Tag: landscape

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Forest of the Mountain King

A great mountain looms over these antique lands,
Mysterious and proud the stone giant stands,
Its snow-capped peaks have a perilous beauty,
Climbing to the summit is an impossible duty,
Behind its back is an endless ocean scene,
And in its shadow are lands pastoral and green,
In its ancient forest, the air is heavy and old,
Fern trees and giant mushrooms grow uncontrolled,
It’s said that trees often walk the forest floor,
Gathering in sacred spaces to discuss forest law,
If you stay hidden you may hear them creeping around,
But if they find you, you’ll be crushed into the ground,
Few animals dare to venture into this forgotten place,
And any men who enter vanish without a trace,
So, choose wisely before you visit the forest of dreams
For the mountain is King, and his soldiers are trees.

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A Moment of Dreaming

In the distance, a crystal ship adorned with vivid white sails glistens against an azure sky,

The tranquil surface of the clear blue ocean invokes a serene feeling of comfort and home,

Soft white sand underfoot shimmers like powdered diamonds in the warm midday sun,

Closed eyes feel the radiating warmth, while a fresh ocean breeze caresses the hair,

The gentle washing of water onto the sand accompanies serenading white seabirds overhead,

The earthy scent of lush green grass and sweet wildflowers dances on the breeze,

This moment of dreaming, with its peace and serenity, is alien to the dreamer’s waken world

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Beneath the Black Seas of Time

Deep within yourself break the waves of a vast black ocean,

It stretches beyond all time and space, capped by a star-filled sky,

In its fathomless depths, exists the end of all mankind,

Doom slumbers there, tentacled and terrible,

Kept silent for eons under waves, since falling from the sky,

Something within the darkness now stirs, an awakening,

Ice cold is the ocean and countless are her secrets,

Nothing is lost forever, the titan will soon awaken,

For you are no longer its keeper.

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Ode to a Sweet Glade

Oh sweet glade, a hidden yet open shining place,
Surrounded by dark trees, yet within you, flowers and grace,
Silver ferns surround your soft grass, and keep your boundary in order,
Giving weary travellers beauty, the gift of rest and a pond of cool water.

Oh sweet glade, I close my eyes and can still smell your bouquet,
It was your fertile green clearing, that enticed me to stay,
With birdsongs, bright flowers, and the mushrooms you gave,
Healing my inner wounds, with warm comfort, my life you did save.

For I was not planning on leaving the forest that day,
I was to hang from roped branch, and in the cool winds I’d sway,
A corpse, was the gift I intended to leave for the creatures and earth,
To feed the fertile forest floor, the body of a man with no worth.

Oh sweet glade, you showed me something worth living for,
You gave me light and hope, where my eyes saw only darkness before,
Your greeting of sunlight and soft scents, as I stumbled from the dark,
Set my life on a new path, one lived in happiness, on which I now embark.

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Gentle is the morning light

A golden morning sunlight pours through black window lace,
The world seems silent, bright and serene, nothing stirs,
Anything seems possible at this moment,
Tired eyes and mind are awakened from long slumber,
Gentle is the morning, not yet revealing the days secrets,
Several sparrows busily appear outside the window,
Their frantic chirping soon fades and silence returns,
The warm spring sun brings tree leaves to a splendid glowing green,
As the morning dew is devoured by tidy lawns and flowers,
The outside world seems renewed, any anxiety of yesterday erased.
The hiss from a passing car, cuts through silence, ending peaceful contemplation.
And as the sun rises past the window frame, this blue skied Sunday can begin.

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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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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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Songbirds on the Peninsula of Sleep

Kneeling, the dream-walker reaches for the fulvous velvet grass at their feet,

Energised bands of light envelop the arms and soon become a full body corona of colour,

The newfound energy begins to gently elevate the walker into a hover,

Floating effortlessly, they cross the bright peninsula, as the warm ocean laps at the cliff sides,

Large round turquoise boulders rest beneath weeping lapis trees, their branches laden with birds,

The songbirds with their vibrant glittering indigo plumage, fill the air with their sweet music,

Large white cranes fly silently sunward, their departure signifying the end of a great journey,

Vivid dreams have led the hovering guest to the heart of the peninsula, a flat fragrant and floral field,

Its only feature is a massive ancient white tree, its vine covered trunk revealing a large hollow,

Beams of alternating light cycle from within the tree hollow, pulsing, bidding a warm welcome,

At the centre of each flower growing on the vines that cling to the great tree, is a single gazing eye,

As the songbirds begin to trumpet full throated music into the spiralling peppermint sky,

All eyes watch as the visitor hovers forward, silently fading into the light laden tree hollow,

The bird songs echo into silence, all colour diminishes, and the traveller is emersed in brilliant stars,

The stars soon fade, as the dreamers’ eyes open, awakening them to the glow of a new morning sun.

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Falls of Deceit

The gaping mouth of the waterfalls is forged by the river of lies, which flows with the tears of the suffering, the falls flow constantly, even below the surface.

Liars float above the current, greedily feeding on their victims, before bathing fat and bloated on the shore.

The deceived are drowned beneath white capped waves, held heavy with the chains of loyalty that shackle them.

Their broken bodies are weighed down by great stones of deceit, before being swept over the falls, discarded onto the rocks below.

Falling out of their dreams, and into the horrible reality of facing a new day’s sun.