Dan Schaumann

Posts Tagged ‘love’

The Cytogeneticist

The date was set. Almost six weeks after responding to her ad in the lonely hearts section and countless eager emails later, their meeting had finally been arranged.

He was anxious to find out more about this beauty, a rare speck of gold in an otherwise perpetual congregation of dust.

He couldn’t stop staring at her photo – the one that accentuated her slightly boyish features against devilish femininity. The inked emblem just below her shoulder had him intrigued. The photographer’s choice of angle left much to the imagination. Was it an anchor? A hook? Perhaps a spear? The silver bracelet against her right wrist faded into a mysterious shadow, meeting with the slender fingers of her left hand. Her left arm lay across the silken bedsheets, strategically positioned in a way that hindered the lower view of her necklace and what may otherwise have been classed as a highly suggestive cleavage. Her deep blue eyes stared into his as he imagined how it would feel to hold her and gently brush against her rose lips for the first time.

So far they had only exchanged sentiments in written form, but he yearned to hear her voice. Would it be high-pitched and womanlike, or deep and powerful as per her virile appearance? He was desperate to find out.

She lived only a few miles away from him and had spent the majority of her childhood in this southern London district. She was as captivated by his upbringing in a tropical antipodean climate as he was of hers in cold and wintry surroundings. He thought it cute how she named her puppy after Gonzo, the big-nosed blue character from the Muppets, and he loved the way she hinted how they may one day lay beneath warm covers watching romantic films together. Although his interest in said genre was normally lacking, he honestly couldn’t wait to spend such a night in with his newfound flame.

Above all, the most attractive feature he saw in her was that she was studying cytogenetics.

They had opted to meet for brunch on Monday. With a long weekend in front of him, he spent his Saturday shopping for a new outfit, settling on a pair of bootcut jeans and a dark but elegant shirt to match. He perused a few stores in the hope of finding a small gift to offer his date, but he wasn’t able to find inspiration on this occasion. He decided it best to instead purchase something fresh for her on the morning they were due to share their meal.

Sunday afternoon greeted him with enthusiastic nervousness as he prepared a brief but bright text message confirming their arrangement the following day. He suggested a cosy Croydon cafe he’d attended a few weeks prior and offered a meeting time of 11am. He pressed ‘send’ and he waited excitedly for her response.

He waited some more.

An hour passed, then two. Nothing.

As the day turned to dusk he considered drafting a follow-up message. Could she have cold feet? Perhaps she needed some extra reassurance that this was the right thing to do? He almost felt it appropriate to call, but he didn’t wish to spoil the one and only chance they had of hearing each others voices as well as laying eyes on one another for the first time. Every moment spent without her confirmation only added to his concerned anticipation. By the time dusk turned to night he was sure this whole idea was set to be yet another failure.

Eventually, he heard the familiar beep of his phone and rushed over to check if it was from her.

“Hey hun. So sorry it’s taken so long to reply, but I was rushed to hospital today with kidney pains. I’m drugged up and lonely at the moment, I wish you were here with me. Can we reschedule tomorrow? I’m just not sure when I’ll be able to leave here. Sorry again x”

Shocked at this medical revelation, he replied the only way he knew how.

“That sounds awful honey, I’m so sorry to hear. Are you ok? I wish I could be there for you. I was thinking though, there’s no reason why we still can’t meet tomorrow. How would you feel about having our date by your hospital bed?”

At 11:00 the next morning, he boarded the bus that would lead him to her hospital.

The automatic doors unmasked a reception area reeking of lifelessness and sterility; an ironic observation considering the life-giving function of the venue he was visiting. He made his way to the hospital gift shop, settling upon the brightest box of chocolates he could find, in amongst the disheartening condolence cards, sympathy flowers and personal hygiene accessories. He walked for what seemed like an eternity along a maze of pale green corridors, venturing past wards full of people suffering from all kinds of ailments, and occasionally making way for nurses wheeling distressed patients on their blood-stained bed trolleys.

He reached the division he was looking for and enquired with the head nurse as to where he could locate his companion. She pointed out the general direction of the ward in question, wrongly assuming he knew exactly who it was he was about to visit. Entering the heavily disinfected room, he slowly peered around the curtains of each of the bedspaces until her dreary and drug-fuelled eyes recognised his. Almost six weeks after responding to her ad in the lonely hearts section, they met for the first time at the gynaecology unit of Carshalton hospital.

