For a moment, there it is, there it was, a brief sign

A transition from what we thought we knew

Not accidental

A reckoning for so many

Step into the day’s light

The putting down, and lifting up

Almost too clear

Clarity so true, I’m afraid we’re making this too big for what it is

A moment of strength, beautiful strength

Relaxed?

Relaxed

Sit back

Fingers released, and breathe

Light a match, watch the blue, the deep yellow, the white, the purple, a little red

The scents dance through the room

Cutting chords, ties; breathe, step back assess, go again

A soft spark, then a stronger one

A message of hope, love, prosperity

Things going, leaving room for quiet contentment

Laughter through the trees, the light at the end of the tunnel

Silver linings, and all that

Metamorphosis, which this is, and the point of no return

The good and the bad form a powerful union

Embrace both, and all that follows

A certain calmness

A love so pure, so easy, stirring

The purest, realest there possibly ever was

And with that, the sound of accomplishment

Like nothing I’ve ever heard before

Loving it here

It is done.

© PC, 2025

They, the soulless, embody the stare of the cursed and wear this so justly like a badge of honour

The scape for most looks like any other day

To walk outside before the hours of 9 is a sentence or a cheque, you never really get to decide

The smart, stay clear away

They’ve forged a life of perfect harmony where they disappear from sight and only emerge to take care of the necessities

A perfect match made in dystopian heaven

One can’t wait to get back to peaceful hell, the other thinks this is heaven

The odd moments when they meet, the other greets the horned one with an innocence of a simple mind

The other, the demon, has seen it all, the fall was nothing, much like the loss of their beloved, they’ve managed to maintain an air of mystery yet they appear so friendly, perhaps not socially, but that doesn’t matter to the jovial simple one, who insists on contact and decides a “hello” is not sufficient

A way to escape, doors, windows, floors, if they could sink into the floor, but nothing can stop the yapping and noise

Cars crash, children run for their lives, parents cradle their newborns, the elderly play hide ‘n’ seek with their optics and politics, men of all ages become numb, refusing to run, instead sit and turn pages, women open their arms to the wind, disguised as fear, defined as only the beginning

And the war plays on outside, and they wonder why everyone wonders why they choose to stay inside, and side with peace, lots of good sex, and lots of good food to eat.

© PC, 2024

Quite obvious, and so thinking no longer occurs

Thumbs take care of all remaining bodily function

Don’t forget to wash your hands

The stench, real, from degradation, it tickles the nostril hairs

A palliative awakening of the senses

What inevitably follows is a disdain for humanity

A strenuous shift that has now settled deep down within the gut

Unbelievable, the amount of lame that fills the air

So many don’t read and have left the art of knowledge up to the few who have no intention of educating you

Yet, still, you choose to seek no answers, and left with this inability to function without some sort of doctrinal threat has created a legion who ask no questions and wonder why it’s going to shit

Oh, why not be good for goodness sake?

The existential drift, fear of loss of something that never had a grip

Alien to the very few, words that make no sense, a generation of fails before they’ve even taken their first breath

And, waiting in the darkness, ’round the corner,

A reminder of the hands waiting for you to falter

Here it comes

The miracle of death

The escape hatch

Time to meet your maker

What a beautiful sound is the burgeoning silence

The very idea that calamity is necessary, to press pause is ridiculous

Not enough love, not enough hugs, starved of affection, downtrodden, pathetic and sad

Scrap it all, start again

But this time place a switch

Eradicate the need for fill on acceptance and validation

The egoists have had enough.

© PC, 2024

“Where are you going in such a hurry?”

In this series of pages glued together to form your very own book

And the tall tales you tell about your days as a self-described judge, jury, and prolific alcoholic

May I remind you that it may be doom and gloom, that’s okay

But your wails can be heard from doors down

And the old lady that paints the pavement brown with her hardy brogues calls you a decent enough prick and says you “must be having a bit of a bad week”

At 74 or 73, the world is no longer at your feet

The stealth wealth you’ve built, not so stealth with that classic vehicle in the drive

The one I ride past

The one you offered I could take for a spin

The one you still maintain even though you’re in pain

And the chandelier that can be seen through your window calls me broke in so many twinkly tones

The glorious upkeep of your peonies, thank you and please

For the wonderful Calla’s – my favourite – you gave me, and the book you lent me and said I’d appreciate the read

