Upon a forest floor where many lie
and breezes stir, the upper branches bent
to meet the final breath of shrivelled sigh,
a leaf would cling to heaven’s tears when sent.
Its youthful lustre now recalled through tales
as varied as seasons – verdant meadow
below the clouds which often yield to gales
then scud along periphery of show.
When thermal blast from forest fires above
an ocean scape of waves competing in sound
with rumbling progress fits the Man like glove
through ignorance – eventually hound.
A leaf in woods that’s silent, is the Hope
we need to cling to – shadows rest on slope.
My home, my quiet refuge, kept in perpetual watch
On the outside pristine walls
Immaculate surface reflecting sky’s light
Misery coloured by blue and white
A little porch with a bench feels almost amicable
Please have a seat, but don’t make yourself too comfortable
Quiet as it kept, in my own lone familiar way I’m hiding what’s vulnerable. What if they see…?
Plants that shrivelled and died, under-watered or perchance overwatered, flooded with choices
Stairs that requite every misstep with a chorus of plaintive voices
A gash on the ceiling, arousing tension between two puzzles, both equally appealing
To fill the vacant spaces or keep them sealed
That one room where everything meets and at times, startlingly enough, disappear without a trace
Unspoken fears that pressed against the walls left peeled paint in its place
And askew bedside lamp, a night time witness to my despair
I could have possibly taken joy in owning it. That seems about right. But instead, I’ll just give them blue and white
The sombre song,
A troubled heart,
A worried soul—
Yesterday’s road stretches into the present.
Nightfall on the porch,
Alone looking at the sky,
Songs for the gloomy days,
An elixir for cracks and crevices.
The pain inspires the songs;
Redemption is a pathless path.
It’s a quest for an awakening light,
An end to the darkness that encroaches.
The sacred book guides to a door,
As the sages seek to unravel the mysteries.
Songs at twilight,
Dew for the shrivelled garden.
May 22, 2026.
The plums were delivered on time
But nobody answered the door
And the telephone remained silent
So the order was left on the doorstep
The sun was shining brightly
But all of a sudden, a strong wind blew,
and knocked over the bag.
The plums rolled across the threshold.
Heavy rain fell, wetting the plums.
After the rain, the crow flew up,
followed quickly by another.
They found the plums quite tasty.
Later on, the magpies liked the plums
And the sparrows were lucky to try some.
In the evening the lamppost lights came on
and the remaining plums
turned black and shrivelled.
The door remained closed.
And the next day, too
But strangely enough,
there were no plums left around.
He's had enough of idea-illogical drivel
Too right mate.' I think their brains have
Shrivelled, she'll be right..I say g'day
It allows more time for ( deep contemplation ) in the Aussie way.' We're
Pretty low key.' But don't let it fool ya.'
Cause in linguistics..We can stick it to ya.'
We exell at sports, and here you can still
Find; real men, lean as whalebone up to
Six feet ten , and lissome sheilas who can
Surf the swells, and care for kids..'
So very well, we don't go for souks here.'
We breed'em strong, love the footy fishing
And Slim Dusty songs' Also Stan Coster
well who could forget.? And air supply
( easy listening you bet') Livvy and the seekers
Redfern too' marcia hines, all good through
And through.'
There once was a pickle packer
who ate more pickles than he’d pack
The boss of the packers caught him
and instantly gave him the sack.
It didn't stop the packer eating
pickles all day up to evening
He got fright of his life one night
when he shrivelled from out of sight.
A new year is calling us,
Soon we will embark on our journey full of events to discuss.
Goals are written down,
As we search for inspiration, hoping not to drown.
A new journey begins with the arrival of the new year,
In the quiet of each step, some things become clear.
Dawn brings a different story,
Guiding us toward a land of glory.
Purpose and pursuit will blossom shrivelled meadows,
Dispelling encroaching shadows.
Resilience helps us navigate through the night,
While perseverance shines as an awakening light.
Live each day as it comes,
For the new year beats its drums.
December 26, 2025.
The witch sits at the window looking out
Seeing nothing but her own self no doubt
Reflected in nature’s grass and trees
All she sees is only that with which
her proud sense of herself agrees
So she cannot interact with it
And if the world presses itself upon her face
She screams in horror as if attacked in disgrace
By swarms of insects ready to sting
This is how it is here with us with almost everything.
All the nothingness that ever was
Is shrivelled up into the void of non-being
A hole of empty self-righteous laws
Of arrogance and self-justification non-seeing
Existing as a thing but not alive as being.
And the difference between living being
And nothingness is infinite.
snow flakes shroud the ground
rose stalks and leaves shrivelled brown~
life sneaks below snow.
