Shadows of the past

When memories stir, 
Confused feelings occur. 

Of a time gone by;

Thoughts of emotions, running high.

Attached to people and things:

Two chairs; a desk; a book of secrets sings;

Remonstrations falling on deaf ears. 

The screams inside that nobody hears, 

Due to naivety, self delusion and grief. 

Nothing seems to bring relief,

A spiralling descent away from light. 

No energy to fight nor for flight.  

Time and life have healed the blight. 

Knowing and accepting myself, day and night,

And my partner’s love and support,

During battles waged and darkness fought. 

Regulation and repetition


Artificial flowery, powdery and citrusy fragrances reach nostrils, setting sinuses a flutter. ‘Clean’ smells of soaps, deodorants and perfumes from those, en route. 

Early morning sunshine dazzles the reluctant traveller, on their way to work. Hazy buildings line the route, neither in shadow or in light. 

Fellow passengers gaze, blankly, silently, caught up in their thoughts and phones.

How strange, this world of written and unwritten regulation and repetition. 
Photo: Electrical Engineering Building, UNSW

Winter warmth

The trees in Sydney are catching on to the fact that it is Winter. 

Winter warmth of russet, orange, 

Red, and some brown ‘gainst sky of blue;

Sluggish words rolling off the tongue; 

Round sounds linger in the crisp air. 

Urban eclipse

Contrasts:

  • dark and light,
  • unkempt and pristine, 
  • old and new, 
  • cluttered and neat. 

Corner of Higson Lane and Little Flinders Lane eclipsing the Chanel store, Melbourne, Australia. 

White knight

Knight in white shining armour

I humbly offer thanks for

Rescuing me from storm’s grip. 

Although wind did whirl and whip,

With torrential rain pouring. 

Chill of sodden clothes gnawing;

Welcome sight to see your face. 

Now dry in warmth of your embrace. 

Poetry like water


During periods of drought
And feelings of self doubt,

I lack inspiration, become a lout.

It helps to go out and about;
Amble, absorb and tout. 

Passers by glimpse the pout.

Frustration mounts. 
Just want to scream, to shout,

To wake myself up with a clout;

Still fruitless at every bout. 

Can’t call myself poet devout. 
At times there are ideas I should flout.

Use notebooks to record, later rout them out. 

Now noises drown thoughts out
Needing and urging result in nowt. 

It’s enough to bring on one’s gout!

Something

There is something 
Just beyond my vision;

Déjà vu perhaps. 

Unattached to place or person. 

I sense there is something beyond,

But beyond where?

It’s just out of reach. 

Should I avoid the barely sensed void?

Or ought I explore with thought?

What if it’s just imagination?