Travails Through Time

Once upon a time/space continuum an adventurous traveller steps out of a Time Machine into a garden in late 1960’s Melbourne. A little girl with curly dark hair plays with her imaginary friends in a sandpit. She looks up as the Time Traveller appears “Hello” she says, “Who are you??  Are you a ghost?’

Little girl meets big

Space warps time into chaos

Lifeline folds on self

The Time Traveller consumes the little girl. Together with her imaginary friends and Time the little girl  fights valiantly to break free. Will she? Won’t she? Probabilities!

Time tosses a coin

Neither head nor tails wins out

Inner child remains

Eventually an equilibrium is reached. The little girl is free to choose. The Time Traveller returns to her Time Machine trailed by the adventurous ghost of the little girl, eager to see the future.

Time travelling girl

Meeting memories head on

All contained within

Copyright March 2013

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Something Lost

I cry

For no particular reason

Great heaving sobs shuddering through

Tied to a nebulous thread

Of dissatisfactions

I will never be someone’s muse

I will never be immortalised in oils

For future art classes to emulate en masse

Queues of tourists will not wait for hours

To see the masterstrokes of genius

Which highlight my enigmatic smile

No one will pen an ode

To my fine eyes

To my black tresses

{Now greying}

I am not the stuff of beauty

And today

This seems a travesty

So, I cry

 

 

Copyright Feb 2013

The Melancholy Call

Melancholy days

Waiting for Christmas to come and go

Mood swinging in time

To the call of the ever hopeful koel

As he calls

Endlessly calls

For his mate

I contemplate

The fate

Of me

Why have I never felt the call?

Has the tune been played but I have not heard

Deaf to the mating call

Or has no one sang to me

Ever

A mutant human missing the gene of reproduction

No urge to leave a me to time

Or am I deluding myself

A coward hidden beneath the wings of insanity

Safe, secure and mad

With no expectation to fit in

Anywhere

Am I a psychopath?

A serial killer

Perhaps I should take the test

To see

But no

I don’t think so

I do not feel the need to delve beneath the skin

To gain power from the blood welling beneath

To let it flow until the end

Though I can pretend

Use words

To call out to the world

At Christmastime

As plaintive as the koel

Waiting

 

Copyright Dec 2012