he barely goes to the well
he knows spring ain’t flowing

there were times
hard times, soul searching times
he sat by the well
telling her about the hard yakka
he poured into the farm
yet yielded no return
except rats

he gave thanks to her
for the insurance money
which kept it going
and kept him sane
not by her own will though
he cursed her for
the nightmares
she inflicted upon him

“I love you sweetheart.
You had been good to me.
The farm is my everything.
I sacrificed you.
Now I am bearing the pain and loss.
Would you let go of my torment,
depart from me my darling wife?”


she is used to eating dinner alone
with Netflix on her laptop playing
she is not sure about
sharing a couch and dinner
interacting with each other

she is used to taking a bath
in the company of candle lights
and a glass of wine
she is not sure about
having another to
refill her glass
trim the candle wicks and
sit quietly to watch her
with desire simmering

change is a good thing
if there is
harmony in being together
and passion for one another

Why aren’t the roses growing

his neighbour always had a smile
hanging above her taut full lips
wearing yoga pants and platform shoes

she also had a cat always hungry
the feral creature preyed on his birds
with deprived and snarling face

he checked the cage everyday
OCD on its bars and lock
leaving no chance for the predator

to his dismay
he returned home to find an empty cage
with no sign of his two budgies
the feline was grooming uncaringly

he is looking out the window to the garden
wondering why his roses are’t growing
blood and bones are meant to be
excellent feed for roses

he was careful with the burial
to ensure gradual decomposition
and slow release

he cannot understand
why aren’t the roses growing
perhaps cats do indeed
have nine lives