A Million Desert Stars

You stand by a lighthouse smiling warmly.
The Faroe Islands have awakened your words.
You say to me that it may be our home soon.

The desert doesn’t feel rain from a grey sky often.
The sea is a dream for the people of the red earth.
The desert doesn’t understand why you say, “leave.”

I love lighthouses and the many ways of the sea.
The Faroe Islands excites me, yet not with you.
I picture myself alone looking towards the sea.

You stood with me in the desert under no moon.
A million desert stars lit the sky and my heart.
You stood with me to tell me you were leaving.

I will remember the sea and the colour of your eyes.
Such an adventurous soul with a love for denial.
I will take my love for you and bury it in the desert.

The desert knew what the sea felt like long ago.
I will feel the sea flow through my heart again.
You can have the sea for now until it takes you.

The Trappings of Love

Rusty razor blades sitting in the bin,
hairbrushes and combes laying loose.

Bathroom items lounging about,
something fluffy is stuck to the floor.

Empty plastic bottles and bits sit still,
dirty laundry piles up even higher.

Packets of surfboards hide from sight,
sex toys blush quietly contemplating life.

The drain gurgles about your love life;
the trappings of love have found you both –
as you fleece each other with the tweezers.

Changing Landscapes

The vision is not that of the city;
Those lights do not shine here.

Instead, there are hills of green;
A cow moos in the distance.

At night the darkness is quiet,
as the rain touches the structure.

I thought I’d miss your charms,
as I think of all the things I could do.

Yet, when I lived as one of you,
I never did most of the things I could do.

Tempted to become a hermit,
I resist with both hands stretched out.

Yet in my heart there is turmoil,
for I didn’t come from the concreted hustle.

I’ve felt the land for most of my life,
yet I’ve resisted the call every single time.

Looking towards the rain covered green,
it might be time to embrace my truth;
I’m not so in love with the city as I once thought I was.

The Moody Sun

the sky holds the bad-tempered sun
in one of those moods,
the dry land is burning

humans walk along in a forced daze
animals take shelter
birds steal old chips

the firey winds blow through the cities
new hairdos flee freely
cracked lips are now “in”

winter white skin turns bright lobster pink
different pigments burn
natural tanners strip off

burning hell is the new spring so it seems
bushfires strip old towns
heartache echoes loss

from out of nowhere he moves so freely
sunnies for Mr Cool
Donning linen luxury

moving in a slow saunter to defy the sun
the sky looks down
wishing for the rain

the clouds see their chance to multiply
little wisps of white
now fat sooty beasts

the sun cracks it, but the storm will arrive
retreating in a huff,
as the clouds explode