Fifty Winters

Zipping across the trees

Walking past obstacle bridges

Crossing fifty winters

In a forest much older

Above the forest

Space filled with birdsong

From the treetops

A safety cocoon

Away from the land

That carries the weight

Legs bear thousands of steps

Body flexes to carry on

Spine recoils to sustain

Heart beats like a drum

Through winters yet to come

The seeds of life

Love grows wings

Flying across the sky

Then twisting down like a falcon

Deep, long breath

Between the trees

Elements of Existence

I play with fire

and inhale the smoke

as colourful flames start dancing

I feel the rain

then the scarcity

when the water isn’t enough

Silence in the air—

just the sound of rustling leaves,

birds and bugs singing their songs

The earth I sleep on

has survived thousands of seasons

yet still holding me

Trees touching the sky

within the vast space

opening me to another world

Kangaroos and wallabies

stand to look with curiosity—

who is this being

from out of this world

Tiny Fireballs

Tiny fireballs

Peer down through tall canopies

Campfire smoke rises

The River Forgets

Heavy tides turn

a river into a stone

Such brutal tides

the stormy nights—

the river devoured

The river forgets

who it has become

The stone forgets

who it was before

Trying hard to regain its flow—

the stone shatters into tiny fragments

The tides grip so hard

like the web and the claw—

the stone unable to flow

The river stops flowing—

only the river of tears

flowing from the fragments

Beneath the Softening Clouds

The clouds softening—

can you see them sending

some rain your way?

Every raindrop holds the memories

we've created

touching your skin

and running down your spine

Short fragments of moments

meaningful or not—

however you choose to define them,

we carry them inside

The rain slows down

washing our two souls

swimming in silent ponds

We're soaked and cold

beneath all the sadness

seeking some warmth

The distant bonfire

under the night sky

licking the darkness

calls our weary souls

Approaching from two directions

we see our faces

as we draw closer

A Spare Set of Wings

A spare set of wings

sitting on my shelf—

they aren't on lease

nor are they on sale

The wings long to belong

to someone—

wanting to rest

on delicate shoulders

With a bit of courage,

they hold on to hope—

dreaming of flying away

to a new home

Wake Up First

What is your voice saying today

Get up and say it

Own it

Come—

Pick up the phone

Your inner voice is screaming

Why is it still held captive

Imprisoned in tiny rooms

Claustrophobic

Suffocation

It’s raining outside

The grass is wet

Let the rain pour down on you

Walk barefoot on the grass

Don’t fall asleep

Wake up first

Before you sleep

What Ears Want to Hear

Ears pretend to listen

but they only want to hear

the things they like to hear

Anything else becomes unbearable—

the brain bites the bullet

voices perceived as war cries of foes

Wisdom laughs at the

absurdity of human behaviour

Words inside the books wish

they could burn down to ashes

Read and Forgotten

Everyone seems intent on

singing their own tunes

When the words are left unobserved

the intent is seen

hidden silently

behind the masks

Once revealed—

the silence becomes audible

the masks begin to disappear

The real faces

begin to unravel

Everyone seems like

the hungry wolves

emerging out of the woods

Am I one of them?

Have I turned into one?

I rush to see the mirror—

I see many faces

staring and laughing at me

My words—

just a speck of dust

in the ocean of sands

basking beneath the sun

I am all alone—

red and burnt

read and forgotten

Awakened by Ghosts

Even the ghosts are asleep

at that time of the night—

she was awakened by her own ghosts

Smoke from her candle of thoughts

slowly covers her morning sky

Thoughts dance in front of her eyes

as she twists and turns unable to sleep

like a serpent lost in the dark woods

She might awaken the sparrows

far away in the garden

as he sleeps in his other world

He writes serenades in his dreams—

perhaps this is the real ghost

that's keeping her awake