Tag: nature

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The Wildflower

Upon the bank of a winding river,
That snaked its way
Through the Wildflower Valley,

Beneath the swaying branches
Of ancient willow trees,
A dreamer sat alone.
Glassy-eyed.
Silent.
Sullen.

Though songbirds filled the air with music,
And a brilliant blue sky stretched overhead,
Tears welled within their eyes.

Their bare feet skimmed
The river’s surface.
Large blue and yellow fish rose and splashed.
Waterfowl drifted gently upon the current.
Sweet floral scents
Rolled down from the meadows beyond.

Yet none of it reached them.

The dreamer wiped their eyes
And lay back among soft silver ferns.
Unable to take comfort
In the beauty of that moment.

For they had known loss.

And all the wonders
Of the Dream Continent
Could not outweigh
The sorrow carried within their heart.

For a time they remained there,
Listening to the river,
Watching clouds drift overhead.

Then slowly they rose.
With measured steps
They crossed the wildflower fields,
Trailing their fingers
Across blossoms of every colour.

The lighthouse stood waiting in the distance.
Beyond it,
A boat waited upon the shore.
A vessel bound
For the waking world.

The dreamer boarded silently.
And the Dream Continent faded behind them.
They soon awoke within their bed.
Morning light filtered through the window.
Their hand remained clenched.
Slowly, they opened it.

Resting in their palm
Was a single wildflower,
Brilliantly coloured,
And impossibly real.

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Midnight Mushrooms

The mushrooms in our garden
Walk around at night,
Kicking over rubbish bins
And giving pets a fright.

Aggressive shrooms in gumboots
March beneath the stars,
Breaking flower stems for fun
As they stomp around the yard.

They poke them through the chicken wire
And wake the sleeping hens,
Then scamper off through moonlit grass
Before they’re caught again.

But they pay dearly for their mischief
When they fall asleep at dawn.
Where they tremble in their grassy holes
As I begin to mow the lawn.

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Flight of the Morning Heralds

“Mount the air,” the mermaid cried,
And the sea released her daughters.

Rising from the waters,
They unfurled wings
Of brilliant white splendour,

And took to the sky.
Carried upon the ocean winds,
The three sisters soared eastward,

Past the lighthouse,
Past the dunes,
And into the rising golden sun.

High above the continent,
A wondrous change befell them.

The daughters of the sea
Became three majestic cranes,
Their silver feathers glowing
In the light of morning.

Their arrival heralded a new day
Across the Continent of Dreams.

There they wandered,
Feeding and resting
Among fields of brilliant azure,
And beneath skies of endless blue.

All day they lingered,
Watching dreamers pass below,
While warm winds drifted
Across the flowering plains.

But as evening gathered,
And the western sky turned gold,
The three cranes rose once more.

Their wings carried them
Beyond the fields,
Beyond the lighthouse,
And out across the darkening waters.

There, at the heart
Of the Dreaming Sea,
The sisters descended,

Returning to the embrace
Of the ocean that had birthed them,
To await another dawn.

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How do you dream?

How do you dream?

Is it with colours and peace,
Beneath warm skies
And gentle seas?

Or are you alone in the dark,
With a haunted scream,

Do moonlit fields
Stretch before your eyes,

Or do shadows gather
Beneath starless skies?

Tell me,

When sleep finally claims you,
What world do you find?

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Watchers of the Northern Range

My journey led me northward.
The road seemed endless,
Winding ever higher
Through the mountains.

By the time I reached the range’s summit,
The sun had vanished
Behind a veil of grey clouds.

Thick mists swallowed the land below,
Erasing valleys,
Forests,
And distant horizons.

The world became a realm
Of stone and silence.

Yet I continued onward.
Then the trees appeared.
Not living trees,
But their skeletal remains,
Rising from the mist
Like black cracks
In a sea of white light.

Their twisted branches reached skyward,
As though clawing at unseen heavens.
And as I walked among them,
The mountain grew silent still.

Yet I was not alone.
At the edge of my vision,
Creatures loomed among the trunks and mist.

Tall.
Inhumanly thin.
Deathly white.

Their forms concealed by drifting vapours,
Their faces smooth and featureless,
Save for a single glossy black eye,
And a large gaping black mouth,
Set within each pale visage.

They swayed slowly,
Like trees moving in a distant wind.
At least twelve feet tall,
Their unnaturally long arms
Hung almost to the ground,
While black-stained fingers
Twitched like restless claws.

They appeared naked,
Genderless,
And ancient.

