Rain

It’s raining today, boy do we need rain.
Dry old country that we live on.
People in the city complain about being at level 2 or 3 water restrictions, yet they water their lawn.
Let it die, no one will think less of you if it ain’t green.

I have friends that live past the Blue Mountains most Sydney people think that when they visit up there that they’re in the country. The Blue Mountains ain't country. Nope, the real country is beyond the blue.

One of my friends, past the mountains are at level 5 water restrictions. When her child saw puddles for the first time, He was three. First time he saw a puddle. People are having to buy water out there. I wonder if it’s raining where she is.

I lived out where my friend lived for 12 years but we didn’t know each other then.
Strange.
We knew the same kids, same families, but never meet each other.
She’s my partners niece. I meet her through her.

I love the sound that rain on the road makes , the whoosh of the cars driving over it. My dog complaining though, she doesn’t like the rain, hates having her feet wet.

I love the rain always have but there again I lived past the Blue mountains where water is scare.

We had a water tank when I was a kid. I used to sit on top of it under the branches of the Apricot tree that over hung it. Free fruit and easy access to it. It used to get so hot in summer, you'd get a burnt bum from sitting on it if the sun had hit it during the day. But it was worth the risk because it was a cool place to sit, surrounded by wide branches on a sun drenched summers day.

I live in the suburbs now,
the rain spits against my window,
a crack of thunder makes me jump,
and I wonder has it got over the mountains this time.

2008

Cycles

Worn, weary, wilted,
hidden from view,
in the dark, underground.

Days roll over each other and shorten,
nights hues come quicker and a chill fills the air.

The morning bite now,
they snap and crackle under my boot heels,
as I tread on the frozen ground.

The cycle spins as it always does.

Iced up windshield,
splashed water,
high pitched squeal as it touches both glass and skin.

My breath is smoky, my fingers are pink, red, now numb. And I remind myself as I do each morning: “That I must buy gloves.”

Days roll over each other and lengthen
the chill is fading, the sun hangs longer in the sky.

Fresh leaves rise from the undergrowth,
a single golden daffodil I see,
I look at it and smile,
knowing that spring will soon be here.

2008

Epiderm – I

Second skin, creeping, crawling, leaching out through my pores.
The me I want to be,
The one that wants to be free,
Suppression though maintains the frame.

Twilight glooms its way around,
Stardust breathes and retains all the memories that decay.
There’s no permeance, no refrain, no last stand.
Sages dance within this merry go round,
Fractured remnants of dreams lay wasted.

Second skin, binding, constricting, contorting me.
No air for my soul,
No light,
Hope is gone.
Name the game that takes its hold.

Little flower fades in the cold,
In the dust of the past no one can see you.

Where to from now, step sideways and fall.
No sun for my soul, all hope is gone.
There’s no light left in here.
From now to where,
Second skin.

Planes

Planes

Clusters of fluff, floating,
for all the world they look like cotton wool
clouds dispersed out in random order but somehow with a uniform look.

They are changing colour quickly
from pink, orange to a hue of red.
The flight is not long about 45 minutes
On the way back we see the Bumberry Mountain, the Nepean River and a long and winding cliff face cutting through, in and out of the Blue Mountains

The planes wing titanium white glow is fading as is the the view as the setting sun sinks.

It was a night flight on the way up and we only get a little of the day on the way back.
But it is exquisite.

Darkness folds over
no house light below
it lasts a good 10 minutes
then little houses and villages flick into view.

It's such a contrast as you see the city sprawl form from the outside in.
A farm leads up to a village a village into to town a town weaves into a city and suddenly the ground is full of lights

The road back from the mountains looks crazy, Glowing lights look like a snaking river but it's a stopped stream.
Glad I'm up here and not down there.

The city lights are pretty, they always take my head somewhere else into the land of wonder, awe and excitement.
It feels a bit like I did when the circus came to Parkes when I was a kid all that glitter.

We slink round the coast it would be pretty in the light,
only minutes now till touchdown.
I do get a little woozy on take off and landings, so my gal is pressing on the acupuncture point to keep it all calm.

The engines roar then start to slow the runway lights are close then we hit plane digs in a bit as it kisses the ground
I'm home and the country once again is over the mountains and far away

See you later.

The Haunting

These feeling they come and go
flitter about flapping their way back into my head and laying waste to the good I've laid down upon the flasehoods.
I tried to makes it all pretty, inside.
To cover all the hurt, to crack a joke and smile.
To HIDE!!!
I WANTED TO HIDE!!!
WHY CANT I HIDE!!!!!!!!!!!
But they always find their way back
Their way back home to me
scattering everything as they scamper back within
blowing out the light I'd lit as they slip their way back inside into the dark.
Shivering there
In the blackness
amongst the debris
the malodor of reality putird and true is found.
The truth is unbearable it fills me with a despair I despise.
I can taste it in the back of my throat fetid, foul and loathsome.
I am haunted
hounded at times
by memories I wished were not mine
but they are.
Before morning falls so will I.

writing prompts

http://nouveauwriter.blogspot.com.au/2009/11/15-places-to-find-writing-prompts.html http://www.writingforward.com/category/writing-prompts/poetry-prompts

Analog Sci Fi Magazine

http://www.analogsf.com/2012_10/index.shtml

Richard A Lovett

http://richardalovett.com/drupe/

Re-vol-lut-ion

When the world turns in on itself
and night turns into day
the shadows will no longer fall
it is then we will return.

A revolution some will call it
but it is not.
When forebearers come home how can it be a revolution.

You may question, but it matters not.

Time will shatter your fears and our presence will be exacly what was required.

Zones will change and seasons will realign
poles will shift and the fog that fills this world
will be released.

Brace yourself
We are not gods, angels or demons.
we just are
and we are much closer than you think.