She lay limp and sullen, her facial features a far cry from the photo he spent much of the past month dreaming of. Her soft, raspy voice lisped hello as she struggled to remain focused on the moment. She declined his offer of a chocolate as he placed the box onto her bedside table, suggesting rather that he savour one on her behalf. He pitied her current state as he unwrapped the turkish delight, surveying this highly compromising situation he had somehow found himself in. She began explaining how she came down with major abdominal cramps early the previous day, but digressed halfway to instead describe the pain she felt in her knuckles, upon recently discovering her ex-fiancé seducing another man in their bed. She had punched a brick wall with all her furious might to release her anger, and in the process, shattered all the bones in her hand. Between her knuckles, her kidneys, and her medicated frame of mind, she appeared entirely oblivious to the fact that this was their inaugural encounter together.

It took another hour of inebriated communication and the insertion of a catheter to drain her fluids before she sorely walked with him to the exit, drip stand lagging behind.

They hugged goodbye… and they never saw each other again.

 

Many years have since passed, and every now and then he reflects upon that fateful morning beside her hospital bed.

Imagine how different life would have been if he’d married a cytogeneticist.

---

This is a true story. It happened in November 2008. I was so bewildered by the situation that I don’t actually remember much of the conversation we had by the bed – aside from the description of how she broke her hand. I know she got out of hospital a few days later but I felt so awkward that I just couldn’t go through with the prospect of seeing her again. I regret that now.

Anyway, it does make me wonder what kind of other crazy first (or last) dates people have been on? Feel free to leave a comment below and share your experiences.

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Faith

For as long as I can remember, I’ve always put my full faith into everything I’ve wanted to accomplish.

It’s strange to explain, but whenever a new goal or ambition enters my heart, I have this deep knowing that the universe will obligingly set everything in place to allow me to fulfil this dream, and that nobody and nothing will hinder me from reaching my destination.

I often notice little ‘synchronicities’ around me when I have one of these goals in focus.

They’re like perfect signs from an external force, greater than I could ever imagine. They encourage me to pursue this path I’m on.

I’ve never had reason to believe I won’t reach the place I want to be.

I know with all my soul that I’ll get there.

And so it has occurred three times so far along this journey of life that I’ve put my full assurance into a particular path being the right one for me to follow.

Each of those three times, there was never a plan B.

There was never a thought put into what might occur if it doesn’t work out.

There was never a hint of doubt, contention, or fear.

There was only ever 100% faith that this path is the right one for me.

Each of those three times, I was just within reach of my destination.

I could see it, I could taste it, I could feel it.

Until reality stepped in the way and obliterated every last one of my hopes and dreams.

It hurts.

It really fucking hurts.

Yet I still go on and repeat the same faithful way of feeling, time and time again.

* * *

Many years ago, I was told that I should give up on faith.

Because with faith comes heartbreak.

With faith comes pain.

With faith comes frustration.

With faith comes inevitable failure.

Give up on faith, and you remain free from hurt.

Success comes as a bonus if you have no expectation.

So just give up.

But you know what I say to that?

No.

* * *

I will never give up on faith.

For without faith, there is no hope.

Without faith, there is no excitement in what is next to come.

Without faith, there is no love.

Without faith, there is no life.

Faith makes me stronger, it’s shaped my life and it makes me who I am.

It’s opened up new opportunities and has taken me to places I may never have otherwise considered.

Despite the pain in my heart from the times I’ve been let down, faith has had an exponential effect on me and I feel nothing but joy and gratitude for coming to this realisation.

It’s an incredible thing to feel.

I pledge that everything I put my heart into from this moment onwards will be accomplished with the utmost of faith.

And I encourage you to do the same.

Know that there is no such thing as failure.

And have faith.

♥

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Heartbreak Science

I feel so excited after watching the documentary Heartbreak Science on SBS. For so long I’ve felt within me that the heart is so much more than what it’s made out to be. For example, I’ve always felt that in addition to the brain, it possesses and processes emotional intelligence, and that it acts as one of the many links between the human body and what we know as the “soul.”  Finally, it looks as though the scientific community are beginning to realise this as well.