Was just being neighbourly, no need to thank me, I’m feeling much better now, thank you for keeping an eye out for me

A mourning dove sits on your fence, a reminder of your first love

A dedication, you once told me, to the woman you loved and never married

You slapped your forehead in anger and disbelief

“Never trust a priest” and “all athletes are dumb” you tell me

Your son was one, now 41 or 42, once looked like you, now looks the same age as you, two divorces down, head down, he won’t get anything from you, you tell me

I laughed at your tales of dating French girls, and you told me to visit a particular vineyard to the east or to the west

I forget

Haven’t seen your daughter in a while, and her friendly smile, and always thanking people for being so kind, and she’s fed up with your constant drinking, she tells me, and she had a job interview that week, fingers crossed, thanks, we’ll wait and see

“He used to be a member of parliament” she says, or a rep or something like that, and “please remember him for that, and not for his drunken rants about parking permits and his disdain for those who have lots of kids”

I’ll try and not let my own judgements get in the way when I ride past again and see you stumbling around in there, no bottoms, bottle in hand, swinging and singing terribly to some sad song

A word from some who haven’t seen you in a while

Scared to check, scared to see what might be found

Give it a few more days, you know, to let him rest

Yes, you deserve a rest.

© PC, 2024

I’ll dance as though the house isn’t on fire

And allow the flames to wash over my body

Warm me in a soft glow

Aid in the illusion

For today, allow me to imagine the moments just before the end, and only when all around seems serene, and the earth sounds like something from the beginning when time stood still, and the sky alone told time, and no time was wasted

A momentary block, a closed set, fog and haze, and we’re back again

To play the roles we’ve become so accustomed to

Pleased to meet you

No, pleased to meet you

And nods, and handshakes and shy grins

Fortunate souls with untold stories forgotten after generations of routine

Secrets, so many secrets

The unnecessary withholding of information

Plagues the history of such a welcoming family

When death knocks and I’ve decided this is the time when I should have done this or that

Aware, oh so, so aware, of how I used mine

Brick-work so perfect, perfectly strong

Swathed by the heat of the flames

Withstanding, but for how long?

A mere example of things to come

Or a demonstration of exhausted resilience.

© PC, 2024

But not too fast

And so did the music

I missed you

It became softer, lyrics weaker, sound so much meeker, afraid to take risks, afraid of being seen, of being mis-understood, you understand, a desire to run from the light

We became harder, we became older, still so childish as we pitch new ideas on ways we can spend our remainings, with the sacrifices we had to make, having mostly paid off, it’s our time to be reckless

Done most of what we wanted, little left, fun to be had, as we walk the streets like we used to with nothing really specific to do

Yet so much under this sun, just to walk and talk, and play just like the days

There’s no longer danger attached to thinking about the past

No sadness related to the yester years, no nostalgia to ruin what we have

It’s a sickness we’ve pulled ourselves up and under from, and remained sane, to an extent, and it was so good to see you again

Haven’t they grown, and they’ve all left home

Grown and flown, and you moan about not seeing them at all, and I moan that I keep missing his calls (Yes, when you call me at 3am, Son!)

The music sets the tone for the afternoon we roam, and we’ve spent some change, guilty pleasures

These youngsters are brazen, mistaken in age, no matter, they tell us, they love a worthwhile challenge, or two

A stones throw from where that accident happened, and, “Milk, milk, lemonade”

God, we were so lame

Too-toos, and init thoughs, and a few speech impediments that we’ve both outgrown

Frustrating relationships, divorce and broken engagements, and a cluster of lacklustre situations

You’re an undeniable force of nature, a glorious storm

And I know, I prefer to spend my days in quiet

A much needed running away towards my bass, bed and books from the noise beyond my doors and the needy world outside that demands all of your attention, regardless of honesty, instead asking, “Do you love me?” and “Tell me you like me”

Pain takes a hold of me daily, and so I move regularly, lift and dance still, steadily, to mitigate the circumstances this has placed me in

But we’re oddly focused, gunning for a perfect, cooler summer, shoulders bare and glistening, everything sitting just right

I’ve planned days like this when I was in the trenches

Dark moments of loneliness and no repentance for our diabolical sins, and disappearing acts, and who was that(?) and smack bang in the middle of something out of our control

Stop to wonder just how long we’ve let these moments pass

Old enough to reminisce, still young enough for the blast.

