Poetry | Stories | Photography
Out there with the heavy clouds hanging around you and the sea never far away from your messed up heart, I listen to you experiment with the notion that not all humans are here to grow old.
Fearful of your words, I listened to you tell me how you want to caress a Lobster.
a virtual museum
the children watch humans from centuries ago
their attributes are
so different from anything the children understand
an uncontrolled sea
landscapes with rolling hills, trees, and sunlit animals
A natural freedom these children will never know
a bell rings in the distance
silence around the void
another bell begins to ring,
ring, ring, ring, ring, hiss
a peek from under the table
growling as the void arrives
a stand-off fit for cinema
the cats start getting uppity
ring, ring, ring, ring, meow
they retreat to hide all night
Yellow roses adorn an Italian scarf given to her by her mother.
The scent of roses in summer lingers on the breeze of her homeland.
Spring comes to the old land to take the winter from her again.
Something found and now lost, as the scent reminds her of love.
The scarf moves about her in the breeze as she says goodbye.
She remembers the scented perfume of the roses as she thinks of her lost homeland.
happiness expectations in the office
saying hello like your life depends on it
contemplating another coffee by 9:05 am
co-workers fuel your addiction
people calling before 1 pm is sacrilege
what the feck am I doing?
Overwhelmed,
you attack the biscuits
and cry at your desk.
At the desk,
between the mortgage payments and the kitty litter,
I have a think.
All those dreams
from years ago when we thought being successful
was for everyone.
As the years passed,
we learnt that the road to success is not always fair, equal, or merit-based.
The misty lake in the morning,
waiting for the chill to subside.
Watching and thinking about you
Wondering where your heart
has gone; is it still with me?
Thinking back to times before
technology made communication
so easy. When written words
delivered by post meant the
difference between life and death.
Sounds are few yet soothing,
as the lake seems reluctant to
give up any of her secrets.
Thinking this must be my way,
as you deny me even a text message
while playing the heartstrings.
Moving as the mist leaves the lake
exposed to my gaze, scrutiny.
Just like me, the lake is exposed;
waiting for the heart tune to stop.
The trees loom softly, wise, silent, judging.
The ground sounds under hollow footsteps.
The way is long, and the night moves in
until only the moonlight lights the way.
Shadows of many unknowns deepen,
yet fear does not live in this soft place.
The trees know someone walks among them,
they live and understand, so I talk as I walk.
Talking to the trees on the way to her,
telling them all of my secrets in hope.
The trees move as if my story is enough
to convince them that I may pass through
the forest and find her alive or dead.
I do not care. I must find her and tell her
I did my best;
that this world is wicked and cruel, yet here
she is safe from harm.
The trees know the truth of my heart, her heart;
they wait for the final sigh, then the emotions.
I crumble. She is dead.
The forest moves within me in ways I never knew;
I am home with her. She and I will go to that place.
Winter tells the Woods, “The time has come for you to leave Autumn behind.”
The Woods hear Winter, yet Autumn still calls from far away.
The trees understand Autumn’s end and shed their sorry leaves.
by the willow tree,
meeting me there at midnight
spin a spell and
tell me what you see behind the veil
conjure bewitchment
and pull me asunder, to never return
from your love and sorrow
C & K 