Genie of the Forest

We rest our weary legs
in a Weeping Meadow Grass carpeted clearing.
Rufous Fantails dart between Clerodendrums,
beckoning us to follow.

The hum of traffic is a fading memory.
Her fingertips bathe me in compassion.
The gleam in her eyes,
the wonder of her words,
such a bewitching duet.

If an excruciating debacle
snuffs out her precious sparkle,
I want to cradle her in my arms,
resuscitate her joyful charms.

Later, I meditate on the paradise of a kiss
and imagine her face in the throes of bliss.
Genie of the forest,
you granted every wish but one.

The Mirrored Men

The multi hued dawn,
is as sensuous as a divine kimono.
Crepe Myrtle blooms dance in the breeze, 
like care free children.
The olfactory bliss of Lemon Myrtle
is marred by diesel fumes.

The forest beckons.
Serenity shatters like a glass cathedral,
in the path of a choir boys vengeance.
Punk parrots die of fright mid flight.
Their shadows scream
like throat cancer afflicted banshees.

In a hilltop clearing, 
hooded figures move as one.
Gravity is their slave,
their synchronicity as unnerving
as the taxidermied hybrids,
hanging from the Olive grove.

They traverse treacherous terrain
more fluently than a waterfall. 

As slowly as a fish suffocating on a jetty,
they pivot in my direction;
their faces turn faster than their heads.

My limb hair is as upright
as the star picket I’ve torn from the Earth.
Their frog like mouths curl into leering grins, 
as I meet their black hole like gaze.
They close the distance
as gradually as grains shifting in an hourglass.

Midnight has come from nowhere.  
The star picket has been twisted
into the infinity symbol
and embedded in the trunk of an Angophora.



This poem was inspired by the Monsters Among Us Podcast.



Trees shields the river from civilization.
Stress vanishes
in the sun caressed shallows
of a Jurassic lake.
Urban chaos
feels as distant as the Oort Cloud.

A lone hut looms
on a desolate, windswept horizon.
Within its mud brick walls,
blazing fires
suck the swamp from our boots.
The midnight gale
howls like a dingo.
Tibetan singing bowls
complement distant thunder.

My eyelids are as heavy
as oars
in the vastest ocean
and my dreams as psychedelic
as the sixties.

Miles deeper than sunlight can penetrate,
luminescent seaweed jungles innovate.
Their symphonic hues spread as they vibrate.
These orchestral visions we cannot recreate.

It’s the purest paradise Earthlings have seen,

viewed from the boudoir of your submarine.
Only the euphoric expression on your face,
outshines mysteries enshrined in this place.


Forest Gallery

Across a roadside creek I waded.
On the far bank,
granite jigsaw pieces were elaborately carved.
‘Stumbling through the valley of mold,
in search of a plateau of gold’, read one.
‘You seek an oasis stroll
accompanied by magic flutes
but life is a steeple chase marathon
in concrete boots’, read another.

‘Rebel Chameleon Rising’,
was chiseled in gothic script a metre high.
The cliff face said ‘you cannot be
created or destroyed, only transformed’
The voice that invaded my head said
‘mind is subtle matter and matter gross mind;
they’re zones in a spectrum not two of a kind.’

I followed the roar of a distant chainsaw.
Through miles of marshes I trudged.
Suddenly my torch flickered out.
My flesh crawled as footsteps circled
and I fumbled about,
in the midnight haze, in search of AAA’s.

It seemed the wind spoke
‘From the beginning, only pawns in your ranks.
Who can unearth my abode?
You cannot break my code.
I’m a man of many names
captured in differing frames,
I set the rules in all my games.
I am one with shadow,
camouflaged in sunlight alone’

The breeze was incoherent again.
A hammer and chisel wielding figure,
disguised by a lizard skin mask,
was illuminated by lightning.
Before I could move
it merged with the fog, loomed over me
and swatted my camera against a tree.
It whispered ‘your inquiry ends now.’