If at all possible, one should learn to entrust acquaintances with no more value or confidence, as he would with strangers, lest they prove more useful and reliable.


© Heath Muchena, 2014

Beeches & Rainbows

We took rest on a log in a woodland
surrounded by beech trees.
We had veered off a walking trail –
I forget who’d led the way
but there was no protest.

We were engaged in talks now long forgotten
but I’m certain they were of a most intimate nature.
The distinguished yet unfortunate tree,
which rested on the ground as if slain in battle,
provided comfortable seating.
Its charm obscured the imminent decay
and so we’d been drawn to it without as much as a suggestion.

We soaked up the ambiance
whilst I counted
the gentle streaks of sunlight
on her rainbow thighs.


© Heath Muchena, 2014

Gasoline gods II

Today, humanity and our many and varied forms of entities, institutions, organisations or so forth…

seem to favour control; whereas the ancients appear to have preferred more expeditious destruction.

Today we enjoy the illusion or arguably the possession and real mastery of power;

either to gratify our modern tastes for sustained pleasures

or indulge our sophisticated spiritual fancies.


The ancients however, did not seem much concerned with this control;

rather it seems they relished the perishable existence

so long nature filled their bellies,

cared more for security than exploits

and found but little need to deny others their gods.


© Heath Muchena, 2014

Battle Lights II

a threat perceived loses half its impetus

for will is less effectual countered

and if its source/force is unmasked

the remaining half will not last

and can be diffused even without task

helping the endangered


© Heath Muchena, 2014


memory and imagination are all-important for they provide and give cause… presence however, paramount if purpose is to ever be discovered


© Heath Muchena, 2014

Something Before

Before his eyes

a treasure the colour of flames

immediately wakens passions long cached at the margins of his soul.


But before he has time to even wonder what her name is –

let alone imagine…

a sheepish bleat is heard

he has said hello ma’am!


And once more before he has even come to perceive this

she beams and he is beyond flattered —

he is restored.


© Heath Muchena, 2014

On Nature

one on many occasions has heard people speak of their love for nature
but what is striking when one observes as they talk
is that they do so as though they had no awareness of their being it
or even the understanding of being a part of…


© Heath Muchena, 2014

A measure of Love

I’ve had sufficient luck with Love

to still regard that enigmatic,

potent potion of passion,

that energy greater than all other forces,

that which makes us study the cosmos,

the philosophy that secures a species’ propagation,

the spirit of song and poem,

the obviously inexplicable that we like to call

Love —

what I behold as divinity, the big bang, creation — Love!

Has been awfully kind;

I’ve had my luck.


But now I feel that luck running out;

can there be any left…

I wonder

and if not then Love

what will become of…

I wonder.


But to live in moments past or forecast

is to not exist;

to miss or wish

should desist.


But if not then Love

I’m left here wondering if the species will make it to 3000;

counting years, days and this moment right here;

lovelorn like Candide without Cunégonde,

telling myself all is for the best.


Suddenly Love is here — everywhere

and I feel lucky to be standing here listening to

Debussy’s Clair de Lune giving the night a perfect impression —

resolved to be less tragic than Verlaine.


Love is here

in this garden and I feel it

as I’m star peeping, moonlight worshipping,

grapefruit eating, green smoking,

Love seeking,

and begging her to tip the scales in favour…

but all she whispers:

to know how much luck is left you must first love without measure.



© Heath Muchena, 2014

Untitled II

sincere sunny days in mango and avocado tree-shaded streets

where youthful flirtations and bicycle expeditions were not rare

O! how memories betray

and senility preys

give me back those fondest moments

me and the hommies

mom’s tasty dinners while she lectures about bills from late night calls made on the house phone

to pretty girls I had crushes on

I want to relax under the jacaranda shade

bathing in its purple drops

and washing away these pangs

help me find that old voice

so I can write her a poem

and have her smile at me

while alluringly folding the little paper it’s written on

and telling me she’ll read it before she goes to bed

let me be happy

let me feel again

even if it means it’ll hurt with time


© Heath Muchena, 2014

Lustre Lake

By a lake somewhere,

a cyan canoe sits on the sandy shoreline

and a calm fire with flames matching the sun setting on the horizon

smokes the catch hanging on a line over it.


Lovers innocently tease each other

and there’s lots of laughter;

an embrace,

a dance,

a moment unlike death.


© Heath Muchena, 2014