Am I awake in my head

Eyes shut looking at the ceiling.

On my back playing dead.

Faces and images appear

and I am grinning ear to ear.

Walking around the streets

and lanes of home.

I see friends and strangers

come into my life.

What do I make of those moments?

Do you feel the touch upon your skin

there was a connection

even if it disappeared into another vision.

Still looking at the ceiling

with my eyes shut.

Sometimes all any body needs

is a human touch.

© Lyndon Hawk 2026

All Rights Unimagined yet they appear

Fruit falls from the vines,
grapes fall like tears,
heavy with the sorrow
they were fed.

They land upon the ground,
crushed by despair,
and rot where they fall.

Seasons change,
and so do I,
influenced by life
and by friends.

Sometimes lucky,
sometimes poor,
waiting for the sun to shine.

Getting on with what happens,
going with the flow—
perhaps that is what works
out fine.

© Lyndon Hawk 2026

It carries layers—
a darkness
for those who linger there.

It teaches through discomfort:
endurance,
irritation,
the slow wearing down
of the heart,
the quiet sensitivity
of the soul.

You dwell in it—
tired, heavy, irritable,
lonely,
scratching at your chest.

Apart.

Alone in a silence
that echoes like sound—
unspoken,
circling within the mind.

Conversations turn hollow,
stripped of substance.

A noise within silence
vibrating through your frame.

Then—

quietness arrives,
outpacing the noise.

You settle.

And in that settling,
something loosens—
a slow release,
a letting go.

Until it rests—

in stillness,
in the silence
that remains.

⸻

© 2026 Lyndon Hawk All Rights Reserved

Court of Wherever

Judge Igu:
The Court of Wherever is now in session.

Prejudice:
Wherever?

Judge Igu:
Precisely.

Absurdity:
Your Honour, I object.

Judge Igu:
On what grounds?

Absurdity:
I have no idea where we are.

Judge Igu:
Then your objection is perfectly admissible.

Mousch:
I eggzackerly agree.

Prejudice:
Did the Defence just say eggzackerly?

Mousch:
I did.

Absurdity:
That’s not a word.

Mousch:
Neither is wherever, if nobody knows where it is.

Judge Igu:
Point taken.

Prejudice:
Should I enter eggzackerly into the record?

Judge Igu:
Yes.

Prejudice:
How do you spell it?

Mousch:
Eggzackerly.

Prejudice:
That’s exactly how you pronounced it.

Mousch:
I eggzackerly rest my case.

Absurdity:
You can’t rest your case on a word you just invented.

Mousch:
Why not?

Judge Igu:
The Court sees no reason why not.

Absurdity:
But this is ridiculous!

Judge Igu:
You are Absurdity. Surely you recognise your own jurisdiction.

Absurdity:
Unfortunately, Your Honour.

Mousch:
More eggzackerly, I rest my case.

Judge Igu:
Before we adjourn, the Court wishes to place one further observation on record.

The Defence has described itself as—

Prejudice:
A crazy clown philosopher.

Judge Igu:
Indeed.

Absurdity:
And renowned?

Mousch:
We are working on that bit.

Judge Igu:
Quite.

Perhaps renown is not something one claims.

Perhaps it is something the reader discovers.

Especially when the reader has already found the Court of Ambiguity.

Mousch:
Now you’re eggzackerly talking.

Judge Igu:
Enough.

The Court of Wherever is adjourned.

Prejudice:
To where?

Judge Igu:
Wherever.

Mousch:
Eggzackerly.

© Lyndon Hawk 2026 — All Rights Eggzackerly

Sorry isn’t always a solution
when the apology isn’t ready
to be accepted
because the pain still remains.

You may have healed,
but the other person still carries
the grief or grievance that you left.

You tried and failed,
stirring the lingering animosity
like a shroud of grey.

Sorry opens the wound once more;
it doesn’t release
what has gone before.

Time is required to settle,
allowing the scar to heal.

When trust, acceptance
and reconciliation return,
the heart may begin to heal.

The mind remains in defence,
protecting what the heart
cannot yet expose.

So bide your time,
allow your attempt to fall fallow,
and then restore
the balance that has been lost.

Be the person,
not the beast that caused
the heart and soul to break.

The clouds of doubt will part
once the sun begins to shine.

Withdraw until asked to approach.
There is hope dangling on a thread.

© Lyndon Hawk 2026
All Rights Reserved

The Court of Ambiguity is now in session.

Prejudice, Clerk of the Court:

All rise for His Honour, Judge Igu.

Judge Igu:

Be seated.

What is the matter before the Court?

