a road

A road takes me into the mist,

I let myself be taken, riding,

Half asleep, half here, mostly away,

Somewhere near where I want to be,

Peace,

Call my name,

Find me there in distance coming,

I feel the sun on my face, it bathes,

Soothes, caresses me, like memories,

Of long ago,

I wish I was a child, again,

But without knowing,

It’s peculiar this thing,

This adulating without wings,

With hooves that don’t fit,

And claws that take out your own eyes,

On the road, to there, we go,

Together but alone,

That’s our way, I wouldn’t have it any other…

Come, see this focal point,

Can you see it with me?

No, I…

Mist softens the suns harshness,

I can stare at its centre,

But still not comprehend,

Maybe that’s how she feels about me?

Look but don’t see, touch but don’t feel,

It is real, it is a fight, but I wouldn’t have it…

Any other way…

Fathom me summer cold, it is a change,

We grow with the season,

Become with the wisdom,

Given by each moment, each fiction,

I pen this side of it but the other, I am not so sure,

I am just a character, directed by, well, hope?

Maybe half way there, we travel, but far, so far,

We fly, thoughts, feelings, mercy these things,

They come and go, day in, day out,

It is still early in this, life but we are down the road,

This is it, no u-turns, no wrong turns, just turns,

We exchange, we fight, we learn,

We wade in the mist, keep our eyes on the road,

But still seem lost, it is a journey this thing,

A pleasantly awkward one,

Find me there…

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goodbye and hello sea

…goodbye and hello sea…

I’ve come where I have gone, a long time ago,

Seems like yesterday of yesteryear, when I was but here,

Walking, dreaming of sleeping in better times,

This was – is – home, but never felt further,

Always I sought something, a far thing,

Either from fading childhood,

Or from an uncertain adulthood,

From there – here – I look, watch, what was over here,

These streets seem wider, emptier,

But filled with something else the eye can’t see,

I feel the memories like the history of ghosts,

I’ve died here before, in so many ways,

There are too many gaps here, like an unfinished artwork,

Too many incomplete strokes, too little emphasis,

But the newbies continue,

They drink from the same gutters,

Coloured differently: faded colours; changed signage,

It’s been something else, this place,

To me at least…

I’ve tasted relationships in an unhurried youth,

I served my time, watched from behind layers,

Boxed in my thoughts, I know that I fought,

For here I go now, like I never was here,

Here I turn my back like I never knew,

Anything like home, I can’t believe,

It’s been a beautiful journey, the winds have cried,

My words have flown,

My hands have touched,

My laughs have burst,

My imprint remains,

Always in my memories,

Gone for eternities…

the long white road

…the long white road pulls me,

An ogre hand of gravity,

I tilt like a withered petal,

My questions are upended…

 

…it sucks on my ink,

The journey leaves no prints,

But the white road demands more,

Death splatter off the shoulder…

 

…hazards abound, jaws rattle through the night,

The wick from a black candle,

Guides on the long white road,

Danger: endless bends…

 

…the road goes on and on,

All white and no shadows,

All life and no phantoms,

No: broken creatures are welcome…

 

…express through ritual,

Lost with no weather report, the clouds,

Hug my imagination chewing on engines,

Write through the long white road…

 

…enter and keep going,

There’s no traffic in a congested cupboard,

Full of skeletons: roadworks,

Detour, turn the page, to the next long white road…

Green hint of leaf I smell, sandy hands holding the wind, In bowls of dams drained by wattle roots, I play, Like purple flowers of small shrubs, in open fields, Where possibility becomes, but naivety never feigns, Years matter little but none are forgotten, They are as they were, now as I am, a dry river, Muddied but not sullied, handled but not held, Polished by the scratching of acacia thorns, My twisted bark is soothed of its aches, Silence here is precious but plentiful, We gorge ourselves in it, us, this small group, Retreating, like mountains on a moving horizon, East touches west, the colours splendid, Who could have invented it? Must be the buzzing bees in the yellow blossoms, Their violins make angry music, Lovely to my senses like the clouds that threaten, Will the drought pay the ransom? The tiny blue messenger birds must know, Surely, for they fly with purpose, from here to there, Gossiping in flight; it’s majestic squalor, Colour it not, it’s just the way it is here, Where night sounds are heard at day, And day sounds wouldn’t dare intrude on the night, A leopard prowls, out of sight, Bush babies flaunt their eccentricity, Unnamed feathered creatures squawk, In the distance, insolent dogs echoe, With their masters, with their wirelesses, Where are we now? Still in our stillness, devour me in it, It can never be enough, lush we feed, Rest right here, For tomorrow it’s back to the world… Green hint of leaf I smell, sandy hands holding the wind, In bowls of dams drained by wattle roots, I play, Like purple flowers of small shrubs, in open fields, Where possibility becomes, but naivety never feigns, Years matter little but none are forgotten, They are as they were, now as I am, a dry river, Muddied but not sullied, handled but not held, Polished by the scratching of acacia thorns, My twisted bark is soothed of its aches, Silence here is precious but plentiful, We gorge ourselves in it, us, this small group, Retreating, like mountains on a moving horizon, East touches west, the colours splendid, Who could have invented it? Must be the buzzing bees in the yellow blossoms, Their violins make angry music, Lovely to my senses like the clouds that threaten, Will the drought pay the ransom? The tiny blue messenger birds must know, Surely, for they fly with purpose, from here to there, Gossiping in flight; it’s majestic squalor, Colour it not, it’s just the way it is here, Where night sounds are heard at day, And day sounds wouldn’t dare intrude on the night, A leopard prowls, out of sight, Bush babies flaunt their eccentricity, Unnamed feathered creatures squawk, In the distance, insolent dogs echoe, With their masters, with their wirelesses, Where are we now? Still in our stillness, devour me in it, It can never be enough, lush we feed, Rest right here, For tomorrow it’s back to the world…