my shoes have left me to feel the grass Birds sing about something Lipstick kisses on my feet and hands
C & K 