As I passed,
They made strange sounds amongst themselves.
A deep muffled hissing,
As though exchanging secrets
In a forgotten language.

Each Watcher observed me.
Then withdrew once more
Into the mist.

Eventually I reached the summit.
The air had grown bitterly cold.
The wind carried an arctic chill,
And the clouds parted around me.

I stood above the world.
Far below,
The continent stretched toward the horizon.
Beyond it lay the Ocean of Dreams.
And there,
Upon the distant peninsula,
The lighthouse still shone.

For a moment,
I forgot the mountain,
The mist,
And the creatures.
I stood transfixed by the view.

Behind me,
The hissing grew louder.
Rising together,
Voice upon voice,
Until it became a dreadful crescendo.

Lost in wonder,
I failed to hear
The soft approach of bare feet.

Only at the final moment
Did I turn.
To find myself face to face
With one of the Watchers.
Its black eye reflected my own terror.

It struck me with a large granite club,
The blow silenced my scream before it escaped.
Darkness came instantly.
Light vanished.
Pain vanished.
Everything vanished.

Then I found myself drifting above the scene.

Weightless.
Silent.
Below,

My broken body lay upon the mountain.
The Watchers gathered around it.
Methodically.
Patiently.
As though performing an ancient ritual.

I watched as they dismembered
And fed upon my remains.

And I awoke.
Far away from the mountain.
Back in the Land of the Waken.

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Murder in the Field

The air harks to the sound of crows,

Distant and near,
High and low.

Some have landed calling to one another,
Their silken black feathers
Shining in the morning sun.

Others watch from treetop perches,
Bobbing and leaping between branches
Like excited shadows without a host.

Beyond the encircling trees,
Ten acres of golden field stretch outward,
Its tall crops swaying gently in the breeze.

The land is peaceful.

The whisper of wind through the grain
Carries across the open earth,
Soft and unhurried.

The quiet is broken by dark laughter,
By harsh calls carried on the air,

By the flutter of black wings,

And the sound
Of that murderous party.

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The Approaching Dark

Look toward the stars,
And behold what approaches.

The world is falling,

Swallowed by rising tides,
Crushed beneath an unknown power.

Illusion gives way to reality.
The truth can no longer be hidden.

Devoured by that ancient darkness
Awakening once more?

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Emerald Ocean of Sleep

Timeless this walk has been,
Upon the plateau of broken dreams,
High above the sleeping sea,
Where starry skies have carried me.

Now far away in the land of dreaming,
Where warm white sands wait gleaming,
Scented winds blow a gentle breeze,
As I sit on the beach of the dreaming sea.

Crimson birds float through azure skies,
Serenading dreamers with lyrical cries,
But they fall deaf upon my sullen ear,
As whispering waves call me near.

Under the emerald ocean I now wade,
Down where the saddest dreams are made,
It becomes so dark that I cannot see,
And I’m lost once more inside of me.

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That which slumbers now awakens

The coal-stained silver lined clouds rumble,
Restlessly churning above a black range,
A symphony accompanied by the caw of crows,
Cemetery stones jut through mist like broken teeth,
Marking the empty husks of men and kin cowering within graves,
Screaming tree hollows drum with the sound of steady rain,
As the dried lungs of empty creek-beds breathe once more,
An intense feeling of static electricity fills the air,
As bright cobwebs of lightning flicker across the sky,
A heavy hum vibrates deep within the bowels of the land,
Something that once slumbered has awakened,
Stirring, timeless and immense with insatiable hunger,
A leviathan no longer content to remain darkly dreaming,
Once secreted away within the ocean realm of sleep,
This ancient is of the stars, of the land and sea,
A shapeless colourless world devouring entity.

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Adrift Within

At times, my mind feels adrift at sea,
Lost, with no stars left to guide me,
Disconnected, suspended between directions,
Where every horizon holds the same bleak view.

So where do I turn to now,
When true north feels unattainable,
When my thoughts circle like currents,
Pulling me between fear, grief, and exhaustion.

Do I follow the fading light,
or sink beneath the weight of the storm?
Do I keep calling into the dark?
In the hope that something calls back.

The ocean within feels vast and unnavigable,
I drift, emotionally disorientated and restless,
I lack clarity or trust in what may come next,
Struggling to find something solid to aim for.

Perhaps the question is not “Where do I go?”,
But,“What part of me can I anchor to”,
A place where I can take a breath and refocus,
Where I can hold my head above these crushing waves.

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