Creator / imaginer: Dabbler in art, literature and sound.
I cross my front garden to my favourite tree and sit down,
She has a thick leaning trunk and a beautiful green crown,
Soft grass at her base, welcomes my feet like an old friend,
The queen tree is the kind, a younger me would often ascend,
I’d climb to the top and feel the sun on my smiling face,
Above the world in her castle, my secret green hiding place,
Times have changed, and now I must admire her from below,
My bare feet in the grass, and the greying face of an old fellow.
Forest walking,
Self talking,
Rain falling,
Birds calling,
Breath taking,
Hands shaking,
Alone feeling,
Strength stealing,
Anxious being,
Death seeing,
Tree crashing,
Claws slashing,
Teeth biting,
Beast fighting,
Blood dripping,
Mind tripping,
“I’m dying!”
Anxiety lying.
A great mountain looms above these antique lands,
Mysterious and proud, the stone giant stands.
Its snow-capped peaks possess a perilous grace,
Their icy crowns beyond the reach of any race.
Behind its back stretches an endless ocean blue,
While green and pastoral valleys flourish in its view.
Within its ancient forests, the air hangs thick and old,
Where towering ferns and giant mushrooms grow untamed and bold.
It is said the trees walk slowly across the forest floor,
Gathering in sacred groves to deliberate forest law.
If you remain unseen, you may hear their roots creep by,
The groan of ancient timber, the whisper of branches high.
But should they find you wandering beneath their emerald canopy,
Their wooden limbs will drag you down and crush you mercilessly.
Few creatures dare to enter this forgotten, shadowed place,
And those who do are seldom seen returning from its embrace.
So, choose with care before you tread the Forest of Dreams,
For the Mountain is King,
and the Trees are his soldiers.
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
Existing in a brilliant white light, orbiting at perihelion, bathing in the warmth of the sun’s glow,
Basking in pure bliss, this should last forever, however, the mind drifts into deep space,
Thoughts fire like lightning bolts, sparking imagination, and conjuring forgotten memory,
Doubt appears through tainted thoughts, and erodes the perfect white edges of the mind,
The memory fragments, thoughts float away, and the last bright white vision fades to black,
Unseen hands pull from deep space, the mind drifts away, far from the sun, and into aphelion,
Icy darkness freezes thought, and the only light left is a glimmer of stars through icy shards.
This poem was the foundation for my ambient electronic album Aphelion, which is part two of my Interstellar trilogy of albums. I released all three albums in 2023, you can listen to the album in full on Youtube and it is also available on all music platforms.
For Reference: Aphelion, in astronomy, is the point in the orbit of a planet, comet, or other body most distant from the Sun.
Ode to a Sweet Glade
Oh sweet glade,
A hidden yet radiant place,
Encircled by dark trees,
Yet filled with flowers and grace.
Silver ferns border your soft green grass,
Guarding your peaceful domain,
Offering weary travellers rest,
Cool water, and shelter again.
Oh sweet glade,
I can still recall your scent,
The fragrance of your fertile earth,
And the comfort that it lent.
Birdsong filled the warming air,
Bright flowers danced in the sun,
While the mushrooms you provided
Began the healing that had begun.
For I had not intended
To leave that forest alive that day.
From a rope-bound branch I meant to hang,
And in the cold wind gently sway.
A corpse was all I planned to leave,
A final gift to root and leaf,
To feed the fertile forest floor,
Believing my life beyond relief.
But sweet glade,
You showed me something worth living for.
You gave me light and hope
Where I had seen only darkness before.
Your sunlight and gentle fragrances,
Greeting me as I stumbled from the shade,
Set my feet upon a different path—
And for that,
I remain forever grateful,
Oh sweet glade.
Golden morning sunlight pours through black window lace.
The world seems silent,
Bright and serene.
Nothing stirs.
In this quiet moment,
Anything seems possible.
Tired eyes and a weary mind
Awaken from long slumber.
Gentle is the morning,
Not yet revealing the day’s secrets.
Outside the window,
A handful of sparrows appear,
Their frantic chirping briefly filling the air
Before silence returns once more.
The warm spring sun
Turns the leaves to radiant shades of green,
While morning dew vanishes
From tidy lawns and blooming flowers.
The world beyond the glass
Feels renewed,
As though every anxiety of yesterday
Has been washed away with the night.
Then the hiss of a passing car
Cuts through the stillness,
Ending peaceful contemplation.
And as the sun climbs beyond the window frame,
This blue-skied Sunday
Can finally begin.
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.
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.
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.