burbling creeks sweep over our feet
the basketballs stuck on the roof-
somebody said that they won’t be our friend
so we play with the man on the moon

we scoot down the street with no helmets
and cycle the length of the track
mum makes dinner in the time that it takes us
to walk to the milk bar and back

our feet pick up all the loose gravel
we use every stone we can find to make rings
inviting the fairies to come dance with us
hoping we’ll catch sight of their wings

we climb to the tops of the monkey bars
my sister can skip four whole rungs
we sit on the couch in the sun room
and watch some old movie about bugs

we drink tea from my new porcelain tea set
and make up dances to dads old cds
we jump off the top of the bunk bed
and trust that we will land on our feet

behind the sweet silk moonlight,
beneath the genteel waves
a serpent glides forever-
through sand, through grass and thick

his scales glimmer, imminence
his eyes a rabid red-
his tail reeks of pestilence
yet barren is his instinct

he knows to keep on forward,
he knows no turning back
he wishes on each wishing star
that he decides the track

each day and on forever-
he dances in his mind
for all who came before him
withered in his time

he doesn’t want to do this
an omen for great loss
he dreams of gentle greatness-
he dreams of getting lost

the path set out before him
they say the only way
it’s on and on forever
‘til his children do the same

look out into the shadows-
behind where the group all stand
that’s where you will find me
hidden, but still there-

look past the oafish smiles,
all posed and forced alike
you’ll spot me in the corner
pictured- birth, death, and life

the kettle whistles steady,
lace cloth laid, the table set
fixed with quiet virtue-
an image of intent

my body holds me steady,
my mouth betrays the band-
each eye scant meets another
though bound by house and hand

and in my head i utter words
silently, yet still-
i pray for all of this to end
it feels it never will

we look upon these pictures
and laugh about our cheek
we don’t truly remember-
it seems just slight of reach

the hedges cut precisely
though thorns grow underneath-
alongside pristine pathways,
now overgrown with weeds

the memories that lay there
just below the clay-
dream and drift their weary heads
and wait to see the day

yet still our feet are planted,
the roses all ripped up
expected, still, by nightfall-
the teas gone from the cup

the petals rot beneath our toes
the lemon tree remains,
and with each whistle of the wind
we stand here, still, unchanged-

there lies a place, mere moments away
where you and i can go-
we’ll meet there by the apple trees,
summer rain and winter snow

and there beneath the soil
where the autumn leaves still rot
ready cellars brimmed with whiskey,
honey spilling from the ***-

we won’t see the colours
as they dip below the hill
nor hear the early risers-
as all the songbirds will

security, though plenty
will not a moments be-
yet all becomes the matter
when the matter comes to me

the seam of life, a canyon lies
a mirage of spirits true-
there between shadow and light
imposed, adrift, to you

resist, reluctant to believe it,
though some part surely knows
that nothings gone forever-
graveyard dirt, from flowers grow

and where the moonlight falters
within the barracks, dreams awake
a figment, phantom worry
from stillness, the earths quake

so here is where i’ll wait for you
to find a safe entry,
the space beside the absolute-
deprived, drained, empty, free

be still, listen, angels cry
a siphon of regrets-
soaked in cherry poison
poured upon our heads

hover, silent sleepers,
be sure the rest are due-
from ribbons tied, now frozen
time’s as cynical as you

and there, quiet, listen-
between the gardens green,
hear their whispers calling
to where the pigeons preen

though the ivy’s ever thicker
and the lily-pads, mildew-
our laughs forever echo
you and i, each, unto-

our secrets, rooted evermore
at the base of the wattle tree
heres where we lie forever
hand in hand, for eternity

stamp upon my forehead
tether to my hip
christened, this way forever
tossed aside the ship

a feather, duly noted
is much too soft a spell
when all the work is over-
a change, now just begun

amidst the lawless disarray,
amity, faith, endure good will-
the orders ever impend here
eternally, scarce of trill

there upon the seeded land,
where white red-roses roam
exacerbate, the further-
trek the path, quietly, home

empty, shaken guarantees
smudged glass, intact, unclean-
eyes forever frosted
ne’er blind but unable to see

sustain, behind the mountains
where bravery comes absurd-
for all that you’ve been running to
once far, will now be heard

and in that tacit inquiry
the answers that lie still-
for all in life there is to find
is what we never will

fearful of the cover, as we lift
and shake our heads-
impart what has been always known
and then forget again

inhale through the heaviness,
glory lies below the crush
rogue and stagnant fires-
does not a moment flush

bruises filled with liquor,
behind which fragments take
man, the soldiers plenty
march on by cherry lake

once, once more and then again
a juncture past and proud
speckled now with claret-
slow the fleet, march on ground

shine down on the many
for sacrifice, but few
keep on for the forward
or find it may be you

persist, the moon is ready
it whispers to the waves-
prepare, though not tremble
be one, be true, be brave

release, in line, the butterflies
through pastures braised and blue
return, now find compromise
until praise be unto you

with morning comes the sorrows
for sparrows mourning, fly
pray tell, divulge the under way
come good just in time

hands at work are empty
empty hands are true
trickle down the drainpipe
deflect, always bid due