One of the guys they interviewed for this documentary received a heart transplant recently, and after the surgery he found he had a desire and ability to write truly heartfelt poetry, dedicating his words of inspiration to all of his loved ones. This is not something he’d ever had the inkling to do in the past. After some time, he met with the family of the man whose heart was donated, and he made the incredible discovery that during his lifetime, this man was a budding young amateur poet.  I had read about cellular memory in detail in the past (thanks to this article from the April/May 2005 edition of Nexus Magazine) but it was so great to be able to see and hear the passion in the voice of this transplant recipient telling his story, as opposed to merely reading about it in black and white.

Another interesting finding: in a scientific experiment detailed in the documentary, they hooked a guy up to electrodes to measure the response from his brain and heart. They then showed him a variety of images on a screen that were designed to bring out intense positive or negative emotions, ranging from a cute kitten, to an image of a gun being pointed directly towards him. The findings of this experiment revealed that the heart – not the brain – would initially register the upcoming emotion, a split second before the image was displayed on the screen. It was suggested that the heart is therefore tuned into a higher, spiritual level of consciousness and may explain phenomena such as ESP, and why many of us feel strong gut instincts.

Of course I’m not a scientist so I can’t really comment any more on what all this means from a scientific perspective. But I really want to shout with joy that FINALLY this kind of material is being brought into the mindframe (or should I say, heartframe?) of the general public. I mean, there was even talk that this kinda stuff can help prove that life does indeed go on, once this physical life ends. All of this I feel within my heart is true anyway, but it really makes me smile to know that these so-called “theories” are being researched and found to have merit.

I am genuinely excited about what the future holds in regard to the emotional and spiritual capabilities of the heart. The word “Love” has never felt so true to me before!

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Boltsnapper

Have you ever walked across a bridge and found that a pair of lovers have engraved their names onto a padlock and fastened it onto the fence surrounding the walkway, as a symbol of their everlasting love?

I see this regularly whilst commuting by foot across the Sydney Harbour Bridge.

It’s all well and good that they do this… but have they ever stopped to think about what will happen the day the council worker comes along with a set of boltcutters and snaps away at their love?

A young man
His sleeve without a guard
Validating all he’s ever known

A young girl
She waves a kindred arm
Letters on the lock she draws

The young man
Strengthening their source
Couples firm their talismanic crown

The young girl
Her cheek a crimson rose
Pressed against his supple jaw

 

I’m a boltsnapper
Yeah, a boltsnapper

The young man
Aware not of the part
To tackle, crash and leave a foolish boy

The young girl
Survival in this picture perfect world
Will last not long

 

I’m a boltsnapper
Yeah, a boltsnapper

Glisten in the wildest faces
Nonbelievers, fight the tension…

Don’t snap that bolt

Glisten in the wildest faces
Nonbeliever’s intervention…

Don’t snap that bolt

 

 

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Uglify

To solemnize you is to select scattering samples of sarcasm simulcast straight to the starving stomach of Satan

To contemplate you is to conjure crumbling cues of cold, cutting comments conveyed by your callous, corrupt crevice

To respect you is to reap repeated reproaching rewards of ridiculous, regretful remote restrictions

To enjoy you is to encase an extinct, enslaving essense of experiential execration

To worship you is to wonder why weary, wounded wolves whimper at the wasting, weakening worthiness

To yearn for you is to yowl at the yolkish yesteryear of your yellow, youthsome yield

To ogle you is to observe optic omission of overwhelming ornamental offerings

To upholster your uprising, unsentimental, unsweetened, unreasonable, unwilling, unflavoured, unsealed, unpitying, underexposed, unseductive, unoccupied, unadulterated, unauthorised, uncurable, unfaithful universe of ubiquitous unsymmetricality is to uglify

 

Would You Like To Go For A Walk?

“Would you like to go for a walk?” he dotingly asks on her return home from her late summer afternoon shift at work.

“Not tonight,” she replies. “I’ve got too much to do.”

He sets off without her. Perhaps tomorrow she will join him.

Through the field he wanders, graciously using this time without her by his side to set out a potential path for their future afternoon rendezvous.

He runs his hand through the dry, brown wheat as he progresses down the farmyard track. Ever so slightly sharp, he snaps up a scattering of stalks, pulling at the furry spikelets one by one and watching them blow off into the breeze. He dreams of the upcoming day where he lovingly offers a head of wheat to her, its beautiful homegrown authenticity possessing much more meaning than that of a manufactured gift purchased from a florist.

