A random array of letters
Words formed by thought
A sentence full of misgiving
Explodes into a paragraph
Reaching across a page
A new sheet of promise
Words continue their crime
Living, laughing, crying
Terror, fear, love
And words move on
To grip the heart
In its telling
Until the words
Finish.
Lingering Light
Lingering light
Colours caress
City in the distance
My inner soul is restless
A chaos of troubles and catastrophization
My mind controls my body
And my heart skips in my chest
Dark dwellings
Silhouette shadows
Waves rushing onto sand
Soothing water never ending
Dragons dance, wings shifting with the tide
In the fading light they visit me
A soft mantra calling for calm
Sea spray
Brisk breeze
Moonlight silver on water
The sting of salt purifies the air
A shallow breath deepens, the ocean crisp and clean
the moon renews our kinship
setting my fears free
Black blanket
Stars sparkle
Wrap their comfort around me
In the depths of my very being
The harshness of misunderstandings and confusion
Fade with the draping of softness
My Lover takes my hand
And finally
I can
be
I’ve turned into a crazy woman.
I’m the one wandering the backyard, raking the air. I’m the one wandering in the backyard, stopping suddenly, swearing and backing away as if I’ve seen a ghost (although that would be so cool).
I have a plague sweeping my garden.
A plague of tiny black and white dotted spiders that make the longest and strongest webs ever!
Well… maybe a slight over-reaction, but not by much.
There are more gardens in my yard than grass, and five tall trees overshadow some of those gardens. I’m wondering if our backyard is some sort of multi-dimensional matrix, considering how small it is. The woman who owed this house before us loved to plant trees and gardens—don’t get me wrong, it’s one of the features that drew us to this place. But we’ve already dug up seven small gardens, and it hasn’t made that much of a difference.
But I’m off the topic-back to my spiders.
These webs stretch from plant to plant, tree to clothesline, grapevine to patio, one end of the patio to the other-I’m sure you get the picture.
Imagine, blurry-eyed, going to work early in the morning, locking the back door and heading towards the car. Suddenly you hit an invisible force and you’re flung back, or worst still, invisible sticky threads engulf you and you’re sure you’ve just felt something crawl down your shirt!
That’s usually when my neighbours, if they’re watching, are treated to a wonderful dance called The Spider Jig.
It amazes me how a spider smaller than my pinkie fingernail can build a web so thick and wide.
I hate using poisons, instead I give them a stern talking to and swipe at their webs. For a few weeks I was raking the air every day. They’re not so plentiful nowadays. It must be a seasonal event, though I’ve noticed more little birds flittering in the garden lately.
Mind you, the webs look spectacular sprinkled with dew in the morning sun, or at midday when the sun catches the threads.
I’ll miss them I suppose – until I walk into one again.
In the darkness they lie hidden
A question on your lips
Touching your fear
Without presence
A shiver across your shoulders
The only clue to their existence
Your heart pounds
Dread awakens
A creak, a noise—undecipherable
A coldness floods your soul
Eyes don’t believe
Your sight
In shadows they consume your dread
A rare vintage to be drunk
Ghostly images tease
Nightmares devour
False light heralds a dawning day
Terrors slink deep into shadows
A continuous play
Shared silences
The phone is ringing Kids are yelling And a parent is just being rude. There are rolls to input The computers’ kaput And all the toilet lids have been glued. Bills need to be paid Kids line up for first aid And the tuckshop is ordering in food. Visitors need nametags The flag’s hit a snag And a child in sick bay has spewed. The bills need to be paid There’s a problem on parade And blue cards are yet to be renewed. Contracts to be organised A child needs to be supervised And there’s a muesli bar on the counter half chewed. H R’s on the phone The budget’s been blown And there’s an ‘angel’ in the office for being crude. Tears and a tantrum Don’t play the fool with me chum And a headache now adds to my mood. The last bell has rung The last stick has been flung And my cuppa from the morning has stewed. Tomorrow I’ll return For what little money I earn And try not to scream something rude!
Your skin is smooth Beneath my fingers And you quiver at my touch Your skin is warm Against the chill And feeds my inner lust * * * You arch your neck A twist to the right So subtle and yet so explicit How the skin’s pulled taut And the muscles flex My eyes close shut against it * * * Fraught with desire That won’t be still I have little choice in the matter My body throbs In time with your own Your vein pumps so hard it might shatter * * * My tongue licks my lips The desire grows stronger While the daggers in my mouth grow sharper I taste your flavour In the back of my throat Your life is now mine without barter * * * My lips kiss your skin A river of red Yet that’s not the end of the story Your life on my tongue My soul stripped raw Your consent is not mandatory. * * * My hunger is simple My thirst never ending My curse has left me like this. A thing of revulsion A creature of need Yet, I will fight for my right to exist.
The wet season is here
And so are the fae
Their houses pop up in a line
Do not step too near
Or a curse they will lay
Leave them be and all will be fine
Post note: One mushroom died in the creation of this photo. The strap of the camera swung too low. I apologise sincerely for the distress caused by the incident… Could you please remove the planter wart from my foot now?
In the weakness of metal
A beauty surreal
A mouse with a beady eye
A lake with a river extending
A sapling reaching tall
A green leave hung in mid air
A disjointed arm with muscles flexed
Oh, the images that I see
In the golden daylight it waits Forlorn, forgotten and worn An ode to a time no more Spun in steel Moulded from wood Curved for visual pleasure Alone in the golden daylight it waits In the nightly gloom they gather Reclining on remembered warmth Wisps of memories Vague shapes of being Recounting pasts long gone A chance to live again Together in the nightly gloom they gather
Upon a time it sat Shiny in the sun Newly built and strong Upon a time it weathered Beaten by the rain The strain of being Upon a time it rusted Sagging under elements Age creeping onwards Upon a time it shuddered Falling to the ground A last defiant protest The force of nature Nothing withstands To be melded into the earth again
Blue Ink on a Dragon's Tail 