Absurdity, Crown Prosecutor:

Your Honour, the case concerns Globalisation and Corporate Greed.

Judge Igu:

Greed?

Is that a crime?

Absurdity:

Not when incorporated, Your Honour.

Judge Igu:

Ah.

Proceed.

Absurdity:

The prosecution contends that corporations have assumed such influence over daily life that human beings—and their labour—have become commodities.

Workers are valued not necessarily for what they contribute, but for what they cost.

And when the machine becomes cheaper than the human, the human becomes redundant.

Mousch, Defence Counsel:

Objection!

Judge Igu:

On what grounds?

Mousch:

Reality, Your Honour.

The corporation is simply pursuing efficiency.

Absurdity:

Exactly.

Mousch:

Then surely efficiency must be good.

Judge Igu:

Is it?

Mousch:

Well…

Judge Igu:

That sounded remarkably like a question.

Mousch:

I withdraw the certainty.

Judge Igu:

Wise.

Continue.

Absurdity:

The defence calls it efficiency.

The prosecution calls it the economics of efficiency over humanity.

And somewhere between the two lies a growing dissonance between those who have and those who haven’t.

Mousch:

But corporations create employment.

Absurdity:

Until they automate it.

Mousch:

They create wealth.

Absurdity:

For shareholders.

Mousch:

They create investment.

Absurdity:

Sometimes by buying back their own shares rather than increasing production.

Judge Igu:

So money makes money without necessarily making anything?

Absurdity:

Precisely.

Judge Igu:

That sounds remarkably productive.

Mousch:

Financially, perhaps.

Judge Igu:

Another ambiguity.

Absurdity:

Then there are derivatives and financial instruments that allow value to be extracted from value itself.

Production becomes secondary.

The market becomes the measure.

Morality is relegated to the shadows.

Mousch:

Your Honour, globalisation has connected the world.

Absurdity:

Indeed.

It has also made it remarkably easy to move a corporation across a border.

A factory closes here.

A government offers relief there.

The corporation moves abroad.

Workers become redundant.

Communities become collateral damage.

Judge Igu:

Collateral damage?

Was anyone charged for that?

Absurdity:

Apparently not.

Judge Igu:

How convenient.

Mousch:

Governments cannot control every corporate decision.

Absurdity:

Perhaps not.

But when public money assists a corporation, shouldn’t there be a public obligation attached?

A cost.

A tax.

Something returned to those whose lives are disrupted when efficiency becomes more important than employment.

Judge Igu:

So the government provides the umbrella—

Absurdity:

—and the corporation takes the rain elsewhere.

Judge Igu:

I see.

No, actually, I don’t.

Continue.

Absurdity:

Then there is taxation.

Corporations operate across borders and discover that profits can travel rather more easily than people.

Intellectual property charges, internal transfers and other ingenious arrangements can move taxable income away from where the work is actually done.

Mousch:

But they employ local people.

Absurdity:

And apparently that is supposed to be enough.

Judge Igu:

Is employing people now a substitute for paying taxes?

Mousch:

Not exactly.

Judge Igu:

Then exactly what is it?

Mousch:

A benefit.

Absurdity:

A benefit that apparently excuses another benefit.

Judge Igu:

This Court is beginning to suspect that benefits have developed a preference for those who already have them.

Prejudice:

Shall I enter that into the record, Your Honour?

Judge Igu:

Yes.

Prejudice:

Entered.

Mousch:

Your Honour, surely we cannot blame corporations for pursuing profit.

Absurdity:

No.

But perhaps we can question a system that allows profit to become detached from responsibility.

Judge Igu:

And perhaps that is the case before us.

Not whether corporations should exist.

Not whether globalisation is inherently wrong.

But whether efficiency without humanity becomes exploitation—

whether wealth without responsibility becomes greed—

and whether a global economy without a global conscience becomes merely a sophisticated way of moving the consequences somewhere else.

Mousch:

Then what does the defence say?

Judge Igu:

That is your job.

Mousch:

Ah.

I was hoping the Court might be ambiguous about that.

Judge Igu:

It already is.

Prejudice:

Shall I record a verdict?

Judge Igu:

Not yet.

The Court requires further evidence.

Especially from those who profit from the arrangement—

and those who pay for it.

Absurdity:

The prosecution rests.

Mousch:

The defence…

hesitates.

Judge Igu:

Excellent.

We shall reconvene when certainty has been located.

If it can be found.

Sargent at Arms:

All rise!

Judge Igu:

Court adjourned.

Prejudice:

Until further ambiguity.

Judge Igu:

And make sure the Corporation signs the register.

Prejudice:

It already has, Your Honour.

Judge Igu:

What did it sign?

