Category: Poetry

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Changes

When seeking a life change, we all like to ponder,
About how others cope with life over yonder,
Are they as damaged as you, or as broken as me,
Well, let’s pop on over so we can both see,
It turns out, nobody’s coping, we’re not doing well
What once was working, now simply can’t gel,
Society is failing, and all are offended,
But to create change, apple carts must be upended.
So, what is the fix and where is the answer,
The people are addicted, social media is a cancer,
Like heroin junkies they consume and want more,
Of the vacuous fake existence that keeps them enthralled,
Sure, real-life hurts and words can be offensive,
But it’s your phone that keeps you feeling defensive,
Step outside, eat, drink, and witness nature in bloom,
Because you won’t find that life change locked away in your room.

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What am I looking for?

Sunlight flickers through the gum trees lining the road,
Low clouds creep down the dark mountain outside my window,
What am I looking for?
Grey chimney smoke whisps through the ferny undergrowth,
As black cattle graze on the lush pastures outside my window,
What am I looking for?
Scattered thoughts race through my mind, nothing feels solid,
I can’t connect, I can’t engage, I feel like a man out of time,
What I am looking for is nowhere.

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The Fall

From midnight hour I hear the call,
Of distant people kept in thrall,
In blood-stained desert lands they lie,
In a place where birds no longer fly,
With beliefs stuck in another time,
Committing genocide, not war but crime.
Religion is where true evil thrives,
Its bombs destroy families and displace lives.
Over the same dirt that exists everywhere,
But imaginary faith lines create despair,
A time will come soon when humanity will fall,
And down will come baby, cradle and all.

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Plea to a Dark Tree Hollow

Dark tree hollow please bring to me,
Someone who’ll love me unconditionally,
Make them kind and true, please end my sorrow,
Bring me love dark portal, from within your hollow.

I have so much to offer and so much to give,
To a sweet one who’ll share in the life that I live,
From your black laden doorway, do make them appear,
And I will share with them my heart, total and sincere.

Put an end to my lonesome tumultuous life,
And help me put down this self-harming knife,
That I’ve used too long to keep myself sane,
I’ve cut wrists and thighs and cried through the pain.

I feel so alone that I can’t cope anymore,
Send me someone to love, that’s all I wish for,
I know there’s some magic within you great tree,
So please, bring me someone who needs love just like me.

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What Slumbers Beneath the Waves

Beneath knotted storm clouds
And black, night-soaked seas,
Ancient stone columns descend
Countless fathoms into the abyss.

There, beneath a coral-crusted chancel
Of a long-forgotten holy place,
A great white eye
Stares blindly toward the distant surface.

Forgotten by time,
The Sleeper beneath the waves
Has awaited the call.

The somnolent god of the old world
Stirs within the inky darkness,
Impatient after ages of silence.

When summoned,
Its answer will be final.

In its throat awaits a single reply:

Death.
Doom.
Utter devastation.

Upon a lonely shore,
Incantations rise between crashing waves.

The stars are right tonight.

Death-cult followers gather,
Calling to their leviathan god.

And from the depths,
The Sleeper answers.

The sea rises.

Coastlines vanish beneath the flood.
Cities are swallowed whole.
Volcanoes awaken,
Casting ash across the heavens
Until the sun itself is blotted out.

The world freezes.

No soul remains
To witness the creature’s departure
Into the cold reaches of the cosmos.

All is lost in its wake.

And a dead planet
Turns slowly through the darkness,
Revolving forever
Beneath the black seas of time.

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The Whispering Spring Forest

There is a place where tall trees whisper,
Their voices dancing on the wind as they sing,
With rustling leaves and creaking branches
That stretch beneath the midday sun of spring.

Green farmlands lie sweetly fragranced,
Creating soft beds for small white sheep,
While warm sunlight drifts lazily
Across rich pasture and forest deep.

The scent of eucalyptus rides the breeze,
Seeping into my lungs like healing air,
And hungry bees seek sweet nectar
Among the wildflowers growing there.

