Drifting

Alone I drift
Through a life of change
Seeking no specific answers
Reacting only when necessary. 

The constant flow of time
Sometimes quicker
Other times painfully slow
Marks my passage. 

Sometime I drift
In thoughts
And dreams

Sometimes I drift
In simple black and white
And then in colour

Sometimes I drift
In meditation
and sometimes in confusion

Sometimes I drift
On clouds
Of ecstasy and pain

Sometimes I drift
And build
Fantastic structures

Sometimes I drift
Alone
And at peace

Sometimes I drift
In ideas
Of transcendence

Sometimes I just drift

Anchovy Paste (some like it)

 

Just do it… gently

With the suns arrival
and the departure of the night
My body stirs…
It needs stuff.
Tea, strong and white,
Toast - blonde
Eggs, over easy
Painkillers by two
Happy pill by one
Stomach - there’s one for you too
Eyes - cleared
Skin - moisturised
A walk - Knee strapped
Cane - in hand
Sunglasses - prescription grade, on
Dog - ready
Let's do this day.

Survive

A short story composed without the assistance of the humble letter ‘A’

I slowly pulled my fingers through the golden flower. Intrigued, I noticed droplets of liquid forming on my fingertips. I stuffed my fingers into my mouth. The sweetness flowed over my tongue.
If this is how to survive in the bush, I think I will be fine.
Things took unlikely turns from this point. “Try this” my instructor grunted. He gently pulled white worms from the split bowl of the tree. My bowels fired. I’m not going to keep this down.
It got progressively worse. Things with legs, things without legs, more with legs, forced upon me.
But I survived!
My pride in completing the course is only outweighed by this complete conviction – If I lose myself in the bush, I will only ever consume the flowers.

Murmur #6 (Gaia)

 

I’ve seen it in the bottom of a tea-cup.

In the way the bones have fallen,

And in the future revealed by the Elder Futhark.

It’s written in the stars;

In new migratory paths of the Eastern Curlew.

And reinforced by the southward movements

of the Alaskan Timber Wolf.

 

The solitary Blue Whale sings about this end.

Maybe I’m entering my menopause?

Perhaps it’s an epigenetic thing?

Whatever it is, its not a single trigger.

I’m getting angry, at times, violent.

At other times simply disappointed,

in your failure to understand.

 

I can’t provide you with support,

not for much longer anyway.

I’m changing and it’s permanent.

We cannot continue this relationship –

not the way it’s currently arranged.

You are going to have to change your ideas,

Or I will not be here for you – your choice.

 

You need to embrace new energies.

Tidy up my oceans and the water I provide.

Stop polluting my soils with plastic and poisons…

… just clean up after yourselves!

If not –

I’m going to have to ask you to leave.

Haiku (ebb tide)

 

on morning’s ebb tide
i contemplate summers end
beseeching autumn

 

Senryu (Opportunity)

seldom comes a sign
let the waters cleanse your soul
throw caution to sea

Tangled

 

 

Haiku (Give and Take)

tide ebbs to the east

the sun climbs towards the west

life is give and take

Musings (construction, reconstruction and perception)

Does the sun rise for me,

Or am I rushing to greet it?

Does the moon forget to touch me

As she slips below the horizon,

Or have I simply failed to watch anymore?

Does a friend slight me,

Or do I fail to understand his pain?

Does a relationship turn sour,

Or was there nothing there to begin with?

Does the old soldier sip quietly on a rum

Because he needs the drink,

Or does he salute dead mates?

Is life a construction site,

or a constant reconstruction site?

.

.

.

I’m not sure…