My Worst Nightmare

The python crawling by the car
a step away from me
has curled around my darkest fears
and crawled into my sleep

 it’s not alone

 there’s a taipan and an adder
and a brown snake with a glare
that froze me as it disappeared
up the stairs into my fears

 it’s there waiting

 to drop down from the ceiling
of my overactive brain
through the fissures of my dreams
to the nightmare of my days
living by cane-field streams
in among these slithery things.

 

Vincent's Pearls

This world
is full of mysteries
and puzzling things
but where to start
and where to end -
there’s the wonder
of this planet earth
and the universe
that houses it
and all that live
within and move
upon it -
and there’s
Stonehenge
on Salisbury Plains
5000 years old
and engineered
with primitive tools
and minds
whose resolve
conquered a task
we are still
trying to fathom -
and then there’s
Vincent’s Starry Night
conceived through
iron-barred windows
it’s haunting beauty
the gift of Vincent’s
searching eyes –
I wonder how he’d see
us all today
and what his paintings
would have to say
about the things
we see through
shielded eyes -
would they say
as he once did
that the heart of man
is like the sea
with storms and tides
but that somewhere
in its depths
there are pearls –
maybe now
we should harvest them.

Vincent Van Gogh's beautiful 1888 painting of a Seascape near Les Saintes-Maries-de-la-Me from Pixabay

 

 

Haiku

footsteps

echoing in the rainforest -

the ones that came first

 

The Guggenheim May 2013

Like some alien thing

the Solomom R. Guggenheim Museum

on New York's Fifth Avenue

spirals me round and round its heart.

Its domed skylight eye

ever watchful of its looping ramp

weighted with admirers of its organic form

bathes me in its light.

As I move through its space

my pulse races with its magic

but when I reach the third floor

sandwiched between Joan Miro's 

luminous, colourful imagination above

and Picasso below whose inner child

painted with him

to find the exquisitely energetic, playful

and spontaneous paintings of children

yet to be told how to paint their world

my heart sings.

 

By The Seashore

When I walk
upon the beach
I want to gather up
all the pebbles
and shells
and gaze upon
their timeless beauty
and I want to listen
to the timpani
of waves
breaking
on the shore
as a choir
of seagulls
sing high above
while they wait
for their supper
and I want to watch
the sun
paint the sky
vermillion
and tangerine gold
and I want to bathe
in twilight’s
lilac afterglow
as gentle
sea-breeze whispers
tingle my skin.

 

Haiku

 

footsteps on footsteps
carrying heavy loads –
Camino pilgrims

(This photograph was by Schwenk on Pixabay)

Knocking on Doors

As my legs
get more wobbly
and my knees
knock and lock
I’ll keep an even
closer eye
on that bedside
ticking clock.
I’ll treasure
all the minutes
as I travel
through the day
down a road
less travelled
than the one
I walked yesterday.
I’ll knock on doors
I’d passed before
now ready
for my visit
to comprehend
life’s meaning
and the
precious things
within it.

(This photograph was by Ninocare on Pixabay)

 

Grimm

Two fleeing souls
lost in the night
twisting and turning
blinded with fright
grasping and grabbing
reach out in fear
find one another
and swim in black tears
stumbling in darkness
they run for their lives
searching through nightmares
for glints of some light
heavy with heartache
weighed down with fear
they drop into make believe
where each disappear
one with the other
to float far away
forever together
children at play.

 

Haiku

 

These Hands He Held

He held her hands

tracing 

the bulging veins

and the wrinkles

of a life 

and time 

together.

He laughed 

at the 

chewed down nails

remembering 

family feasts 

and celebrations

she'd planned 

and plotted 

and lamented over

and the worn places 

she'd paced

in nighttime vigils

for fevered tots.

These hands 

he held 

had weathered 

like the granite rocks

from which 

he'd built a hearth

to be the centre 

of their home -

but she

he knew 

was the centre 

of their home.

And as 

he reached 

the lifeline

on those hands 

so full 

of her stories

he held her tight

kissed her 

and gently 

said goodbye. 

(I found this stunning photo taken by Mishelved on Pixabay)

Haiku

 Sad thoughts fill her head,

paintings of dreams left behind.

Summer leaves falling.

Haiku

 All down the street

sweet scents tickle my nose ...

must be spring.

Haiku

 Elephants

running through the mist -

cloud pictures.

Haiku

  

Autumn breezes

push the leaves this way and that, 

wind serenade.

Moth Boy

 How strange 

that I should find him

sitting here at my feet 

in this music room.

I first met Moth Boy 

as he was monikered 

by my daughter 

clinging to the walls

of her nightmares 

when she was but 

a very little girl. 

He returned 

from time to time

over the years 

and each time 

I watched 

my daughter's fear 

gradually give way

to the possibility 

that Moth Boy

was bringing with him 

tidings of change

in her life.

His visits she said 

coincided with 

new beginnings 

and transformations

and fear transcended.

Moth Boy she said 

offered her his wings 

to fly above her fear

then one day 

she grew wings 

of her own

and Moth Boy 

came no more

until now 

in this music room

where I sit 

with budding wings

making ready 

to fly 

above my fear.

Haiku

 Grassy skirts asway,

playful sea breeze ups tempo.

Palm tree dancer.

In the Hills of Bangalow

 The glow 

of the fire

flushes cheeks 

munching rapturously

on sweet treats

crafted by  a wizard's 

heart and hands,

her kitchen alive 

 with the savoury aroma

of tastes to come.

Sighs of ecstasy

fill the silences

between 

the crackling 

of the logs

as comfort 

envelops the room.

Beside me, 

corduroy legs,

 shoes abandoned,

curl catlike 

on the sofa. 

If only I could 

bend far enough

to untie 

my laces.

Haiku

 Shadow puppets

dance across the wooded grove -

sun puppeter.

Wings to Fly

 I am propelled to write down

thoughts that fill my head.

Some days they're full of laughter

some days it's tears -

the days are such.

This day there's a grappling

with cruel words

coursing from mouths 

and pens uncaring

or is it just unthinking

of their mark. 

There's an unkindness 

in this world

the seeds probably sown

at the dawn of time

now propagated and evolved

into a cruel monster

lurking in this thing

called social media.

It makes me want to 

gather up my family

wrap them in my wings

and keep them safe forever

but they too have wings

and want to use them to fly

so I jam pack their hearts

with love and things

that glow in dark places

let go

and watch them take flight.

(This captivating Pixabay photo by Pexels)

Recalibration

Sometimes

I find myself

buried deep

in that icky

sticky stuff

that holds so fast

any effort 

to break free

drains resolve

and so

I stay put

deep

in the mush

until the marrow

of my existence

is restored

with injections

of precious things -

warm words

sometimes stern

but needed words

an outstretched hand

an inner voice

echoing

from my gut

that I

all too often

dismiss

in favour of

prevailing notions

of what is right

music pulsing

in my veins

a well-aimed smile

a melting hug

blue feathers

that just happen

to appear -

these joyful

wondrous things

strengthen me

to haul myself

out of the morass

recalibrate

my compass

and set forth

once more.