The silver light betrays the chill
the bitter wind which sweeps and whips
across the muted golden dunes
and blasts the trees with harsh fine sand
that once was solid granite cliffs
but nature has its final say
reduced to gravel grit and dust
even steadfast mountains bow to
the constant power of the sea
renders us so unsubstantial
brief observers in the grand scheme
standing in this sheltered clearing
I feel at times the world encroach
and the room become close and tight
the claustrophobia setting in
a symptom of these comfortable walls
if only you knew!
Yet I desire to deeply breathe of
the freer air the winds of change
and tread again upon the promenade
beside the Yarra where we once walked
If only you knew!
The longest night is anticipation
when the morning light can’t come too fast
and the darkness seems to drag forever
everyone else slumbers
sleep and you’ll miss it
The sweetest taste have the fruits of passion
they gild the tongue with a lingering warmth
and you feast upon them long and hearty
but devour them wisely
that fruit will not keep
The longest day is disappointment
when you can’t wait for the pain to pass
they wonder how you were fooled so plainly
when they think that you jumped
but really you fell…
Suffer little children
for they are not
responsible for
your burden
it is
yours.
Suffer little children
for they are not
indentured
or indebted
you owe
them.
Suffer little children
for they are not
an outlet for
frustrations
stay your
hand.
In your youth you are a breathtaking masterpiece
Not painted by numbers inside pre-drawn lines
Nor an abstract melange of careless splatters
But a meticulous rendering of perfection in oils
The light striking golden in all the right places
Illuminating your face like the great romantics
Surrounded by tamed nature you stand proud
Your bright distant eyes fixed on something distant
In your youth you are a stunning depiction
And just like a painting on a stark gallery wall
Hung above my eye level and quite out of reach
When the liquor sweetness has gone
and the lingering softness upon my lips
honied tenderness now long departed
your kisses are a bad taste in my mouth
When the laughter has faded away
and leaves its shadows upon the walls
echoes of much brighter times
your words scattered ashes in the wind
Was it the swift southerly wind that swept
up the narrow entrance to the harbour
and cleared the mid-day heat from the hills
dragged the tiresome humidity from the air?
Or was it the last fingers of golden dusk
that crept up longitudinal valleys
and rendered the colours all to charcoal
gave way to the night’s deep inky hues?
Or perhaps inevitable evening’s sighs
transition from harsh bright yellow to twilight
as we stood upon the waterfront
while the ocean turned to obsidian?
Was it the coarse cries of returning gulls
the footsteps of a well weathered commute
that left you dumbfounded and speechless
when I asked you that important thing?
Broad spit of golden sand
marked at its crown and ridge
by feathers of fine grass
and the water’s driftwood line
the ghost of highest tides
Summer sun has bleached
the timbers white and grey
and shelly lace upon the ground
crunches under heavy foot
waves the sonorous percussion
Sturdy apron on the shoreline
rounded boulders dark grey
tossed there by great poseidon
once the base of granite cliff
now softened by a greater force
Amber evening’s fingers spread
across the brooding groups of birds
their sanctuary rendered calm
huddled together against the night
natures shadow on quiet beach
I stood upon the mountain and watched
the blessed twilight falling upon
those glistening fields of emerald green
A smooth, clear night approaches from
the inky east, the navy star sphere
and sets across those silent plains
And in the west the last of day-time
disappears ‘neath a distant range
a jagged tear of sunlight, above the land
And when the blazing disc of sun
descends in crimson autumn sky
below the rolling, grassy hills
it is not the end, it is not the endAnd when the cool clear evening breeze
sweeps across restful warm soils
and chills the flowers in to night
it is not the end, it is not the endAnd when the tears are cried and done
lost in the dust and gravel
no tears ever made fertile ground
it is not the end, it is not the endFor when the earth has settled in
and new green growth is started
the once bare patch a testament
it is not the end, it is not the end
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