Nearing the end of the field, he opts for a southerly venture along the fen, stopping briefly to admire the family of swans wading through the wetlands. He is all too aware of the bond between the mother, father and three cygnets trailing closely behind, and one day wishes for a similar scene to grace his own human life. He sends his love to the swans and telepathically requests that they meet him there again tomorrow, in the hope that both he and his girl can spend time together treasuring their beauty.

He cautiously makes his way over the rickety wooden bridge, picking wild blackberries on his descent to the eastern side of the waterway. The sweetness fills the entirety of his mouth as the glory of tomorrow’s blackberry kiss permeates his imagination, now working in a similar vagabond fashion to his roving legs.

Keeping with him a handful of those dark, delightful delicacies, he returns back the way he came, across the rickety bridge, past the family of swans and through the endless wheat fields before arriving back home again, content with today’s discovery and yearning for her to follow in his shadow tomorrow.

“Would you like to go for a walk?” he dotingly asked on her return home from her late summer afternoon shift at work.

“Not tonight,” she replied. “I’m too tired.”

“But honey, I found an incredible path yesterday that I would really like to show you!”

“Sorry. I’m really not in a walking mood.”

Slightly taken aback, he sets off without her. Perhaps tomorrow she will join him.

This time his intuition leads him on an alternate adventure. He ventures down the village street, turning left at the small residential intersection and continuing on until just past the bridge over the moor. Here he finds an intriguing southbound country footpath, leading through a grassy paddock and on into the bushland.

Following the path, he again gauges the suitability of the walk as potential for a lover’s promenade. He notices the dotterels dancing and singing in the trees lining the canal. Inspired by their migration from such a faraway land and their ability to settle into an unfamiliar habitat, he is reminded of his own journey, and he can feel in his bones that she will soon agree to join him on one of his local adventures where he will proudly display this same sense of ease to her.

His shoes leave imprints in the dampness of the ground below, and he realises by the sudden appearance of hoof marks that a small herd of cows have recently paraded along this country trail. He spots them ahead in the distance and slowly creeps toward the three chocolate brown bovines so as not to frighten them, picking a bunch of fresh green grass from the ground along his way. He is aware that she feels unsettled around such animals, and clenches her tightly in his imagination as they draw nearer, comforting her anxiety and promising that they really are gentle creatures. He envisages passing her the grass while she nervously extends her hand towards the three hungry mouths, excitedly giggling as the first of the three curious cows cajoles the fodder from her grasp. She lets out a shriek and pulls back as the scratchy tongue makes contact with her tightly clenched fist, but he is there to catch her and lend a supportive embrace at the conquering of her fear.

Keeping with him the natural scent of the grass-fed heifer, he returns back the way he came, along the hoof-marked trail, past the dancing dotterels and across the moor bridge before arriving back home again, content with today’s discovery and yearning for her to follow in his shadow tomorrow.

“Would you like to go for a walk?” he dotingly asked on her return home from her late summer afternoon shift at work.

“Not tonight,” she replied. “I’m going out with friends.”

“Surely you can find some time before you go out to enjoy some fresh air with me? I’ve found two gorgeous countryside paths that I would really like to show you!”

“Will you please stop pressuring me to walk with you? I just don’t want to, ok? Honestly, I can’t stand this town. I can’t wait to get the hell out of here, I’m sick of seeing the same thing every day, I have no interest in exploring the neighbourhood with you, and if you don’t mind, I’m going to get ready to spend the night with people who I actually want to be with.”

Wide-eyed and distressed, he withdraws and sets off without her.

This time he doesn’t know where he is going. He walks aimlessly and randomly. For miles he continues along a monochrome corridor, only seeing in tunnel-vision, no longer noticing the lush green of the season’s freshly grown leaves, the dominant blue sky making a change from its normally overcast state, the radiant hues of the slowly flowing fen and the intricately crafted crimson archways dotting the canal at regular intervals.

Eventually he stops and sits at the shores of the waterway, resting underneath an apple tree.

How can she not appreciate the beauty of this place? he ponders. What must I do to allow her to see the countryside through my eyes? Why does she not wish to spend time with me in the great outdoors – the one place where you easily feel more free, open and energized than anywhere else? Why does she not wish to spend time with me in general? Does she understand how much it hurts to not have her by my side? Where could she be going tonight that is more enjoyable and serene than this beautiful location by the side of the fen? Why does she not love me anymore?

