In the Hiddenness of June

July 29, 2016 § Leave a comment

The rain fell in shivering cords
Ropes of sky plummeting straight down
The way only summer rain really does

The air felt close, protective
Like the jungle warmth was on our side
June’s hiddenness draped a damp arm around us and wept

My Unhappy Place

January 26, 2016 § Leave a comment

Lonely Sound is an imaginary body of water that lives in the recesses of my mind.

It’s a desolate place. The sun never quite breaks through the cloud cover and it’s only ever warm and damp or damp and chill.

Looking out over the sound is a sad old cabin with a half-collapsed porch. It’s rotting from the outside in and it’s full of empty rooms that no one could be bothered to care for. The air is thick with melancholy and you wouldn’t want to be stuck there.

I started believing in Lonely Sound a long time ago, before I knew its name. Then I read about a place called Doubtful Sound in New Zealand and it gave me such a weird, creepy feeling – like I knew it somewhere in my memory.

Lonely Sound isn’t even a sad place. It’s blank. You might feel sad reading about it but it’s worse than that; it’s depression and the kind of hunger‚Äč that exists when you’re past wanting to eat. It’s where you go when you’ve done all the crying and you’re left stoney and still.

I find Lonely Sound comforting. I can go there when I need to feel more than what my life is. Do you keep a memory or an idea that helps you feel pain? Lonely Sound is my place for that. My unhappy place.
 

Lonely Sound

January 26, 2016 § Leave a comment

 
It rained for days.

I sat out on the wet porch;

Wet rattan, wet canvas, wet timber;

And watched the mist moving across the sound.

When you’d been gone four – five – days

I began to think the rain would never stop.

Food ran out. Fuel ran out. Spores settled in my lungs.

And you still weren’t back from the store.

I sat there, staring out over Lonely Sound,

Picking apart the rotting rattan.

Waiting, but not expecting.

Just me and the weather.

My Tree

July 9, 2015 § Leave a comment

There is a tree in this world that knows my name.

It breathes in my nightmares and stalks my sunlight hours. At the centre of my self, that shadow grove with pine-needle ground and the hollow where Beauty lies down to her forever sleep.  

I dreamed a chair of black wood, rattle-scuttling across the shady porch of my mind. Its twisted back was rough and alive, and moss surprised from its lureful seat.

I knew if I sat it in, I’d die. I’d be snapped into its tree mouth and crunched between twiggy fingers, leaves stuffed down my throat.

It’s breathing in my nightmares and stalking my sunlight hours. It doesn’t have to chase me, it knows I’ll come back.

A Shadow With Claws

July 8, 2015 § Leave a comment

Deep in the forest, far under the sky
A stranger was calling, I don’t much care why.
I heard him and found him, followed him down
To a dankening dark hollow, with never a sound.

And there in the gloaming, breath whispering ice,
I killed and consumed him in shining delight.
His eyes I ate last, with eye-rolling joy –
What a specimen he was, that wandering boy.

Oh, it’s quiet in the forest and the daylight is dim,
If you’re looking for danger, please do come in.
 
 

Where Am I?

You are currently browsing entries tagged with poetry at Arch Copy.