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.

Is there such a thing as beautiful chaos?

The kind when you have no idea of where to start, where you are going, and how you will get there. You know not what it is that moves you. You just move.

I think there is such a thing. “What is normal for the spider, is chaos for the fly,” someone once wrote.

There comes a moment when you know you just have to move and trust all will be ok.  Often you will change direction, not for any particular reason, but because you can.

Better to move across the canvas of the earth leaving thunderous footprints, even if at times they form circles, than no prints at all.    

It is the child within that is this way, the child that splashes colour on a page at will, the untarnished artist whom creates beautiful chaos because they’d rather be the spider, than any kind of fly.

If you see the beauty in everything,
the beauty of everything is in you too.

When you can do you begin to
affect those that see no beauty
at all.

And the beauty about that is, you
don’t even know you’re doing it.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

How could I ever wash away
my thoughts of you,
the smell of you,
what my skin does from
the touch of you.

How could I ever not
wake to the sound
of your breath, your
rhythm, awash me.

How could I ever make
sense of this world without
falling in love with you.

How could I ever have known
before you, there was such
a thing as a falling with no landing.

I forgot what it’s like to be up in the clouds,
to breach the haze and see how the sky
makes the Sun feel at home.
I forgot how from my window seat
there’s a movie out there, an ocean
of difference between us that’s not
so different at all.
Today we defy gravity.
What movie will we see tomorrow?
Will it be like this, one we never tire of?
One we can watch over and over again.

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

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.

It goes like this:

One day you feel lost. You have strayed from the path, and when you look up you don’t know where you are. But something within pushes you on. So on you go; no reason, no rhyme, and with no real destination in sight.

Farther on you meet someone. A stranger, and for some mysterious reason you feel more connected to this person than anyone else. There is something about them you’ve never encountered before.

In the beginning you arrive early and leave late, wishing you never have to leave at all. You think you know what it is about them that makes you want to be with them all the time. But you don’t, you’ve not yet seen below the surface. Then you see that they are kind, and they are compassionate, they are generous and loving. It’s like they have come to you for some higher purpose; to reveal to you what you fail to see in yourself; like an Angel. You feel that the deepest part of them, is the deepest part of you.
  
The day comes when you know without question why you love them. With them, overtime, you find out what loves is, and what love is not.    

Then one day you realise that the stranger you met, when you strayed from the path, is the destination. You just had to lose yourself to find them so you could create the path together.

do you really think love is easy?
that it takes no effort to keep love
to be love.

love is arguing over something small then
feeling **** about, wishing you had
better control over your tongue,
and saying sorry.

‘s not about who’s right, who’s wrong
‘s about making up,
‘s about taking the ripped out invisible chord
and plugging it back into each other.
reconnecting the love chord – not into the brain.

that day she said, “get out! i never want to see you again.”
he realised he’d’ ****** up big time for the last time.
that one more with the boys, meant the last one with her.
all she wanted was a window seat, but he gave her the aisle,
always the aisle,
the wrong aisle.
oh well.

thing is, you get another chance – at love that is.
best not look for it, clutch for it, search for it, otherwise
all you’ll find is desperation.
can’t love desperation.
you won’t even make the
plane if you fall for desperation.

love is many things, but what it’s not, is
easy.
whomever thinks it’s easy has never
found love.
they’ve found easy.

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.”

do this they will instruct,
and you probably will.
do that they will drill into
the marrow of your bones.
get in line, stop fooling around.

and you probably will.

soon enough you’ll stand
up straight all by yourself.
worse still – spend your whole life
a puppet.

the moment you say, "**** it,
i’m reclaiming my soul.
i give myself permission
to do what I want, on my terms,"

that is the day you will
truly be free, and know how
good it feels to walk the earth,

no strings attached.

I swore to myself I’d never do it again —
fall hopelessly in love. To love is to get hurt.
I broke my arm once in three places, ******* it hurt.
It was nothing compared to a broken heart,
torn right down the middle. That type of pain seems
to never go away. Then you meet someone else, usually
when you’re not looking and you think **** man what’s happening...
it’s happening… this scary **** is happening again.

There are some things you just have no control over.

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,

Telling the one you’re with,
that you love them,
shouldn’t be saved for a
special occasion.

That’s what champagne is for.