A mountain rises from this place,
Its fern-tree canopy glowing green,
Where sunlight kisses frond and leaf
Beside a crystal mountain stream.

High upon the peak,
Great trunks reach upward,
Seeking the sun they know,
Their branches filled with sleeping life,
Rocked by forest lullabies below.

The mighty ironbarks greet the stars each night
And farewell the moon each dawn.
This is where my heart feels full,
My thoughts are free,
And a smile upon my face is worn.

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Distant are the Green Trees

Distant are the green trees, the tall cypress, the waving amber, and the swaying gum branch,
Far away I find myself, confined, restricted, encased in concrete and glass,
I’ve long been its weary inmate, obligated to dig from under a financial avalanche.

I feel days less now as I’ve grown older, my time runs out and days pass with such speed,
Often forgetting what day it is, surrounded by the young shore footed minds,
I feel foolish, angry, I resent the required spectacles that are now my only way to read.

Distant are the green trees, the long grass, the wildflowers, my home near the mountain.
From where I sit, I spy a river of concrete and bitumen, the water is a sea of cars,
They flow forth, a stream of people on their way to where happiness can never fountain.

There is so much sound, when did I become this sensitive, why am I so homesick?
It’s an illness of the heart perhaps, I miss the open spaces between this world and mine.
There is too much of too much in this place, the people and the air are claustrophobic.

Distant are the green trees, the cool streams, the fern forests and the quiet.
Seven more hours shall pass before I can exit from this city to where I belong,
Away from false people, fake laughter, their greedy ambition, to my beloved countryside. 

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Labyrinth of Lost Words

At once a shopfront, but also a cavernous labyrinth of lost words,

An old grey proprietor rubs their hands, anticipating the sale of some forgotten tome.

Deeper the explorer ventures, and the dust covered bookshelves grow dimmer,

The adventurer’s mind buzzes with the sheer wealth of knowledge in one place,

Pressed together in unorganised manner, his predetermined targets are instantly erased,

If asked his own name now, he would not remember it amongst his sensory overload.

Books lay stacked out of order, poetry mixed with dictionaries and the Bards plays,

He clears room one, nothing found, before delving into forgotten fictions, the light dims,

He can hear the proprietor discussing mushrooms, bread and eggs for supper,

As he pushes past the Dickens he owns, sadly stacked amongst the Dumas Musketeers,

He came for Keats, for Shelley or Poe, but his head swims as old dust invades his senses,

Suddenly, one blue book here, Burns, and a green there, Donne, treasure found within chaos,

He makes the journey back before he gets in too deep, back to the proprietor’s hungry eyes,

A deal is struck, and he manages to escape back into the bright sunlight he left behind.

He’ll be back,  the proprietor grins knowingly.

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Fall of the Old World

The world lurches sideways,
Bringing with it
Chaos
And ruin.

Oceans shift.
Ancient shorelines disappear
Beneath walls of rising water.

Mountains erupt from the earth.
Great valleys split open.
The land is remade
In moments.

The retreating seas
Reveal forgotten terrain,
An alien world
Hidden beneath the old.

Where life once flourished,
The dead drift silently
Across poisoned waters.
Metropolises vanish
Beneath relentless waves.

Ancient creatures,
Long imprisoned
Within the deepest trenches,
Rise into a broken world.

Day becomes twilight.
Storms consume the sky.
Rain falls without end.
The old world dies.

The whispers were true.
An age has ended.
Another begins.
Whether by judgement,
Or consequence,

Humanity has reached
The end of its story.

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That Feeling

Sometimes I sit eyes closed and breathe, while I feel my hands shaking,

Some mornings I wake from nightmares, tear-soaked and heartbroken.

Other times, my mind wanders so far, that I worry it can’t find its way home.

Sometimes there’s confusion, chaos, and an overwhelming sensation of sound,

Other times it is deathly quiet, and I trudge through a bog of numbness, am I even alive?

Like an autumnal tree branch I yield, everyday shedding things once held dear, leaf after leaf,

I feel it all, in the sunshine and the cold dark early hours, I can be overcome with grief.

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