And If I Didn’t Want to Leave?

Jackson Machado



I found a magnificent place today. Away a magnificent mile.
A place without hustle, and certainly without bustle.
A place with a warm green smile.
Birds own the loch, and birds own the land,
Bugs buzz beautifully in bushes overgrown and over green.
Me on my own, with nature my throne.
It’s as if I can breathe for a while.



Oh Journal, oh Journal. For this place, my love’s eternal.
You know what I did today?
I sat. I sat on a rock. I sat on a rock and I drew.
I drew animals like ducks and animals like finches. Fish of all colours with fins of all inches.
I leaned over the side (of the lake) and I SWORE I saw the universe in that thing.
Admittedly however, it wasn’t the cleanest.
The water’s murky, as is to be expected. Leave nature to the job and cleanliness is rejected.
But with a sweep over here and polish over there
I dare the place’ll fresh,
with some upkeep and some care.



Oh hell with today, it was a tough day.
Been worked to the bone which now I can say.
Sweeping the leaves and yucky dust astray,
Only to find they were still in my way.
Where to dispose of this piled decay?
Why into the lake, for the fish to play!
But return in the yonder and on the lake lay –
The same mucky spores of veget-decay.
Sit now I ponder on something that may
claim all that yucky and wash it away.



Ahh but look here, the water runs clear!
I did it Journal! I figured it out! Modern Solutions for Nature’s Pollutions.
I installed a drain! Several in fact, all around our lovely lake,
skimming and scamming the dust at the crust.
But what do my shoes do when I take a step?
They slip at the seams and the dirt my head sees!
Genius-Modern-Thinking-Time, Genius-Modern-Thinking-Time – a grate about the drain! The idea so plain it struck me insane.

And now Journal, I sit atop the green.
Looking out at the work I’ve done. The lake thanks me clean and the birds thank me safe.
But the renovation bug has not yet left my side – I have plans you see – let me take your mind a-ride.
Cute little fences and cat-backed bridges, happy little benches and paths up the ridges.
This place could be safer yet. Leave it to me, and a park you will get.



Oh, the work of a modern wanderer.
A job is never quite over, ‘tis true.
I worked into the night, my hands red raw.
So today I installed beamers, lamps, shines.
They ping at dusk – eureka – like a charm.
Between hammers and digs, I scan the lake.
My eyes don’t deceive me. The lake is less of fish…
Ahh, weeding of the weak, death by season.
Alas I survive, spurred by a purpose.
Oh, the work of a modern wanderer.



And if I didn’t want to leave? Hmm, what would that achieve?
Not much I suppose – but take a weekend.
Maybe a Sunday. The sabbath of rest, Godly day, fun-day.
Hmm, what would I need? The lake’s a nice look, but there isn’t really much to do.
Hmm, I guess I could read? I love a good book, but that’s still not a thing to do.
I want to jump, and I want to ride.
I want to lunge, and I want to thrive.
I want to exercise.
Genius-Modern-Thinking-Time, Genius-Modern-Thinking-Time – and look at me go!
I’ll install exercise stations all around the lake! For crunching and pushing and heart health and sake.
With info and how-to for others that share
A love for the moving over here and over there.
A court perhaps! For swinging, and netting, and stuff.
A field for the use of sportings, and tacklings, and roughs.
And for the children a playground, on some sand and with a fence.
And for the knowledge types – some facts, of animals and their events.
And after all that exercise you’ll bet you’ll be hungry. So give you I do: barbecues…
with benches…
in gazebos…





I don’t know how to explain it… Deep bubbling and gurgling.
I was at the park, wandering upon the Wood splitting rolling pathways I laid Crash upon the sprawling Fish turn white green dunes. Tracing Sizzling moist leaves the lakefront on Beetles with no legs the concrete roadmap my own mind Smoky and hands plotted with the Birds butting trees time and Hot fish fish are hot. Effort only nature Herself could comprehend. Wood falling. Feet pottering on A dark sky my pretty bridges, Beetles with no wings and eyes dwelling on A dark sky Her doddery flora –
The sky went red.
Then the sky went dark.
Then the ground went red,
Killing all life in the park.

Jackson is a second year Fine Arts Creative Writing student, resident Game Changer, and former Community Committee Captain.

Follow him on Instagram and at deku.eku and encourage him to continue (because that’s really all he’s looking for).