Things fell away like
leaves from a tree.
Long nights, elusive dawns.  
Then out of nowhere,
you appeared.
The world wasn’t
caving in after all.
Just a clearing of space
for something new to emerge.

We try to live out of constant flux.
A flat-lined life where every moment
of every day is good... and that's good.

Yesterday the wind blew,
in fury of nothing.
It just blew, and
things fell down.

Yesterday it rained,
in torment of nothing.
It just rained, and
things got wet.

But today what yesterday was,
is but a gentle breeze on cloudless day.
Mother Nature too has her moments,
and things are still again.
Really still.

Maybe this will happen, maybe that.

Maybe the day will come when we will finally arrive, and just maybe we will sit back and smile about from where we have come.

Maybe when we smile it will be at all the choices we made to do the things we did to get to where we are—here, maybe scathed, maybe *****, maybe even both, but alive.

Maybe we can take that drive we talked of, hit the road to nowhere with nothing but the Sun in our faces and the backseat over shoulders.

Maybe a random search will find that song we listened to when we talked about things we never knew about each other because we’d only just met. When it plays maybe your hand that’s on my shoulder will move and squeeze with tenderness the back of my neck because we’re stirred by the now not so random song that we listened to often way back when. And if it doesn’t play, maybe the search will reveal another. One that in years to come will be the song that will take us back to when we travelled the road to nowhere, and then we’ll have two.

Maybe when we get to nowhere we’ll be now-here, and find that beach we never knew existed and we will walk it, leave footprints in the sand and watch how they disappear in the tide as if we too never existed.

And what of that bach on the hill? Maybe that’s where we’ll hold one strap each on the bag that contains all the things we need, yours at one end and mine at the other.

Maybe we’ll sleep in the bedroom, maybe on the deck where we’ll see stars that we’ve never seen in the city because here, where it is darker, things are much brighter.

Maybe if the night is cold and the rain thrums we’ll be reminded that there is no place that we would rather be than right here, beneath the blankets, in whatever part of the bach on the hill we end up, near empty glasses just over there where we started, and not an ounce of space between us, only love.

Maybe, as the night stills, we will muse amid the silence and wonder at what tomorrow will bring or maybe we’ll turn inward and smile at what we’ve just done, and our eyes will say, “let’s never arrive.”

A young man was walking along when he came across monk who was sitting on the side of the path meditating.

The young man, curiously stopped. “You are not from here? For I know everyone in this kingdom, and everyone know who I am. My name is Narcissus, son of Cephissus, and I am King of this land. Where do you come from, and what are you doing in my kingdom?

The Buddhist monk sat silently, and continued to meditate. His eyes were closed and at his side was a banana and a pale of water.

“Did you hear me? I am Narcissus and I am King of this land. If you know me like my people do, you would know that; I am honest, I am kind, and I am loving and full of compassion. I am fair and just. I am an advocate of peace, I judge no-one, and my subjects love me. And you sir, what are you?”

The monk opened his eyes, took the banana and peeled it. He halved it and offered Narcissus the King the other half, then continued meditating without saying a word.

Narcissus ate his banana, musing at the monk who didn’t speak. Why do you not speak?” asked Narcissus. I am the King and I demand to be answered when I ask a question.”

It was deathly hot, so the monk offered Narcissus a drink from his pale of water.

“I am thirsty. I will accept your offer,” said Narcissus. He drank all that was in the ladle and helped himself to another. He stood and waited for the water in the pale to become still again. Then he pitched over and looked into it, admiring his reflection, and smiled. I am still beautiful he thought. Again he addressed the monk, asking him who he was.

The monk leant over and kissed Narcissus on the feet, and bowed to him without saying a word.

Narcissus peered down at monk, smiled, and said to himself, “strange man,” and moved on.

The monk resumed his position, smiled, and whispered to himself,
“I am nothing.”

Even the floor board from the hallway
creaks in delight when you
step upon it,
patiently waiting, hoping
your sole will
move silently
across it once more.

Step on me endlessly
and let our body’s creak
to remind the floorboard
of where you are
and you are coming.

The pessimist says, “What a crap day, we can’t do anything in this rain.”
The optimist says, “Look, there’s blue sky over there.”
The realist puts on their dancing shoes.

I glided through
the diaphanous breeze
with a desolate hope
that I would find my
way through the haze.

I stopped to rest,
finding solace  
in the pounding
syllables of the sea
where I could see your
glimmer in every wave.

Let’s cut down that tree,
and strip it of it’s bark.

Take that axe and hack
every limb until we hear
only the sound of crushed
leaves beneath our boots.

I am one of many, my
seeds have met the soil.
It will take much more
than that to stop
the giving of oxygen.

So much more than an axe
to stop us reaching for the Sun.

Don’t let each day
And the woes at play
Carve out wrinkles on your face

Take time to breathe
and plant a seed
of a much more peaceful place

It’ll take some will
To get perfectly still
Where the mind stops running the show

Once you get there
Acknowledge the fear
Observe your breath, and just let go.

He stood in the darkness, reaching for the uncapped bottle, pouring himself another. Why has she left? he thought.

Rain thrashed against the window, and for a moment he was lost in a drip that ran down the pane.

"What now," he said to himself, as he took a swig, unaware that he'd made his decision and was already half-a-bottle in.

Once, I saw you twice in one day.
Now, I get to wake up to you everyday.

Serendipity.

Beyond the trees in the clearing stood courage unclothed; always the preferred attire. Its gender, female; hence I will refer to it here as she.
 
Such femininity supressed in the webbed corners of masculine satire. To know it is to have it, to have it is to use it. Of course she recognises fear hiding in the wind that bends the trees–she too, is afraid.
 
She stands at the water’s edge, stoops to see she has no reflection, only blue sky staring back with a whisper, “Where there is no reflection there is courage.”
 
She exists in the space it takes to step from this place to the next. Courage will guide you when there is no water and if you get lost, look up,
—She is there too.

Can you hear the rustle
of leaves high up in the trees?
The wind does that.

Can you see the sparkles that
dance from the ripples on the water?
The sun and the wind does that.

Can you feel the cold of night  
that touches every inch of you
when I’m not there?
Absence does that.

Do you sense the emptiness
I feel when you’re not beside me?
I do, and you do that.

Cotton sheets
on a winter’s night.

She entered the room,
her clothes fell to the floor.

’You’re on my side?’
‘I know,’ and
slid to my side
to let her skin
lie in the warmth
I left for her.

And then she
thanked me,
in cotton sheets.

can you taste
the dew that
settles on your lips

I am that
the steam that
rises and drip
                         s

taste me like
the sun tastes
the rain

I will quench
dry sands that
leach from the
tear ducts of
your soul

I am that
and you are too

Sometimes you are like that stone wedged in the tread of my sole.
Sometimes you are like that fly that keeps coming back.
Sometimes you are like 8.30am Monday morning.
Sometimes you are like the day after, a big night out.

But most of the time you are like summer is to spring,
winter is to autumn.
Most of the time you are like water is to thirst,
the sun to the earth.
Most of the time you are like a leaf is to a tree,
the air I need to breathe
Most of the time you are like stars are to night,
a bird is to flight.
Most of the time you are the one
that makes sometimes so unnecessary.

All is not lost if you lose
your way and become broken,
a longing to tear open the sky.

Piece back the shards, one by one,
until you are whole again.

Start over, love finds the darkest corners,
so you can smile at the times
you have tried, but cried,