Winter 2019 at the corner of Collins Street and King Street, Melbourne.
You walked in the busy city, stopping to wait for the right light.
A quick snap below of what’s above, reminds you of Winter’s day.
Looking back, you stare at the image of Melbourne town.
There is a silent way about the grey; a stillness in the sky.
Perhaps you will again see Melbourne moving on a winter’s day.
Living in the middle of nowhere can feel like a lonely place to be.
He sits at the table dreaming of the sea, as odd noises are coming from the upstairs bathroom.
Curious, he runs up to see the bathtub has overflowed seawater onto his favourite tiles.
The flower asked a bee, “When will the world end?” The bee looked dumbfounded, then buzzed away.
Perplexed, the flower asked a spider: there was only silence.
Then a cat sniffed at her petals. She asked the cat the same question. It seemed to prevaricate any response, then pissed on her stem.
Wet feet lightly tiptoe through the chilly grass.
There’s a dreamlike quality to this night, as the fog sets into the moonlit garden.
Nadia pauses at a rose. One of those gut feeling tells her to run, but she’s frozen solid as fear grips her tightly.
Moving, she screams as her beloved kitty pops out of the tree and becomes entangled in her nightie.
Chiyo is 5.
Sakura piggy tails bob about, as she points a toe here, does a twirl there or moves gracefully.
There’s nothing between heaven and earth to stop a bright heart full of light.
Then her ballet feet dance. A lithe, she captivates the nature spirits with her soul.
Picking up old plastic bottles, finding half-eaten food, sipping on old beverages and nipping in and out of supermarket bins.
A waif with no mother to hug her and no father to play games.
She is alone, yet when the moon shines full, the stars tell her of better days ahead.
Anna walks towards the path. Just before the path stands a man rubbing a leaf.
Perplexed she asks, “What are you doing?”
Silence follows. She repeats the words.
He looks, “I’m just collecting ideas.”
“Ideas for what?”
“I write poetry…”
“You’re a #Poet! Let’s talk more.”
She sits by the water.
The river moves by, as fish take a peek every now and then.
“Do they know my broken heart?” she wonders, as nature’s carpet touches her feet.
A clumsy fish wiggles toward her then retreats.
A teardrop falls into the river.
The fish swims away.
under the soil.
you lay under the soil surrounded by the sounds of insects moving and water soaking into the soil.
under the soil, there is a wooden box.
you lay in the wooden box with roses that once blossomed and bloomed, yet now lay in petrified pieces upon your chest.
under the soil alone
you remain perfect in your chest of what once bloomed so beautiful and bright.
under the soil your blossom and bone.
you remain silent and still as the stars and the moon sing their song to you.
You are far from me
Yet you are so close to me
Your hand touches me
Yet you are continents away
I saw you that day we connected
It was being inside your head
Your alarm was mine
Yet you embraced our special gift
I know your thoughts and you mine
It was the fates playing
You’re with me until the fates know
Yet I love you being here
I touch you with lips to your heart
It turned our spirits alight
You showed me the red flower
Yet you never said a word
I vowed to meet you in a week
It was the happiest words
You vowed to meet me in a week
Your happiness ripples
I cannot speak
It is done