Prejudice:

“All Rights Incorporated.”

© Lyndon Hawk 2026

All Rights Incorporated

Both are surrounded by a life that does not feel as free,
caught in the frustration of learning to be.

Held by perceptions hidden behind masks,
slowly constructed through the monotony of social conformity.

Captured in frameworks designed for sameness,
where freedom and independence are subsumed by the clan.

We try to fit into places we were never meant to inhabit,
and the dissonance eats at the soul.

Never finding the courage to break free,
the layers compound like the cement of a tomb.

Dissatisfaction remains like a ghost,
sheltering in the mistakes we keep making.

The leaves have now settled, lying on the earth.
Our disappointment settles into a blanket of regret.

Will authenticity take the next step
and break those chains,

the constructs of society
that keep us all the same?

Therein lies the sham.

The greatest cost of conformity is not obedience—
it is the gradual loss of self.

© Lyndon Hawk 2026

Maybe is the word that steals reality.
It asks for something more
than appreciating what you have.

It changes the perspective of the present
to a future that isn’t guaranteed.

There is a deception in the whisper
that appears within your mind.
A promise without any facts.
It seduces your attention away
from what is here, in the present.

Maybe the mind will return,
but that moment has been burned.

Maybe lingers, asking for your attention
without offering anything tangible to hold.

Maybe is the itch that irritates the heart
rather than offering to soothe the soul.

Maybe is a cousin of if,
disrupting what is here and now.

Maybe reeks of uncertainty
or is fate playing tricks.

A connection that once felt safe, now
maybe becomes an illusion of drift and change.
It takes you from the present.

© 2026 Lyndon Hawk. All Rights Reserved.

greed, lust, and love.

The power.

Prizes offered to tempt,

to tease,

to terrorize.

It doesn’t matter the nature of the disorder,

or what happened.

Results and promised profit,

calculated by another,

outweigh what was lost.

The scales tip,

the beam drops toward

ruin.

For when trust is broken

there is no return

to what was —

only the pieces on the floor.

A chipped mosaic — tiles and tales,

shells once shining, now dulled,

all part of the picture

of what was.

Broken and scattered,

a corrosion

of dreams, ideals, and vision,

change begins.

Slowly — like a dripping tap.

The washer missing,

no seal left to hold the pressure.

Each drop falls,

eroding, then cleansing.

It pools and gathers,

refreshing,

hydrating the heart.

For that is where change takes place —

When the heart stops pumping,

thought itself runs dry.

The spirit is gone.

© 2026 All Rights Reserved

The magic of a new connection —
where you find someone who hears and shares.
Attraction appears.
Then she pulls away.

Can I stay present, not demand resolution?
Can I allow space and silence to comfort the distance?
Do I understand the fear she’s grappling with,
or do I simply feel the need to react —
to rush in, to fix, to reassure, to complete?

Therein lies the danger of relationships:
when control and reaction outweigh freedom.

Pause. Breathe. Let time reveal its art.

The heart may return when time has passed,
allowing energy to settle and ground itself.

I see you. I feel the distance and the space
settle like a peace — open and free.

Where trust is refined by what we’ve shared,
where we can both feel affection, connection,
and love —
like a leaf drifting on the river.

Eventually, it finds a place to land.

© Lyndon Hawk 2026

I still have dreams and ideas

about what I want to achieve.

Opportunities tinged with pain.

Mistakes committed, full of learning.

At other times those moments were restrained,

feelings held back, emotions I tried to quell.

Each taught a lesson, if you listened,

an insight seen through another lens.

We make mistakes and regret

that we did not pause long enough

to recognise the position we were in.

But that is another story

and a different lesson.

Still, there are things

I would like to complete before I move on.

Sad as it seems, time has carried much away,

yet some ambitions remain unfinished.

Time keeps waiting

while my capacity to reach it fades.

I need a miracle,

or something close to one.

The bucket list, the will, the inheritance —

I hope I leave more than that.

There are still people to meet,

contracts to sign,

places to be.

So Ka Kite Ano.

© Lyndon Hawk 2026

All rights reserved.

music finds a way into my soul.

The notes vibrate and tremble in my heart.

There, magic and alchemy take place,

blending emotion and mind.

Strings and drums intertwine

like lovers in the sun,

frolicking, dancing, full of joy.

The transformation lives in melody and lyrics

that whisper in my ear,

that nibble when you are near.

I feel the breath of life

shimmer through the mist and gloom,

touching my skin, soft and sure—

a gift from the blue.

It’s all I need to realise

there is so much more to life

than dark clouds and rain.

The mist begins to lift,

and I remember the sky.

