All posts by fhaedra

Review

Who will I write my letters to now you’ve sailed away

Who will answer from the distance of your wandering footsteps keeping time

Who will play the melody to my songs when finally I sing again

Who will recollect the pictures when so few occupied spaces in your mind

Who will I believe you’d become over hardened years

Who will I invite for our reunion when will and courage align

Who was it I imagined could hold on to some thinning thread between

Who was it in the room to notice your slow graceless fall

Who was it you liked to call your only friend

Who was it called your number disconnected

Who was it arrived to knock at a pale door where life had fled

Who is it hears your song playing long and wan and deep in the after

Who is it captures your drawings in this wooden frame

Who is it plants white lilies on your lonesome grave

Who is it remembers the proper spelling of your name

Aftervillage

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Amid quiet crumbling beauty

we tread with light deliberate steps

watchful for what could happen

for some unexpected opening in this damp and fragile earth

into which we may fall

Here lies evidence of possibility

we see through our sunglass obscured eyes

all there is to see of what remains after abandonment and its aftermath

decay in slow motion

a death in silence

What will we have learned having come as witnesses

to imagine what was and then what has become juxtaposed

And can we say with conviction in our voices when we emerge

from this moist sinking landscape

to walk again on the even ground of modernity

that we understand

Who left first and who was the last to cross the bridge

Who won

How shiny was the prize?

 

 

Cap Signs

Walking, I sometimes see

Objects sparkle

Objects calling to me

Yes, I know about desire

Danger danger verywhere

Still, conscious of potential

I stoop, I reach

I take a closer look

There are messages in odd places

Walking, I sometimes take

Slip a stone inside my pocket or

Prop a cap up on a bridge

Over this murky brook

For you to find sometime.

Present Hiss

Writer philosophers birth idea volumes

defeat defiance despair existential disparity

Artists brushes soak in toxins

life cycle depiction or candid canvas prediction

Pleased to meet you, reality

Now it’s back to horses and dusty horse riders

Street battles wasting time

Stele entries forgotten or faded

No honoured heros names to add

Inspiration waits for the revival

Sipping tea in the wings


Frame

Photo tilts left

in the room of messy flowers

Light splashes shadows

these old silenced walls

Rest your head

for an evening

Lay it down, you wandering traveler

Everything yearned for lives

out of reach but still in sight

Boots on at dawn

Turning page, young seeker

Toss those maps over the ledge

Step one, you are ready

eyes bright with colour

Black and white was just a crack

drawing you in

Your beginning


Shifts

I am far away now

from everything familiar

It’s after sundown, dark

The air smells of smoke

heavy from bamboo smouldering

Crickets are singing, or katydids

And something else

A woman’s voice rising out of the darkness

Over there near the fields

we rode bicycles past today

She sings

or keens

The melody is in a minor key but

I don’t understand the language

Perhaps it’s a lullaby

I am lying here in this hammock

a young attendant just brought by and hung for me

It’s in that army camouflage pattern

In the courtyard, I saw samples of bombs

grenades and land mines recovered from the landscape here

I am looking at my familiar from a distance

From another angle

This location in the world

I am reading Margaret Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale

I read it before, a long time ago

It seemed like brilliant fantasy work then

Science Fiction, a Fantastic Tale

It doesn’t seem like fantasy now, this time

I’ve felt the breath of Possibility.

Have I changed so?

Or has the World changed?

Maybe I have been sleeping

Maybe I’m just waking up.