Amid a thousand thoughts, an apple drops into the water, joining a large number of apples that have already fallen from the tree into the canal.

He studies the rippling effect created by the apple’s sudden penetration of the water. He imagines what it would feel like for the apple to become separated from its mother stalk, breaking away from its source of love, growth and inspiration. He wonders if there is any point to its now-meaningless existence, bobbing lifelessly along with its meaningless siblings. Without its grounding stalk it can no longer walk the journey of life. It has no further purpose to serve.

He realises that without his grounding stalk, he can no longer walk the journey of life either. He has no further purpose to serve.

He rises from his position and ventures into the chilly waters of the fen. Resting alongside the fallen apple, he lowers his head beneath the surface. Under the judgemental eye of the nearby swan, and in one final reflection of his lover’s failure to walk with him, he breathes in deeply.

He will never walk again

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She Must Have Been Sleeptalking

Hello my friends,

Well I do hope you’ve all had an exceptional 2009! As I reflect on the past year, I realise that it has been the most incredible one so far, and I look forward to an even better 2010. One of my resolutions for next year is simply to be more creative and to put a further emphasis on writing songs, poems and stories. I do seem to have lacked quite a lot of motivation since I got back to Australia, which is disappointing considering creative expression is something that makes me feel complete.

Only last week, however, I was fortunate enough to stumble across a blog entitled “Hearts unbroken & Words untold.” It’s written by a Belgian girl who goes by the name of Froebby, and I was left incredibly inspired by her enchanting prose and her open, honest heart. Please do yourself a favour and give her blog posts a read; I’m sure you will see what I mean! Her heartfelt writing style encouraged me to write this little story (mostly in between phone calls at work, I might add) about the joy of what we think to be true love, followed by the insane amount of confusion that awaits when we realise that it’s not. Admittedly it does have a sombre ending, but it is based ever so slightly on the truth, and I see it as a lesson that we should always strive to remain true to ourselves and those around us in order to achieve happiness.

So thanks Froe, for motivating me to achieve my resolution before the new year even begins, and I wish everyone a very happy 2010

Dan

She Must Have Been Sleeptalking

A busy day exploring a faraway city draws near an end, and the two touring sweethearts make their way through the havoc of the inner-northern suburbs to the location where they will retire for the evening. Putting the general chaos of their day behind them, the couple display an ambience of nervous anticipation for the hours ahead, as this coming night is due to be their first spent together. Alone. At one. At last.

Entering the room they reflect on the day’s precedings before making preparations for their inaugural twilit companionship. Nearby, the dull roar of the subterranean carriages shake the walls ever so slightly, in precise harmony with the rumbling of their hungry hearts. She rests her head gently upon his shoulder as he grasps her slightly trembling hands in his, providing a much-needed quietude prior to the forecast storm. A sense of peace washes over as they take in the space before them which they will shortly occupy, their inhibitions gradually fading as the late summer sun merges with the darkening urban horizon. Their surrounding air becomes lighter than light itself; an aura of magnificence emanating from these two perfectly entwined souls.

Sublime to the eye, sweet to the smell and pure to the touch, she remained every inch the beauty he recalled from his yearnful, endless memory. This was a memory that delved back a multitude of epochs, beyond the fruit, beyond the flower, beyond even the fateful event seemingly millennia ago where the seed was first sowed, paving the way for their impending and everlasting reunion. To her, he was the brick, the support, the solid rock she had grasped onto so tightly in the dawning months leading up to and including this moment.

It was a journey of unimaginable proportions and enigmatic synchronicities that finally culminated in this extraordinary state of communion. From every corner of the universe, all entities involved throughout the duration of this amorous journey wept ethereal tears of togetherness, filling the small but intimate room with their unconditional love. Finally, here they were. Alone. At one. At last.

The overhead iridescence dims, yet the radiance within the room increases infinitely. The silken sheets glide effortlessly over their joy, her arms linking onto his, skin to skin, breast to breast. Their lips draw near, held apart briefly by the warmth of their devoted respiration, before plummeting into divine union, the richness of their embrace sending waves of violet flame shimmering unanimously down their spines. His electric hands saturate her surface, the exponential spark of a thousand strokes permeating deeply into her psyche. Her hair shimmers a vibrant shade of gold as his kiss intensifies, both parties joyously giving, receiving, and eventually succumbing to all that is and all that ever will be.

