Goulburn awakens

darkness, clinging to glass,
dregs of last night
desperate to stay
despite the day

pink hues behind trees
peeking through
prying, the sunlight 
posing for eye flash

vacantly elegant ways,
vacationers’ night cap
validating sleepiness
Victorian showpieces

never ending bird chirps
normalising serenity
neutralising pain
neither here nor there

calmly, under shadows
cries of the wee morn
catching the light
cat strolling by

Context: I’m in Goulburn, New South Wales, on a retreat with a few friends. This is my observation of the sunrise today.

Lost meaning

He didn’t know what it meant
when, eyes pitiful,
doctor said:

common disease
wrecks, wracks lives
yet much to hope—

She didn’t know what it meant
when, eyes screwed,
husband whined

another sign of age
comes to all, all in good time
one ear to another

When her walk faltered 
as staff he stood
to lean and to love

She showed, never told
as his ears waned
for speech had lost

Trembled her throat
only trebles escaping
with none to talk
the mute.

World fell silent
as extinguished flame
calmed his mind

They didn’t know what it meant,
a balance in life,
for time deemed obsolete

Western Foreshore Park, Lake Ginninderra, Canberra


Clunk my heels in to the path
clawing their way 
  like elbowing soldier
  limbs snaking
  braving unknown land
into a frozen canvas
fifty shades of green
a thirty more of brown
like monsters fully grown
towers rooted on the ground
a hoodie fading in the light
no other soul within my sight
or even a whiff
stirring dewdrops on the leaves.

Clunk my heels in to the path
barging all along
  as pindrop in a morgue
  a crack in peace
  in a silent dome
through outlined arches
thousand echoing screeches
and a hundred more whispers
like black spots on pale face
scattered along the maze
unnamed birds picking dirt
and dropping, as yeast in wort
lost in a winter
too cold for folks to banter.

Photo: Western Foreshore Park, Lake Ginninderra, Canberra.


Blank and white
ghostly eyes staring into mine
every moment inching towards the fire
as pressure grows
on sweating brows
awaiting that drop
     red hot and blue
the beginning
of a great evolving tale
a masterpiece
in the making
was indeed still in the making

Blank and white
ghostly eyes staring into mine
silently musing
just another day in the mire
my breath rasps
as the eye gasps
expecting a piece
      soft, tender, yet strong
the fruits
of a lifelong struggle
an achievement
much deserved
remains a dream, reality evading

Blank and white
ghostly eyes staring into mine
minutes passing
falsely assuring in case I tire
for darkness looms
deadline approaches
a story due for tomorrow
      real, gripping, and witty
one off solution
to demeaning poverty
yet endures writer, procrastinating

Drink up

mixed cocktail - Unsplash
old, wise, grumpy
and swimming 
heels over head
in tears of past,
in a costly drink

Image credit: https://unsplash.com/@mero_dnt