© Lyndon Hawk 2026

All rights a refrain

of events from our past that reappear

as if they contain lessons

we’ve failed to learn.

They come to haunt us until released.

Our mind holds them in perpetuity

until the slate is clean.

So when memory, dreams prompt us,

be clear in what you have seen.

Register that moment

and the opportunity missed.

It will echo through your thoughts

until you accept and deal with

the anguish that grips your self.

Individuation means digging

deep into your shadow

and the things you need to change.

The eclipse is coming

to allow this release.

Don’t let the cycle miss you

one more time.

© Lyndon Hawk 2026

All Rights Reconsidered

Those that have dictate to those that have not.

There is no balance to be seen.

The pivot is always with those that have.

It changes when it becomes arrogant and pompous,

when power believes itself

beyond the reach of consequence.

The Court is there to listen to the evidence.

However, it’s the games that are played

that can distort the evidence.

Justice has its fees.

Some are paid in money,

some in influence,

some in silence.

Others are paid by those

who cannot afford either.

But who holds the scales?

And who decides

what they are worth?

Perhaps justice is blind.

Perhaps it simply cannot see

who paid for the privilege

of standing before it.

Judge Igu would have to consider

whether balance is something inherited,

purchased,

or merely assumed.

Prejudice, Clerk of the Court,

would already have entered the cost

against the account.

And Absurdity would object:

If justice has a price,

is it still justice?

Mousch would probably ask

whether there is a discount

for those who cannot afford it.

© Lyndon Hawk 2026

All rights have been refunded

about the meaning of words

encoded by letters, symbols and sounds.

And in evidence have accepted

a huge number of submissions, specimens

and objects as evidence

of what words can convey.

Then there are ciphers,

encrypted strings.

Somewhere in the hemispheres of the brain

we flew on.

It was a carpe diem sort of day.

© Lyndon Hawk 2026

All Rights in received

by the coloniser and capitalist.

Seen as ownership rather than stewardship,

a commodity for profit

rather than the nurturer

and provider of life.

Our values compromised,

corrupted, devalued by money.

The land, like life,

is sanctified by existence,

not ownership or property.

The hills, the rivers, and the oceans

endure through millions of years,

while man is barely more

than a speck in time,

yet has caused such destruction

with no sign of ending.

Sold to the highest bidder.

Nothing more to consider.

All will be lost in time.

© Lyndon Hawk, 2026

you before the intent

Something like

you missed the message

of what is meant to be learned

due to intrusion.

Simply, they get in the way

causing confusion

and lead you astray.

Now. Where was I?

Were you listening

or here because you are told.

© Lyndon Hawk 2026

All Rights Resuscitated

As he grew and tried to fit into the world,
it was pushed behind,
into the shadow of his mind.
So it stayed there, forgotten,
never at the front of his mind.

Dimmed by society,
expectations of fitting in,
he took on personas
to enable him to fit in.
He adapted his perceptions
to a common goal.
He became successful at masking his gifts.

He discovered tools and systems
to change how people experienced him.
He shrank to fit in.

Now, as life had passed
and he had grown older,
there was no need to be anything
but himself.

His inner child had returned,
bringing forth his gift.

He’d become a teacher and a healer,
designed to challenge the status quo.
To pause and allow reflection,
to open up his gifts.

He was a mirror into people’s souls,
helping others transition
into their authenticity.

To wield those gifts with integrity,
kindness, compassion
and peace of mind.

And then the distance disappeared.

He was no longer him.

He was me.

© Lyndon Hawk 2026
All Rights Respected

It’s a shame that I say that.

We live in different places

these days.

No longer cheek to jowl,

but still on the edge.

I still smell your scent

and miss being intimate.

We had fun

and tested each other at times.

And how we made up for it

when things settled down.

I miss my school friends.

We had so much fun—

the competition, the teamwork

and the humour.

Invincible clown princes,

telling stupid stories

of innocent arrogance,

never understanding

the smear.

I miss my college friends.

I still hadn’t grown up,

though the mischief was less pronounced

than in my teenage years.

A subtle cleverness pervaded.

Your scent again.

Another place.

Another time.

I miss friends

I seldom see.

Perhaps that is what friendship becomes:

not something that disappears

when distance intervenes,

but something that waits—

quietly,

until memory

brings the scent back.

© Lyndon Hawk 2026

All rights recent

Experience is missed
through the allure of anticipation.
Magic changes in the blink of an eye.
The wand waves and stars appear—
theatre and grandeur,
effects of the stage.

Accept what you are given
and go with it each day.
You may find happiness again.

© Lyndon Hawk. All rights reserved.