Tag: thoughts
-
To the Man I Might’ve Been
You never made it out of the early days.I see your face sometimes in the mirror—same jaw,but your eyes aren’t tired yet. You had plans.Straight lines and clean hands.You really thought grit alone would get you through.I admire that.Even now. There were forks you didn’t see,roads I walked instead.Some of them cost more than they…
-
All the Birds are Gone
The sky doesn’t hum like it used to.We traded songsfor signal towersand forgot the soundof wings over wheat. Benches sit emptyin parks built for someone else’s childhood.Swings move only with the wind now,no laughter to push them. We speak in pingsand half-hearted hearts,thumb-pressed loveand silence that scrolls onlonger than grief. We taught our childrento fear…
-
Red Shack Triptych
I. Red Shack, White Silence (His Voice — Then) We climbed past where the trees give up,boots sinking through hush and drift,wind at our backs like a warningwe chose not to hear.The red shack waited—tilted, rust-kissed,half-swallowed by snow. Inside,a match struck light against the cold.One flame,then another,until the dark softenedjust enough to hold us. There…
-
Falling Up
You will never fall in love with me. Don’t try to convince me That I will always wait for you. If you really look, you’ll see I’m not here for the long haul Don’t imagine You give me reason to stay. When things get hard I’ll leave – Don’t imagine I’m not like the others,…
-
White Dwarf, Fading
It was once the centre of things—a sun that gave names to shadows,that warmed the bones of planetsand made time possible. Now it glowslike memory does—dim,but refusing to go out. There is no explosion.No final flare.Only the slow retreatof lightinto ash. It will cool for billions of years.Long after the Earth forgets itself,long after we’ve…
-
Whalesong
for the ones who sing into silence Somewhere below the shimmer linewhere light forgets itself,a whale turns slow in a cathedral of salt—each scar on her skina stanza. She sings,not to summon,not to find—but to remember. A song older than shipwrecks.Older than ropes and sails. The deep drinks it.Holds it like breath.Lets it echoalong trenches…
-
Tearing Sunshine
Mum moves like rinse water—warm, grey,going where she’s poured.Hands red-rawfrom bleach and bonesshe can’t scrub clean.She hums when she’s bone-tired,not for tune,just to keep from cracking. Dad says work is hard—but only ever sits,rail grease on his boots,beer in hand,trophy beside him:Highest Goal Scorer,1983. He holds it like a woundthat never scabbed.Says he could’ve been…
-
Southern Cross
Some nights,when the wind shiftsand the silence settles deep,I step out barefootonto the cold veranda. Above the gum trees—the Southern Cross,low and steady,like it’s waiting for meto notice. It doesn’t blaze,just holds its shape,a quiet thingpointing the wayI’ve always knownbut needed to remember. Not a map.Not a promise.Just a reminderthat homeisn’t something you reach—it’s the…
-
Letter to My Sons
Boys, When the fire comes—and it will—don’t run.Stand your ground. Feel the heat. Know what’s worth burning.Not everything you carry needs to be saved. You’ll be told to move fast, talk loud, win more.Don’t listen to that.The quiet men are the ones you want near when things fall apart. If your hands shake, that’s fine.So…
-
Magpie Morning
Fifty soon.Strange how that numberfeels both heavier and lighterthan expected. I wake before the house stirs.Kettle on.Dogs at my heel—the old one careful on the tiles,the young one waiting for the daylike it might break open just for her. A magpie sings on the powerline,low and fluted—not calling,not warning—just there.Like me. The track behind is…
