Amid-Archive #4 Dec. 2015

Amid-Archive #4 Dec. 2015

Whilst I walk upon the bushlands, twigs and dried leaves crackle beneath my feet, revealing the complex aroma of eucalyptus which prickles my nose amid this Australian morning.

Natures placid sounds caress my ear drums, for it is Mother Natures chorus admitting the stillness heard in each native animals unique tune.

I continue my stroll amid this Australian morning an enlightened old gum tree catches my eye. Etched spots of silver and khaki canvas throughout her trunk. A physical memory of all she the gum has seen.

Kookaburras laugh in synchronised glee, whilst they look across the horizon of everlasting bushlands. Amid this Australian morning.

Seek you -Archive #2 Nov. 2015

Seek you -Archive #2 Nov. 2015

Shall I seek you out-

In the midst of chaos.

For the darkness that lurks within me-

Also reflects in you.

Are we each others savior-

Or  each others tormentor.

If search for the answer-

To our minds dilemma.

Will the odds be for or against us-

As a whole.

Whilst I sit and ponder-

On the crowded thought.

I draw my breath in-

In hope that a quiet breath-

Will reveal-

Truth.

Of which is ours-

Or not of ours.

For we see the glory in this-

But we also see the pain in this.

Shall we seek each other out-

In the midst of chaos?

Keeping in mind the darkness that lurks-

In us both.

Beach formalities…..

Beach formalities…..

Each step I take-

Sand caresses my feet-

Imprinting Mother Earth ever so briefly-

Whilst the tide gallops in.

The ocean breeze.

Always felt-

But never seen-

Entwines secrets into my tousled hair.

Salt and sand tango upon my my lips-

A comforting kiss.

From Mother Nature-

It shall be.

Shadows…..

Shadows…..

As I sit within the shadows-

Life itself I do ponder.

Such sadness scars my soul.

Thorns encased in salt rape my heart-

Reflections of death I have seen.

Isolation-

Mind over body-

Veils my being.

As I sit in the shadows-

They do speak to me-

In hushed whispers-

Warming my ears.

For shadows have no reflection-

Death can’t be seen.

To which brings comfort to thee.

Writers Block. You Sneaky Devil You.

Writers Block. You Sneaky Devil You.

You sneak around in the shadow of my thoughts-
Tip toeing ever so silently-
With those A grade military boots-
Shiny axe in hand.
Sensing a flicker of my creativity–
A devious smile upon a hollow face.
Heavy footed-
Squashing my sense of self.
No words escape.
Webs of vowels-
Attempt to save.
A heartless swing of your heavy axe
Beheading-
A–E–I–O–U….ever so effortlessly. 
You think you’re triumphant-
With those muddy boots and rusty axe in hand
Fool! I will show you triumphant.