In darkness, I long for the light
In chaos, I long for the peace
In despair, I long for the angel’s wings
Photographed by David Mane
Category: Poetry and Prose
September Spring
In Septembers
we celebrated our union
we grieved our loss
we broke our covenant
September
such significance
It was all too overwhelming
for a Spring
of self discovery
Thoughts on Old Photos VI
Goodbye my love
I leave for no greener pasture
Keep my frozen gaze under lock and key
Photographed by Joe Femia
Thoughts on Old Photos V
She is much sadder than you ever think.
Her world fades so far away from your reality.
She hides deeper within to keep your world in a constant warm glow.
Photographed by Joe Femia
Honey Ant Dreaming
Dreamtime
in the land of the dry cracked desert
Sky Father gave honey ants for hunger
Women’s strong hands
dug deep into the red soil
met with abundance of bush tucker
Their delicate fingers
harvested the honey sac
gathered them on their coolamons
then gently
freed them to collect more honey
Such cycle of life
a gift from creator God
“Honey ants are a sweet bush food for the aboriginal people. When hunting for honey ants care is taken not to kill or hurt them (or not get bitten either!) so that they can go on and collect more honey. The sac on the back of the honey ant is pure natural honey. “
Aboriginal Painting by April Campbell, Ti Tree Anmatyerre
Social Contemplation
A collaboration with Benjamin Grossman
In rainy March
I long for a
philosophical whisper over tea
The smell of possibility permeating
Your gaze an infusion of heaven
Barely we know where we are
Yet we know where we’re going
With some echo of curiosity
On a bed of uncertainty
I inhale your essence
Drink in your presence
Only we temper the inner warmth
Steeped in each other
Rain is threading through each whisper
Tea left unrequited and cold
In the company of drizzling rain
Fellow Blogs
You spoke the words yet to form.
You wrote the chapters yet to fruition.
You told the story yet to begin.
I wonder when you read mine,
would you feel the same?
I blushed sometimes,
when my inner most secrets
spilled on pages.
I panted at times,
when my deepest desire
naked before my eyes.
I screamed once in a while,
when shock waves
blanketed my nerves.
I wonder when you peeped at mine,
would you let out a cry?
I giggled at the titles.
I chuckled at the memes.
I laughed hard at the potent humour.
I wonder when you stopped by mine,
would you suffer the same amusement?
Thoughts on Old Photos IV
She faced the light
When all shades failed her
Her prayers went out the bars
They never came back void
Photographed by Joe Femia
Hearts and Paper Aeroplane
Collaboration with Jonathan Swift Pines
Photo from http://www.unsplash.com
No, I’m not claiming that I always write.
When I do, my heart’s like a jar -sealed tight.
And when it pops ajar, you hear it “thump.”
No, I don’t think I always love you right.
When I do, my soul swells like puppy eyes.
When I write, I snort happily for you.
When I’m bad, I’m bad. When I’m good, I’m good.
I’d love to love you right now, if I could.
But if I’m astray, please try tomorrow.
When I’m sad, I write. When I’m loved, I write.
I’d love to store you in my sealed tight jar.
Only let out happiness than sorrow.
Sorry, love, but this is our last “goodnight.”
I’m not always honest in all I write.
So keep your happy times safe and sealed tight.
Don’t let a dreamer like me steal your heart. . .
Thoughts on Old Photos III
I eventually gave in to the relentless roaring waves.
My shadow was slashed into ripples of reflection.
That was the reality of my broken heart.
Photographed by Joe Femia
Flicker of Thoughts 