Diary Entries

Wake Up and Smell the Coffee Slow jazz and the smile of someone who cares, it’s a fragment of heaven, a chance to enjoy the company and to start to want more. It’s early. The machines are yet to warm, pondering the opportunity to rest a moment longer, to drink in the aroma of this place, the various cakes, muffins and danish pastries. The familiar smell of filter coffee rises and dissipates into the crisp air. It is taking a deep breath, sucking in the air that carries a hint of dampness that lacks the pollution of the Sydney day traffic. It’s a stomach clenched with hunger at the thought of sweet, honey rolls. It’s the earthy fragrance of fresh rain seeping from the window. Intermingling with the outlandish cologne of charcoal flames and cinnamon. Aromatic leaves, the air scented by blossoms, tiny green leaves of the thyme, rosemary with dark green leaves and white central stripe growing on woody stems.

Abluvion What if I sit here and listen to the songbirds, And wait for the tides of silence time may toss. Not write out my thoughts with tears on my letters, And never breathe a word about pain and loss. What if I let utter madness consume me, Until I become sinister, dark and heartless. Drowning me in absolute condemnation, Surrounding me in a wave of pure darkness. What if I found acceptance in the blank spaces. Admire how the moon can shine as bright as day, Treasure how storm clouds rise and branches sway, What if I wasn’t what has been washed away.

Look Closely You guessed my favourite colour. But between you and me, I never really had one. But I said you were right, And you smiled in childlike affection. And I never saw it the same way again. It’s in everything, I live in its essence. It’s the forest and the autumnal leaves, The soil in summer after it rains. It’s sunlight shining through your whiskey, The docility of my saccharine chocolate, And the bitterness of your black coffee. It’s my Nan’s old copper penny, And your Dad’s broken barn door. It’s the path where we first met. It’s in your deep sienna eyes, Abysmal depths of dark auburn. A shiver of golden light.

Fallen Flames High on emotions Fueled by rage The tension In his tightly wound body Greeted by A billowing cloud of smoke As he opened the door Into the fresh air

The Sweetest Poison I sense your terror; you’re right to be afraid. Chaos is a dangerous yet beautiful curse. An autumn crocus unfurling its petals, Its illusive form a garden-ground verse. There is no conjuring something from nothing. There is a give and a take, a chance to try. Sometimes a flower is simply a flower, And the best thing it can do for us is to die.