Dark clouds part
Spring sun warms land
Sleepy tree opens wardrobe
Fresh green cloak covers naked frame
Squirrel gymnastics performed against vibrant backdrop
Ignored by blackbirds busy building
Summer arrives
Leaf’s heyday
Flutters in warm breeze
Veins pump life into dainty form
Nature’s simplistic beauty
Too soon chill spreads across land
Winds gust challenging life
Leaf resists but colour changes
Green tinged with brown
Tree draws inward
Leaf’s lifeblood turned off
Brown vista prevails
Then airborne in autumn sky
Dark clouds draw in
Bleak winter arrives
Grounded, shrivelled, still
Life leaves leaf
Blood from blood, bone from bone,
Under the partially eclipsed moon of a burgundy-red sky,
A murder of crows gathers on the barren carcass of branches,
Whilst mist clings to a chipping tombstone.
Hardened petrichor shifts ever so slightly,
Awaiting the awakening of revenge incarnate.
The witching hour is almost upon us;
Noir-cloaked figures emerge from the passing shadows.
A High Priestess holds firm an ancient Book of Shadows.
As the metaphysical clock strikes two,
Yellowed pages frantically flip to an incantation.
The underlings take their positions at the four corners,
While she takes her place in the center.
Chanting the passage simultaneously, resurrection is forthcoming,
As shrivelled nightshade blooms to ritualistic life
And the paramount witch returns from her unsettled slumber.
The Wheels of Dharma turn in their favour.
Scorched lands and vengeance follow,
As Armageddon ushers in a new era.
The essence of the sun is deep within my heart and soul.
It brings me warmth when I am cold to brighten up my mood.
To see the sun high in the sky on a cloudless day
Is my therapy, I feel replenished, and surrounded with happiness.
For if I am sun replenished, then I can replenish those around me.
Bringing warmth to others when they may feel down and out.
And by radiating a joyful demeanour and staying positive,
I see the sun rise in them as they begin to shine.
Without the sun, we would wither and fail to thrive.
All creatures on earth would disappear.
Leaving a desolate, cold, shrivelled up, space.
This is not a place I would ever choose to be.
Therefore, the sun must reside within our very being.
Although, at times as it hides behind cloudy skies,
Knowing it will come out again, bringing warmth, to everything.
Continuing our survival, is why I love the sun.
Tell me, Bzou dearest Bzou
Have you found a treat for us today?
I am hungry for a heart,
for mine is dry and shrivelled.
Grandmother dear grandmother
Have I ever let you down?
I have one on a tether
and it is dressed in crimson red.
Is she innocent and pure,
this girl in crimson red?
For only vestal blood
will smooth my aged skin.
She is as white as virgin snow
and walks the woods
With picnic in her arms;
to give to you, I so believe.
Will you be you or you be he
to capture her for me, Bzou?
The woodsman with your charm
or creature that you are?
You know the truth of what you ask
Do not deceive yourself or me.
Your snout is long
your teeth as sharp as mine.
Bring her to me, use your lure
We both desire her in our bed
Our hunger is but one.
Stray her from her path.
Then what remains of her and us
will you be youthful, I replete?
Will we just burn what’s left of her,
then wait awhile, repeat?
Unperturbed by prevailing circumstances,
Untroubled by gnawing situations,
The tempest does not hinder the ship's voyage;
There is something to understand about the sea's rage.
Darkness does not shut the door to the day;
The eyes see the approaching ray.
Even when the walls are falling apart,
Every day offers a new start.
The dark clouds signify an approaching rain,
That’s what the mind tells itself amid the pain.
Even though the treasure is taken by the night,
The despondent soul still seeks the light.
Inside the chamber lies a seething cauldron;
It's a journey across a shrivelled meadow,
Though the unknown ravages the inside,
Glow and grace envelop the outside.
July 28, 2025.
There lives a gentleman from Luff
Who walks everywhere in the buff
His weeny is teeny
He calls it his winky
A stump that can't fill a cream puff.
Ladies would be left in despair
But he didn't really care
He got what he wanted
Frustrated, they taunted
And decided give him a scare.
They tied him to an 'lectric chair
Placed electrodes on you know where
They pulled down on the switch
His stump started to twitch
It stood bright like a giant flare
You'd think he would very happy
Making a stump long and snazzy
The women were smiling
The man was now crying
Wink shrivelled, weirdly and badly
From that day he always wore clothes
With women he instantly froze
He's fearful of leccy
Winky is now Becky
And parades in yearly freak shows.
25.07.25
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