Finding Lost

days lost

as a recycled relic

alive behind jigsaws of glass & brick

just shifting mortar in this dead man’s dance

where the rabid rabbit is trapped in a clockwork spiral

where the tick  crawls on that walled clock of damned denial

listening to souls shadow-chase ghosts under the midday moon

such is another day climbing that planned tapestry chain

forgetting freedoms, faces, and even our names

handcuffed to habits, hurts, and self-blame

I’m out of place amongst the mundane

where static delays decay my days

like a sidelined renegade

chained in body

yet free in mind

how I choose to fall

is where I’ll learn to fly

to stop playing the paycheque-whore

& never look back for that boardroom door

to face the long black-water heated highways

I’ll re-find a renewed lost within an unscheduled history

the ark of freedom

of no

latitude

or longitude

on a pleasure drifting mystery

via an invisible map read by a crystal ball

charted on an elephant ride of forgetful wisdom

as magic driftnets cast a new aquatic kingdom

spying wonderland visions of

hatted rabbits chasing

candy-striped zebras

flying sandcastles

& winged kites

all set upon

a gentle rhythm

only a few ajoin

for this ark’s ride of freedom

The Nature Show

My shoes sink slightly towards the gravelly edge of a red muddy beach. It’s where the bitumen road disappears under the floodplain giving life to this red-dust riddled land. The water mirrors the early morning’s azure blue sky, casting the illusion of an inland sea saturating the wilderness. Where, like a tattered crochet blanket, contrasting plates of green water lilies and beads of white, pink, and purple flowerheads open to greet the sun’s new day.

The scene was so serene at first glance.

But on closer inspection…

Chaotic.

Imagine a musical Broadway production going through its final preparations before the show begins. Showgirls, dashing between costume changes are the bright colourful Rainbow Lorikeets and Ring-necked Parrots darting across the water. Egrets stretch their legs like perfectly poised ballet dancers. And looking every bit the musical Conductor overseeing his orchestra in a rich navy plumage is the statuesque Jabiru wading on the water’s edge.  There is a low humming of instruments being fine-tuned by the assorted bugs and beetles, as the Choir warms individual choruses via differing fly-by flocks. Lastly, the hidden stage technicians lurk beneath the water, being the Crocodiles, Barramundi, and long-neck turtles that silently direct stage props and actors to their places.

 I  flick my fishing lure into the water where the road disappears into this tropical oasis that only occurs a few months of the year. Standing there, as the sun creeps higher as the only spectator, I can’t help but enjoy the show.

(250 words)