A random group of people often meet at the coffee shop for morning coffee. People come and go and there isn't any real structure to the group. But we swap ideas, help one another and generally indulge in good conversation.
One of the regulars is a man called Terry Byrne, I think he was a relationships or school councilor before he moved here. He has now begun to write poetry. (This island seems to bring out all kinds of talents in people they didn't know they had.) The image is of the Melaleuca forest where I often walk, as do many other residents of the island. It is constantly changing and a wild and beautiful place.
The indefinable forest
I look for you to be of my construction:
perfect, imperfect, you are my object.
To exist outside of my experience is too much for me to accept.
How could you exist outside my visual, verbal, and all my sensory experiences?
Walking through you, seeing what I expect to see and hear, teaches me nothing.
To accept you is to accept a part of me that I have not met.
My shadow I know, mostly, maybe, at least a little.
My known world is one where I have heard others comment on and verify my thoughts.
I refuse to see you, why?
Would I like it? Time to change the subject back to you.
Your green leaves, where do they come from?
Science tells me one thing, but do you exist outside this description?
Are there two of us, the one we can see and the one we can't?
The other is always there along with my reality,
this reality of stories, voices of parents, friends, teachers.
I am not that bad or good perhaps?
Maybe the other me is great, or maybe a horror.
The Melaleuca forest other may be a wisdom of ages.
Not just one theme but many
Melaleuca, mystery and me.