then follows is the innocence
who’s speckled colours mind-
wheeled roads become the many
when the many fall behind

tired eyes won’t see tomorrow
for they close at once, tonight-
when rays peek through the curtains
in empty, desolate delight

on and on the motorways-
bypass what once stood still
remain forever moving
keep pace, the water will

and in the bleak mid-morning
decline what should be lost-
part the shadows, forfeit
for nothings worth the cost

when the host calls for you
clutch at passable effect-
reach for pen and paper
write, whatever you have left

then stand and move, readily
for he knows what you’ve done-
you cannot hide behind your eyes
your eyes, now blind, are none

on her own, her choir sings
half tormented truths
oak tree stood, magnificent
though rotten are her roots

reflections show true promise
in diffidence and she-
though doomed are her endeavours,
does grow great vanity

she sings before the steeple
and kneels in each pew
as the bell tolls midnight
her eyes lock on to you

before the scarlet ending
we’re all destined to find
she’ll ask to play just one more song
become, in her presence, blind

crave what came before
connection lingers, softly
blue-white light breaks the fall
circuits real through bone

eyes down, pray silently
let music flood your eardrums
ignore, neglect the traveler
who sits as so do you

an actor paid in penance
empty lines in his script
does force the sand to falter
the waves as punishment

decree the girl but broken
stretched thin and vacant eyes
pray, call far into the empty
hope your call is not declined

find what’s been sent for you
a signal, weak and true
for impurity in the water
does too but impurify you

an air of sacred sorrow
in which tomorrow lies-
grown in salted waters
picked just before it’s ripe

a moment sits ahead of me
though ready I am not
within that timeless melody
i just hope that i will rot

when his hand extends to me–
and curls into a claw
accept the road in front of you;
don’t look back, don’t stop

step by step, don’t tremble;
and don’t worry about me–
for choice by choice we pave the way
we live, we die, we breathe

just as the tide retreats
and trees grow back their leaves
certainty suspends here
surround us, change incessantly-

avert your gaze beyond me
don’t call me by my name–
in twisted lies and dignity,
we all but feel the shame

crawl from the fallen ashes
fall desperately, and still–
rewind the tape that’s playing
take back the reign and frill

stop to smell the roses,
which rot beneath our toes
and wish upon the dandelions-
before the wind does blow

and freeze our faces; silly,
as our fathers warned us would
turn your back towards the sea
relent, subside, come good

then sink again, and this time-
yield whole to the accord
for what good is good and plenty
if the plenty now want more

to know, is to accomplish
companionship through mind-
yet mournful comes the moment
we have fallen out of stride

beyond tomorrows sunrise
when the fog covers our feet-
our hands become the colder
in murk our eyes can’t meet

our books share the same chapters
though the pages vary wide
hidden in the margins-
is where the story hides

so thankful for the echo
that comes from deep within,
though our endings may be different-
i still hope for you, my friend

find the joy in streetlights glow
before the suns full rise-
the hues that do reflect off clouds
in each drivers’ sleepy eyes

when the streetlights start to fade
the commuters travel does commence
find the joy in this space too
and rest your tired head

for joy persists regardless,
no matter the facade;
it goes on as it always has
it will, it is, it was

so ask yourself each moment
and when doubt starts to sink
is this the way I truly feel,
are these the thoughts I think?

and answer, true and honest
as that’s what we must do
to find, in life, our purpose
the real, the honest, you.

capture, hue and contrast
composed through eyes unscreened
photographs untaken, blur
in spite of memory–

adjust the saturation–
remain behind the lens
if in camera, still unfound
just use your eyes again

relish in this moment,
for light’s a fleeting view–
conceive that even backgrounds
can be made subjects too

and then once more remember
in this moment, Here is real;
light reflects off of your skin
allow yourself to feel–

and even in the powerlines–
which mark the Barren sky,
there’s movement, still within them
not seen by naked eyes

so in the stillness, soften
for nothing’s really still
become a keen observer
and within time, you will

through tangled weeds and nettles
a home stood, brick and tile
inside the world seems halted;
it’s been lonely for a while

neighbours, though be plenty
and councilmen, neglect–
for deeds unsigned consider
homes in disarray, a wreck

one man, too lonely, passes;
sees the work that must be done
knocks upon the door to find
the story, though there’s none

next door, he asks another man;
who admits forgotten land
for though they border at the seams–
he knows not, name or hand

so in resilient promise, true
he does set about to work
his time, though he’s not precious with
comes high value, unmatched worth

then as the layers he peels back
expose what’s underneath–
blue painted posts, coat hooks hung
and one, too, for a wreath

uncovering a narrative,
though knowing not what’s right
a young sapling on the nature strip
reveals intention, oversight

and this man, in earnest art
though duty lies not his
hands and feet, and one kind heart
made home not, Home again

in silence brimmed with softness
and distant thunder strikes
between the cold and empty,
behind the curtained light

where birds fly ever higher
and water always flows,
in solace and in synchrony-
the soil where souls grow

reserved for those who notice-
a long since forgotten art
planted in the in-between,
where life remains unheard  

and here within these moments,
to those who choose to see;
are messages of plenty,
instructions for the free

for those who choose to see it,
who stop and look around-
will here and for forever more
live free, live well, unbound.