Reality

Harsh realities crash in
And like bitter memories do
They change us
Maybe even remove
Any sense of sensibility
And we find ourselves
In empty shopping malls
Searching for toilet paper
And pasta that isn’t wholegrain.
Panicked and broken
We return to our homes
Switch on the radio or tv
And listen to the latest news –
How many have succumbed
How many new cases
When will toilet paper
Be back on the shelves.
Maybe some of us
Reread Tolkien’s
Lord of the Rings
Or all of our Harry Potter novels
While we snack on chocolate
Left over from Christmas
And drink tea
Flavoured with honey
And play board games
And wonder if things
Will ever be the same.

In case of emergency

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

on love (a List poem)

 
 
One word, more meanings.  
I love that about words.  
I love my barista 
He makes the best flat white.  
I love the colour orange. 
And the taste of orange - 
But not together with chocolate.  
I love chocolate.  
I love the way watercolour paints 
Flow together.  
I love motorcycles.  
I love my dog.  
I love crunchy peanut butter 
And Vegemite - 
But not on the same piece of toast.  
I love my colleagues - 
Some of them anyway.  
I love cheese and wine.  
I love beer and curries.  
I love the beach, 
And the desert, 
And the forest. 
I love meditation. 
I love that you are still reading this, 
thank you. 
I love the smell 
of freshly tilled soil 
and newly mown grass. 
I love birds.  
I love lists.  
I love my son. 
I am In love with my wife.  

Flying High

 In my dreams I can fly 
Above trees, or
 Below powerlines.

In my dreams nobody cares 
That I soar 
Above the madding crowd.

Down here amongst it
Things are different
People care how high you fly.

Shudder the tall poppy,
Watch your back
The high flyer. 

I wonder if we all flew
High or low
Would the walker be envied?

Nothing to fall from.
No need to be guarded.
Casually moving forward.

I will fly in my dreams.
In the privacy of my mind.
And judge nobody.  

Naked Heart

Let my clothing fall

And step into the oceans chill

Let my defences down

Welcome my racing heart

Give thanks that I am able, still

.

Ritual acts refine me

Habitual ones define me

Maybe I’ll let you see me

Beneath the skin that binds me

Under my ever-watchful real me

.

Be kind to others always

It’s a motto to live by

And it is easy enough to say

Harder though to play –

Life is, a double edged sword

.

Opening my heart to you

There is nothing harder to do

But your spirit welcomes mine

Allowing light to shine

On my mystical heart sublimed

Haiku (Future dreams)

sunrise and free time
thoughts travel beyond this day
peace in this moment

Locked Away

Deep,

Deep,

Deep,

Deep

Down inside of me

There is a door, and

It’s locked...

I must have lost the key,

Or did I throw it away?

I know there is something in there. 

I don’t know if it’s pleasant

Or unpleasant.

I’m not spending too much time

Thinking about it...

Or trying to open it. 

For now, I’ll just sweep around it. 

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.