LVX CREARE

(or) Verse, Organic and Inorganic

Category: Vignettes

The Beach At Night Time

The moonlight is a pale white disc
reflecting on the saturated sand
keeping pace with wet feet
just beyond my reach
this early-evening goddess

Faster, faster I move forward
leaving deep wells of black water
filling quickly and cold in my wake
others have left footprint pools
faster and yet she eludes me

The rising tides send crystal sheets
across the smooth settled shore
and in a moment of chaos
the moon-shine is lost in ripples
fractured in to a million sprites

Daisies

Daisies on the fresh-cut lawn
your sunny resurgence marks
the end of winter darkness

Warmth upon frozen ground
has hastened your springtime
resurrection

Morning Flight

As we ascend, the ocean is glass
expensive, patterned venetian glass
with a rainbow shimmer
impossible to describe
impossible to photograph
changing with our perspective

Far below us the land is emerald velvet
the finest of luxurious fabrics
sewn in to paddocks
crushed at the hills
criss-crossed asphalt seams
traffic a man made oddity

Gossamer thread-like streams
weave in and out of the landscape
precious silver… no platinum
glints back in to our eyes
no great ruler could possess
a more beautiful or jewelled land

I Hate The Smell

I hate the smell of hospitals
lemon bleach and sterile funk
base notes of stale vomit and
top notes of lingering death

Fresh-mopped vinyl flooring
in hues of green and pink
gives way to glass and tiles
the chill of stainless steel

People keep their heads down
try not to make eye contact
unsure what you are here for
just in case it’s sadness

I hate the smell of hospitals

Brisk Short Walk

Just a little further through the pines you said

it would all be worth it, this brisk short walk

my head way weary and my legs withheld

from a weekend of excess and decadence

but it would all be worth it, this brisk short walk

 

I picked up some pine-cones from the track side

weathered and brown and brittle in my hands

the mossy scent of the forest carpet on them

and now on my hands and in my memories

but it would all be worth it, this brisk short walk

 

Something stirred within us as we rounded the bend

some magical light filtered in from beyond

the needles of pine and the ferns on the trail

seemed golden and bright and burnished with gold

and it would all be worth it, this brisk short walk

 

Over a rise and the landscape was transformed

a broad-strip crescent of sand arced before us

radiating the warmth of summer in winter’s chill

emerald green shallows become depts of dusky blue

and it was all worth it, that brisk short walk

Tuesday Evening

Alone and steadfast with the
ocean lapping at the shore
dark rocky outcrops and
lush green lower lands
nourished by plentiful rains
silent and overlooked and
very much overgrown

sometimes my friend

you make me feel

like an island

Thoughts Amongst The Din

I live for quiet moments
like in the summer evening
when the burning oranges
become soothing indigo

I live for quiet moments
like on the waters edge
as the tide moves inwards
and laps at sandy feet

I live for quiet moments
lying underneath the stars
blazing meteoric curtains
while our fingers finally meet

Christmas Eve

The chatter of children in the evening
graces the street as sunlight fails
as the madness and torrid frenzy
of the past few days have peaked
and near their point of release

last chances now the shutters drawn
the metallic ringing in our ears ceased
some watch the chaos in self-righteousness
they finished weeks ago you see!
others rue missed opportunities

red, white, pink, blue and purple
the lights on the trees come to life
in twilight appearing steadily, slowly
in evening becoming more bold
no choice but to relax and breathe out

Suffocation

The man at the front shouts out
a random burst of incoherence
perhaps a stroke of the divine?
more than likely something like
helpful instructions to the driver

My head is in my hands

The woman at the back harangues
some unfortunate cellphone caller
perhaps some belligerent salesman?
more than likely something like
the downtrodden man in her life

I try to tune it out

The young boys on the other side
play their obnoxious urban music
perhaps some artistic revolution?
more than likely something like
cheap drum fills and angry words

I want to block my ears

The girl just there she nods her head
a kind of rocking deep compulsion
perhaps she’s writing rhythmic poems?
more than likely something like
a habit to keep the voices muffled

And this bus smells like bleach

Portrait

The mother wrings her hands
in desperation at the tragedy
the look of tired helplessness
unfolds like the twisted petals
of the rose nobody wishes for

The father sits and rests his head
against the white and clammy palms
so heavy from the weight of years
replaying all the memories
the very worst film in town

The brother kneels before the bed
his frantic, hoping supplication
a flood of bitter tears sustained
the belated pose of entreaty
too late to ask for second chances