The Boat

The boat lay calm on the waters. Only bobbing slightly at a cool current streaming across, or the dartings of a lone fish. It was morning and the sun was enjoying its last few moments of rest. The cockerel tried its best to awaken the sleeping giant.

My fingers traces the water. My mind traced the memories that beheld this place.

When dawn rises, mothers quietly make their way to wash, and hours later children will scamper here to bathe. So familiar, so comforting.

I had clung on for days, refusing to go. Familiarity has a tendency to induce a warm, giddy lull.

But it was time and I had laid my heart to rest. Now, I have made up my mind and weighed the cost of leaving. And I am ready to go.

I unhooked the boat from the little jetty. It was a low, quiet little boat. I let myself into it slowly, and pushed away into the river.

The ripples were sweet music to my hears. As the oars plunged in, the notes bobbed up and down. I laughed before quietly pushing myself away from the jetty, listening to the waves lap gently against the boat, the rocks, the banks. I smiled, tickled by the sounds.

Aside from that, the choir of crickets had dwindled to a few. I stopped awhile to lay back to listen to those few. What harmonies. I sat listening to silence. And the crickets. I’ve not heard silence the way I do now. A rich, delicious, cool silence.

As the water pushed my little boat downstream, I let my eyes roll up to the sky as I rested my back on floor. A greyish dark blue peppered with the remaining stars.

And far ahead, a luminous orange begins to send its reflection across the skies.

I will enjoy the day as it comes.



Showers drizzle and start to grow
Into a watery deluge

Pelting away upon the pavement
A thunderous applause of sound

A lone canopy of hues begins to make
Its away across the sea of rain

Climbs into shelter, a desperate endeavour
Pulls away through stormy weather

I chuckle a little, said “Better damp than soaked”
As this little drama closes

For, couched in the comforts of a cosy home
I could not be safer

I stir my cup of sweet aroma
and give a final sip

As I retire to rest, I lift the sheets
and gratefully snuggle in.

Life after a shower

Drops of rain glistened in the mid day sun. The shower had ended. The street slowly moved to life again. Verandahs flapped in the new breeze that pushed the water off them, landing on faces, hands and arms. Rustles were abound, as people stepped out of their rain coats and whipped their brollies close. A woman peeked out of her shop, hand outstretched to feel the remnant droplets of water – only now they were not from the sky, but from sliding off the building. Safe.

Somewhere behind the shop, a baby awakes, hungry for nourishment.


An Ikea cup, ceramic
A tall tumbler, plastic
My skin, allergic.

A mobile phone, generic
Lift music, cathartic
Friday’s traffic, epic.

The boss, “terrific”
The “instructions”, specific
The to-do list, just “perfect”.

A poet, relic
A singer, magic
Stuff it, will you, Manic?

stories of the sky

I hear soft whispers of a dream
Amidst a coral sky
Filled with little polka dots
of puffy, fluffy whites
Dashes of orange glow—
—threatening to leave
But turn and brandish burnt bronze
To match my satin sleeves

Flashes of blue are painted in
as the day waves goodbye
As twilight beckons
Memories leave
And a cool evening says hi
City lights blink on
Warm headlights come alive

And as vision fades to tender darkness
Sounds come alive.