Trials and fails of fiction Matches made in low-lit bars,cafe's and gas stations. Shake off sticky cling of connection plagued by interference. The Editor stands looming over head. Hiding in some alpine cloud or cave under ridgeline. Heavy pen pressed to storyline. Poised, ready to edit me out of one's life.
The Snowgum Trail, Tarn Shelf, Mount Field National Park in Tasmania
This Old Love, seafaring ship Of finest wood & Craftsmanship Its maiden voyage Some four years hence When feral seas drove us West I've sailed her all around the world Docked in places ne'er afore found Secure at anchor, I'd explore Wonders of the world unfold Through rocky isles and coral reefs Its bow has turned me safe to keep All precious cargo Fit and well Squabbling over fine ship's bell The final storm, the wrecking one Wind whipped sail and broached hull She turned us in to sheltered bay The weight of shore broke her away We battled through torrential rain Huddled in the bow all day Then clear, still morn Sun did arise All our crew woke in surprise Old Love was gone to seabed reef For seals and manta rays to sleep We walked ashore and carried on Mountains climbed, beaches swum Though many tales I have to tell Of Old Love's ventures riding swell A ghost ship now No one believes Such vessels are imaginary I tip my hat, to one who'll come To sail away into the sun For tinker, sailor, Captain be This Old Love was made by me
I am attracted to the same old Playlists, meditative serenades Stretching from 80s to last year's hits To clip my nails to Leading me down the long and winding road To where your row of hedges Meet the letterbox As far as it goes. Conjuring ideas of monologues A tribute to intangible Feelings dribble all over the page. Ones that never make it out of the envelope Perhaps it's better this way. Better than burned unceremonious In the back paddock of my hey days Better than buried by the bedroom door crawling with miniscule dust mites Sidled up to last decades yellow pages Better to be read and real Than devoured by silverfish Keep putting it out there So Tracy Chapman says, How I wish Someone like her Would sing so much For one like me. Enough rhythm in pounding heart beats Substantial originality To fuse a lyric or two to it I want to write a song It’s how I'll know Whether she'll be - Muse or siren? Found in time or sea? Call me...
Library woman Where are you? Hidden between etymology And French architecture Eating a cream bun? Licking tips of fingers Before each page flick Looking busy on covert Sweet craving break One Friday afternoon... Longing for weekend Slipped between sheets Frolicking tales Ensconced in dreams
Yours is the only Sacred world I know Minutiae of delights Dripped from branches Conjures fantasies In foreign lands Show me the way in Ritual initiations I wait, dew gathering Under my skin
Is it always so enchanting From your point of view? Shining smilingly Above the rooftops Is the water's skin Shivering under your gaze Like I used to Baroque soundwaves Fill my ears A detour from wayward Straight lines Gone haywire I take the backbends Winding by yesteryears When the moon revolved Around us
A poignant question Posed to me by me By mark of time Who would love Such one as I Indiscriminately Mine? The notion begged Ten thousand words Just to describe Such question Then eighty thousand More to write Each possible retort Once most likely Hypothetical Option I could find At least another Twenty thousand Words crept through My mind Not until the warmth Of one enamoured By my side To find stillness Just to rest These lips Speechless On mine
Count the stars of heaven 