Time ceases. Love abounds.

She gazes into his closing eyes, savouring every breath he draws and inhaling the luminous energy of which he expels. Whispering softer than that of her velvet skin, she opens a direct line to the centre of his being. Scarcely a moment before he drifts into his most heavenly of slumbers, he becomes engulfed by those
three ………… I
ambrosial ….. LOVE
words …..…….YOU

She must have been sleeptalking.

She awakens at the crack of dawn, and with delicate hesitation, establishes her day by means of a lukewarm shower. Her situation puzzles her whilst the falling water indifferently washes away the thrill of the foregoing evening. Tightening the hot water valve with marginal force, a complication becomes apparent, understandable only to her, as the now-icy stream infiltrates her heart. Unbeknownst to him, her tears of sorrow painfully seep into the drain on that sombre morning.

Tolerating the kiss welcoming her to his glorious day, she is eager to leave the room and get on with exploring the sights of the metropolis. With last night’s adoration far from mind, a hardening bubble appears between his confused advances and her aloof responses. He appreciates her change of gesture, yet his mind cannot cease its stirring, constantly wondering what it was that he has done wrong.

As their second day nears an end, he offers comfort lying closely beside her, gently stroking her cheek with the back of his fingers. He questions her as to why she has appeared so detached. Returning to a similar state of quietude experienced the previous night, albeit a more solemn ambience this time around, she remains unwilling to ignite his confusion any further. She rolls to her side and assumes an artificial state of sleep, careful not to reveal her struggling, silent sobs.

For what seems like countless hours, he lies on his back and stares at the ceiling, his eyes running repeatedly along every nail, contour, crack and defect that he can make out on the dimly lit timber boards above him. Even the spider is aware of his intent glance, his eyes like laser beams, slowing the arachnid to a painful crawl. Wary of making contact but yearning more than ever to lie within her tender hold, he rests his arm by hers and attempts to calm his shattered identity.

On the brink of his drifting off, he becomes subconsciously aware of her shifting arm, and involuntarily adjusts his own to keep his source of chaotic comfort nearby. In an instant and unprovoked fit of rage she snaps her arm away from his touch, and straight down that direct line to the centre of his being she furiously yells
three …….. DON’T
acerbic ….. TOUCH
words ……. ME

He snaps awake. He studies her over. Her eyes: closed. Her muscles: relaxed. Her breathing: heavy and defined. He recoils to the far side of the mattress, feeling every inch the predator that she falsely made him out to be. Despite burning into his endless memory, he will never again mention the horror caused by her sudden nightmarish outburst.

She must have been sleeptalking.

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The Tree That Took My Love

*you can download a demo recording of this song here

Lay me down in fields of green
The summer sun, it tastes as sweet as you

Fruits and flowers surround our dream
Our wish for native beauty has come true

Grounded now I heard you spoke
Your burrowed seeds, your barren throat
Godforsaken tears, they choke from you

Our undergrowth is drying up
And I’ve had enough of this
Photosynthetic mindfuck

Burn it down, the branches wasting
Ashen ground incineration
Leaves of brown reciprocating
Resin from our hearts

Wrath of life reduced to stumps
A hand for hand, a trunk for trunk
It’s killing me, this tree that took my love

Developmental antidote
Emerges from a heartfelt note to you

A final chance to cast my vote
Of grafting and of germinating too

I’ll rub the stem, create the spark
You skin my name, I’ll ring your bark
Seeds the girdling end of fertile hope

Burn it down, the branches wasting
Ashen ground of expiration
Leaves of brown reciprocating
Resin from our hearts

The rising flame my only hope
A sacrificial fire of growth
It’s killing me, this tree that took my love

The tree that took my love
The tree that took my love
The tree that took my love…

Clotted cells my heart will pump
Heavy swell, my sap will clump
If the canopy is free I’m jumping down

Burn it down, the branches wasting
Ashen ground incineration
Leaves of brown reciprocating
Resin from our hearts

Wrath of life reduced to stumps
A hand for hand, a trunk for trunk
It’s killing me, this tree that took my love

