Inside out

Some poems and reflections on life


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Magic Jack

He stands and shuffles down the street
muttering and cursing to no one
shouting incantations and casting
spells on the mindless crowds
that rush from somewhere to nowhere

His words transform the world
reading the faces as lines in a book
directing the players to take
their parts on the stage

Reality shifts and turns as
his words shape the world
We think we are going about
our own business
oblivious to the control he has
over all of us

He rummages in our left over rubbish
Looking for our discarded talismans
Pocketing the objects that he will later
align on the shelf in his small room
finding order in the chaos.

 

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Sound surfing

Noise crashes onto the shore of my being
Random, rainbow coloured sounds
Words escape, jump free over the waves of dissonance
Escaping momentarily into the sunlight of comprehension
Then dive back into the ocean of sound

I sit sipping my coffee,
observing and unobserved
As I plunge into the waves
Waiting for one to carry my thoughts
Before crashing me back to the shore.


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Awakening

Asleep

My life is a dream
I fell asleep many years ago
The world just faded into gray
I don’t remember how or when

It just slowly went out of focus
Walking became harder
I laid down and slept

I wait for one kiss
A kiss to wake me out of this non-existence
A kiss to draw my blood to my face
A kiss to make my fingers tingle and my lips tremble

Just one kiss … that’s all

A kiss

Dry, cracked lips press onto my mouth
Stale breath fills my nose
I am pushed down as my mouth is invaded
By a fat, sour tongue

How dare you come into my room uninvited
Invading my sanctuary
Waking me with your clumsy, fumbling hands

A scream dies in mythroat
I am too weak to fight back

I am awake.

to be continued …

 


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Going home

If I had it all over again, what would I do?

I stand in front on the house where I played,
My older, future self looking in
How could I ever have imagined my life to be,
way back then?

I remember a time that I cannot return to.

Lying on the floor listening to records
Riding my bike across to the next town
Mucking around in Dad’s workshop.

I struggle to remember what once was.

The main street is now paved with brick
Chewing gum covered asphalt is gone
So too the seat where we ate hot chips after school.

Some things still remain, frozen in time.

The paint on the old church peels away at exactly the same spots
The town hall remains unchanged but no longer shows movies
The school, the park, the pool are just like when I left

And yet it has all changed

New shops, cafes on the high street
Houses fill in the paddocks I once crossed to school
The pub, where fathers got drunk on a Friday night,
is now a boutique hotel.

If I had it all over again, what would I do?
Would anything really be different?


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Distractions from writing a single poem

The front porch sags in one corner
Needing repair before someone
Rolls off to ankle turning disaster

The back deck rail is almost
Rotten through and must be
Replaced before total collapse

Black, slick mold covers
The entire deck inviting
A fast slide to the emergency room

Damp still rises to in the corner
Of the bedroom rotting the
Carpet away to nothing

And the back of the garage
Is entirely blocked off with junk,
May have lost a cat in there

And then there is the dust
Behind the TV, the bookshelf
On top of the fridge

A house repaired and clean
We could sell it tomorrow
but not a word written … until now.


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Patterns

Clouds rain dark shadows
Causing mist to blanket the hills
Light breaks through briefly
Illuminating the broken;

Mist swirls in the palm
Of my outstretched hand
Contained in a globe
to be shaken;

Snow falls on a miniature village
People unseen scurry from home to work
Unseen and unknown
Going nowhere;

We look for the hand of God
Discerning patterns in the chaos
Form within void
The imprint of meaning on our lives

Event without cause
Action without reaction
Confuses our senses
And leaves us adrift in a sea of random non-sense

Trees whisper soft meaning to each other
Through mycochondrial networks
Connecting a forest
of multi-species conflict and cooperation

I sit
alone in my room
writing
this poem.

 


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The gate

The silent sentinel
Entrance abandoned to
a forgotten destination

Rust binds metal to post
barricaded against the onset
of rampant growth

Who was it that once lived here?
running excitedly to check the mail
collecting fresh morning milk
cream clotting on the top
trudging home weary from the day
glad to see the sight of home

Now coprosma and hebe crowd the path
Burying it under a litter of leaves
Fantails swoop in the cooling evening
People drive by unseeing

No one will come this way again
But still you stand
the silent sentinel