March 26, 2018
You may not see me, but I see you. You may see a grey tint, a long scar, a dirty hand. But still not me. I see crisp leaves dancing in the wind. I see you waltzing your way through life.
I sat watching as the birds lay eggs and as they hatch into glamorous tuis, I still sat watching. I’ve seen seeds so tiny and grey sprout into trees with leaves of every colour. I have watched the plainest caterpillars grow into the most dazzl...
March 26, 2018
Nothing but a small croak escaped parched lips, as a young girl crawled into a dimly lit gas station. A man stepped out from behind the counter, his face stamped with creases like a paper bag, covered by his long black hair that fell over his eyes. He reeked of beer and had stubble across chin all the way up to his ears. “What’re ya doin’ here?” he slurred, raising a green bottle up as if he had just said a toast, and clumsily...
March 26, 2018
I bet a felt tip pen feels different in a pencil case of black biros
I bet a peacock seems strange in a flock of pigeons
I bet a monarch butterfly won’t fit in with a swarm of locusts
I bet a noble stallion can’t get along with a herd of sheep
I bet you feel out of place in the assembly hall
Surely a glittering diamond ring feels trapped in its smooth satin box
Surely a valiant lion is hemmed in by its cold steel cage
Surely a “happ...
March 26, 2018
One can gather an image of a person
Become acquainted with their way of life
With naught but a fleeting look
Into the silence, into the still
Into the serenity of their unconsciousness
The room awash with a lilac glow
The air thick and musty,
like the dawn of a foggy day
The hush of the room constricted the life
As though one was captured in a frame
Unbeknownst to the sleeping girl
Captured in her own self-inflicted prison
Her lace trimme...
March 26, 2018
Where Does Water Begin?
Water begins in the -
But where does water begin?
Is it in the clouds
Which, looking down
Seem to frown
Upon the Earth
As they prepare to bring the storm
Or is it in the rain
Which beats against your windowpane
It’s final destination
After hurtling itself
From the heavens
Or is it in the rivers and creeks
The currents and streams
Which spring up after the storm
But soon disappear
With only mud to mark
Where they once sto...