One grey day on the Metro line
I looked upon an old past time.
Sitting in the middle of yesterday
a carousel that cannot play.
Bracing itself through the pouring rain
the tired horses show their pain.
Eroded down to their very core
their porcelain skins are no more.
Coarse are their once pristine petals
destined for a sea of metal.
The glimmering waterfall
Enclosed within an enchanted forest
Cries her tears
Under a midnight sky.
Here in the urban jungle
The urban monkeys play
They laze in their paradise
Escaping the urban day.
They sit within the branches
Above the earth below
Sharing a story or two
Of a world they need not know.
Late, in the darkness of night
They venture down the trunk
They swing into the golden arches
Obviously very drunk.
When they are sitting in their tree
They skull the liquids of the night
Dancing to the urban dream
Until the morning light.
Just for fun…
We come from different places
London, Rosebud, Tamworth and Yea.
We must have enjoyed the faces
because we decided to stay. 8
Badger likes to hibernate
and Turtle likes to dream,
the Moose offers mandates
which makes the Birdie scream.
We have a home on second east
a group of assorted creatures
coming home to enjoy our feast
after a day with the preachers.
We are found in the hall
when lights dim in the sky
singing the jungle call
as people pass us by.
Strangers do not understand us,
we are the crazy creatures
Always willing to make a fuss
from the top of the school bleachers.
Halfway, between lunch and tea
underneath the old gum tree
gazing up, towards the sky
I dream my life passing by.
Clouds float above my eyes
the cockatoo’s begin to cry
the wind whistles through the trees
and I am open to evenings breeze.
From the very start
Built upon the concrete floor
Tomorrow’s yesterday stands.
Twisting into the future.
Yet, firm on history’s page
sit the legends of a house.
A new house amongst the stars.
We came to the end
of our story. Something untold
in the fairy tales we had been taught.
There was no happy ever after.
The world was offering things
you could not, would not give me.
I made a choice.
I won’t go back.
Grandfather,
The reason I write to you these chosen words
Is that you left too soon, that’s what I heard.
You said for my birthday we’d take to the sky.
But you got on a bus instead, and died.
You promised to take me to far away lands,
I drew us a map, got paint on my hands.
I recall long walks across the village green.
You told me stories and taught me to dream.
The old man that boarded route forty-seven
Did he know he’d be diverted straight up to heaven?
Was grandmother waiting for you, just like you said?
Mum said she was, but I am easily led.
London has changed, its not the same without you,
The world is a scary place now, please come home soon.
Love, Charlie.
My little Snoopy.
My beacon of light.
How the world has changed
Since you left my sight.
We are in spring now
The sun has returned!
Melbourne is singing,
Our lessons, learned.
I wanted to write
To tell you of home.
Your sister is sick
No longer, she roams.
You both were buddies
Playing in the house.
Running to the lake.
Bringing home that mouse.
I see you down here
On your Blue bean bag
Sleeping so soundly
Both your tails would wag.
You escaped the wrath
Of Mother Nature
But old tired Blue
Withstood the torture.
Why? Where did you go?
Leaving without word?
Up there in heaven
Playing with the birds.
My little Snoopy,
As pure as the snow
Watch over your sister
She needs her little bro
The eagle watches
From the top of his tower
And cries to his people
At the stroke of an hour:
“With an open mind
and audacity to learn.
Whoever seeks shall find,
And their wisdom shall be earned.
In the ground the cracks show,
The remnants of hail and snow.
Although the storm has long since passed,
The residue will always last.
In this place of wilting flowers,
She anticipates the closing hours.
Her petals fall through the ground,
Lost forever, never found.
Charlie Ann Alford 
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