The tree that took my love
The tree that took my love
The tree that took my love…

…wrath of life reduced to stumps…
	…a hand for hand, a trunk for trunk…
		…it’s killing me…
…THIS TREE THAT TOOK MY LOVE…

© 2008 Daniel Schaumann

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16,396

16,396 hz
16,396 hugs
16,396 tears
16,396 prayers
16,396 reasons
16,396 caresses
16,396 thoughts
16,396 tastebuds
16,396 memories
16,396 heartbeats
16,396 compliments
16,396 goosebumps
16,396 km I travelled
16,396 synchronicities
16,396 days left to live
16,396 blinks of an eye
16,396 keys I would play
16,396 breaths I breathe
16,396 songs I would sing
16,396 strikes of lightning
16,396 more lonely nights
16,396 pages I would write
16,396 strings on my guitar
16,396 sensory experiences
16,396 pounds I would spend
16,396 colours of our rainbow
16,396 stairways I would climb
16,396 ways to blow your mind
16,396 abodes in the city below
16,396 masts in our marina of love
16,396 miles per hour my mind runs
16,396 notes in the score of our lives
16,396 times I would smile every day
16,396 petals on the roses I send you
* (actually no, make that 16,397, for reasons known only to me)
16,396 litres of blood my heart pumps
16,396 red bricks laid as our foundation
16,396 doors I would knock on to find you
16,396 rocks climbed to the top of our outcrop
16,396 seconds of sleeplessness so far tonight
16,396 fractal extensions within our tree of love
16,396 heart-shaped strawberries we would pick
16,396 crowded streets I would search to find you
16,396 faces I pass, wishing one of them were you
16,396 drops of rain surrounding us as we embrace
16,396 windows looking out upon the rooftops below
16,396 grains of velvet sand I run through your hands
16,396 holes in my heart that can only be filled by you
16,396 nanoseconds between our connecting thoughts
16,396 loops on this seemingly everlasting rollercoaster
16,396 rays of light extending from my hand-painted sun
16,396 fish in the sea, only one of them worthy of catching
16,396 kilometres of veins & capillaries throughout our bodies
16,396 paintstrokes I mind-numbingly count on the ceiling above
16,396 times I kick myself for not being the person I thought I was
16,396 candles lit in the cathedral, only one of them bright enough
16,396 steps I walked with you up the monumental Parisian landmark

16,396 more lifetimes I would live… just to meet you again.

© 2008 Daniel Schaumann

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What We Would Have Done

In June 2008 I packed my bags and moved from Brisbane to the UK to follow my heart and be with a girl I’d fallen desperately in love with. As amazing as the experience was, unfortunately it didn’t work out, and we inevitably went our separate ways. This is a poem I wrote that expresses what we would have done, if I’d had the opportunity to take her back to my home country and show her some of the breathtaking sights that Australia has to offer:

If romance beckoned, like we sensed with our predestination
If real life offered passion, bliss and fun
If love we’d birthed, across the Earth I’d take you on vacation
If only… this is what we would have done:

We’d spend the day at Byron Bay, the soaring house aglow
We’d walk for miles in the springtime sun
Astoundingly across the sea, the dolphins stage a show
If only… this is what we would have done

The paradisal stretch upon where surfers bear their joy
Percussive skins with bells like beating drums
Synchronic and eurhythmic like a golden girl to boy
If only… this is what we would have done

Stranded on a summer night, the bay of roses bound
The rock is cold, the sweetness pads our tongues
Traverse a thrill atop the hill, above precinctual sounds
If only… this is what we would have done

Amidst the virgin bush we trek, we grace the stream alone
The tree above proclaiming us as one
The water blue, just me and you, a place to call our home
If only… this is what we would have done

Further north we venture now, the tropic impulse starts
Inspires humid zeal within our lungs
The forest green, the beach pristine, adjoining like our hearts
If only… this is what we would have done

The culmination of our time spent in this sacred land
Encompasses a safe, yet stirring plunge
We reach beneath the coral reef, elation, hand in hand
If only… this is what we would have done

So we’d leave behind the frosty vales, the frigid, foggy nights
A source of temperate union we’d become
Living, loving, in Australia, IF I WEREN’T SUCH A FUCKING FAILURE
If only… that was not what I’d become

If only… this is what we would have done.

© 2008 Daniel Schaumann

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