© PC, 2024

Baptised by the recent and sudden rainfall

The sweet smell of a successful day of doing absolutely everything finishes this moment so perfectly

The window was left open and now we can smell earth

Two pairs of soaking wet shoes now sit by the door

The blinds are fully open and the world peers in

We stand for a while still holding hands the way we came in

For some reason, neither one of us is willing to let go

It’s the way we approached the door

The way you turned the key

And we’re present as spring tags in summer

I’ve had moments like this before

But you weren’t there

You grip my hand tighter and reveal calmness

We undress and re-dress, wearing soft robes

Two piles of soaking wet clothes now sit in bags beside the soaking wet shoes by the door

Effortless, like the bird that landed so clean on the terrace wall, we remark

Catching each other while we each catch our breath

A slight interruption

A phone vibrates somewhere in one of our bags

To sift through the chalk, shoes, rope, clothes?

No, it can wait

Memories of the day have already made their way into our speak

Did I say already it was such a beautiful day?

My arms and sides ache, and I have a slight blister to my right palm

Words of congratulations and encouragement

A massage, you promise

Shadows begin to slowly appear and disappear

Red and gold now fill the outside

We begin to fall asleep

Looks like this will be our resting place for the night

Perfect doesn’t exist

But this comes very close.

© PC, 2024

Competition lays to waste a good heart and sound head

Brings out the best when the you need to, have to, mix with the rest

But what about the person who chooses to remove themselves, honour themselves, love themselves?

Those magical elves with vision so pure, a sour world has done little to sour their view

They kick on, determined to, against all odds, smile and joke, and see the beauty through the fog

A break-out from the norm, a disdain for the genuine, an evil kick, a spiteful stab

The babies can tell, dogs and cats, too, they can smell it on you

The bile that lies in wait in your throat, they call it cancerous

It’s in the eyes, and the deepened wrinkles on the skin that appear to be not surface level but from something deeply wrong within

And all the cosmetics cannot hide that kind of ugly

The sense that something isn’t right

The kind that chooses to hound the kind and lovely

A world, just imagine, filled with that kind of hopefulness

Gift to them an island, just an island

A match, some petrol, be generous now, don’t hold back

And then watch on, watching the evil ones burn.

© PC, 2024

No, we don’t have to talk

I know what you’re thinking
You know how I’m feeling
The wind carries the voices of our souls
Criss-crossing from one body to the other

We’re sharing space

Calm
An affordable calm 
An unavoidable calm
The kind of calm that only God can give
The kind of calm that asks the least and doesn’t rob you of yourself
Calm has joined us, and now we remember just how calm we were, like this

I love that we can sit confidently in silence

Sitting comfortably, crossed legs, smiles across our faces, and we occasionally look up and catch the other watching

I wish you could tell me
Will you remember me?
I’m just happy you’ll be set free
I wish I could go with you
Unburdened by what life has become for you
I understand this is what you have to do
I’m glad and yet sad that you saw this through
Can you read my mind?
I can barely hear mine over my erratic heart
I’m trying to look strong
Is it working? Ha!

The time that has passed means it will soon be getting dark
You’ll be leaving soon enough

But because it’s you and I, we’ll stay put and enjoy the fading sunshine, and the sounds of life, for as long as this place allows.

© PC, 2024

So my body reaches out and finds nothing in the expanse

There’s this hint of jasmine that hits every now and then

A single flower, a lily, a Calla, sits waiting for signs and wonders

Every corner of this place screams nothingness yet there is so much to look at

I’m reminded of my own nothingness, of my insignificance

Death to ego and death to the fallen ones

Death of body and a complete reset of the mind

A simple tool, where I’ve let emotions and heart stuffs reside

For far too long, I’ve not taken the lessons of love and instead loved the lessons of petulance

Comfort in the familiar, too afraid to go where I actually wanted to go

This room, that room I should say, doesn’t hold space for me anymore

New doors, new windows, new colour scheme, new floors

It’s time, but no ‘buts’

I’ve made peace

This is my new home

I’m told there’s no going back

Take with me what I want, what my heart wills, what I can carry, keepsakes, leaving the rest to evaporate.

© PC, 2024