The Wind

Listen to the Wind, it tells a story

Pain brings Suffering, invites Loss

A story of road-way under water

Homes misplaced, Pain embossed


Listen to the Wind, it tells a story

Rain brings Flood in times of Drought

Extremities of sunburnt land

Time thine enemy, Time brings Doubt


Listen to the Wind, it tells a story

Cars on road become boats on stream

Arm reaches out for things heartfelt

Material things left, worth unseen


Listen to the Wind, it tells a story

Communion at hand in times of toil

Strangers, together, salt of the earth

A weathered earth, salt of the soil


Listen to the Wind, it tells a story

Silent whisper waiting gust to come

Like the calm before the storm

Like the sun before tsunami’s thunder


I share extremes of drought and storm

Tragedy cares not for whom it choose

One day I’ll be fighting Flood or Fire

Next, tragic intimacy, shared with you.


Be there no time for absolution

No time left to halt and savour

Plentiful spirit, communal sort

‘Tis the spirit of your neighbour.

Nothing, nil, nought

The air seemed thin, cut with a knife
The night sky much the same
Like a London winter closing in on frozen
Like icicles on a lake

She reached out to touch that sky
But all she could feel was war
Nothing else to reach for
Nothing worth fighting for

That night told her nothing
Aware of no-one, nil and nought
No phone-call, letter or door-bell ring
While young ones sacrificed and fought.

The war reigned on, her young one quiet
She could envision distant fear
A cherished remembrance on a darkened night
Whispering sweet nothings in her ear

Was it his voice that she could hear?
Love’s murmur on a frozen night
A breathless recollection
As she turned out the light.

Poem – One

Walking by the road-way, desolate

Eyes darting, back and forward

The light I saw came from the drawer

I’d opened once before

The tree, the breeze, the leaves, the glow

Knew each other, before any knew of me

The leaves, the breeze, and other trees

Joined their circle, welcomed in for free

To ever-last, the shoulder, past

The arm, out-stretched, to reach

The tree that sprung from life that lasts

Ne’er to fail or to breach

The rules to meet, the guidelines set

To join the party held by tree

And breeze and leaves and glow –

The trickle becomes a stream, a flow

Into which you welcome me

Horizon seen in distance

Rainbow before setting sun

After rain, colors remain

Red, blue, green, yellow

Become one.

Poem – The Ides of May.

The letters, jumbled, words mis-spelt

Letter-head looked wrong

Exchange for others – rightly so,

Like words within a song


Shoulder set, scarring scene

Scarring arm of man

Face reflected, water’s edge

Makes up part of plan


Fresh is the air awaiting me

I feel, I breathe, the air, anew

Words are spelt, correct-ing-ly

Turning page comes into view


Thank God! To be free of care

Afar away, the Ides of May –

Arriving here, I leave fear

Back in yesterday


Back then, concern and troubled times

Circled me all day

‘Round the sphere of influence

They circumnavigate


A faction, out of favour

Efforts, crowded, like a clique

People vote the other way

Searching – they probe and seek


The page, it comes to life

Yet hidden behind painted veil

Feel-good-factor, warmth of glow

Satisfaction – never fail


Gifted, is the velvet touch

Upon the hand I hold

A life beyond what I had known

A life I’m yet to mould


Walk with me in summer’s sun

Stand beside,

Fill glass to brim


You redeem my chance to thrive

On path with you, through life,

I’m him


He who beholds your every move

One foot, two, then three and more

Hair flows, ordained, without decor

The book of love,

I’ve kept, in store.


I saw a star, a sparkle, glint

I opened the book of love –

I’m in’t.


Death slept peacefully all night through

Sky turned black, then to morning hue

Sunrise awakened Death from slumber

Moving close, embracing you


You were the one for whom I felt affection

But Death became a silent kiss

Love, Repentance also seen

Life losing you, now amiss


To win Life back, Sacrifice be found

Grace in support, Abundance lost

Standing distant, on the mound

Care, Compassion, now embossed


Health had turned, gone for good

Gates, heaven-sent, awaited you

Life’s friends assisted, but tall Death stood

You were my passion… – feeling blue.

Poem – ever-rising…

The cicadas, crickets, break the quiet

Along the beach-head, dalliance sown.

I look up at the rocky outcrop, by the beach –

Metropolis, beyond, nature’s own.


The stillness of the night rings true

At dawn, before movement of day.

Holding warm hand, eyes look through,

Hoping against hope to stray, away.


I sit and think and feel and breathe,

Nature over-takes the busy stream –

The rustle of the leaves that fall

Greets cicadas and the breeze.


The wind, the breeze, brings nature’s own,

The bird from window sill follows land –

Hand still warm, we walk along,

Barefoot in the gracious sand.


The sand disappears as high tide comes

A sign of other world, passing by –

The roadway far away, yet close to home –

Overhead is noise of those that fly.


How long can nature, sand, cicada, bird

Protect me from what day must bring?

Will eyes and hands of warmth defeat

What awaits me? Prey, to God, I sing.


A song of sweet, melodic tone –

Angels look down, protect me from

Goodness, last in line to prey –

Confess sins, the soulless, they belong.


The streets now full of who knows what,

Anonymity a strain.

Holding hand, I walk, one step, more,

Anonymity a drain.


Sand is wet, water rushes feet –

Cool breeze, yet warm in little worn –

Feeling shoulder, bare, arm wrapped around –

A smile greeted by another, born.


One wonders if she’ll follow me

Or walk beside, this fateful day –

Distance ignorant of others, near,

Our world dissolves, noise betrays.


Concrete near yet far away

Buildings reach to sky as cold light shines.

Furrowed brow on those with tie,

Lapping water, at feet, mine.


Mine and those of lover, she,

Be greater than world where we reside.

My heart will not be still this day,

Be it low or ever-rising tide.

Poem – I knew too

I knew that I didn't know
What I'd never known 

I didn't know I'd always know
What I'd had in store

I knew you didn't know
What I didn't know 
You knew

I knew I'd always know
You'd never know
What I didn't know - 
Of you

I hadn't known you'd known
I didn't know you knew 
I knew

But I'd always know that
What you knew of me
Was what I knew of you - 

Poem – the pages turn

Comprehension, the mind delays

Thoughtfulness, the mind betrays

Consideration, never sent

Reciprocation, never lent


Affectation, feelings advise

At first sight, the heart does yearn

Remorsefulness, life confirms

Live for today, the pages turn


Ask not what others take for granted

Believe not what others think is real

Know only what one understands

Understand what one can touch, can feel.

Poem – Taxpayer Thomas

Taxpayer Thomas’s wife would be on tenterhooks
Wondering what her husband’s response would be
Would he be dejected, shout and yell
Or would he dance and prance with glee

He’d toil away at a job disliked
To pay his family’s way
So he saw his refund as his hard-earned reward,
‘A reward for my troubles,’ he would say

‘Not just your way,’ his wife would add,
‘But paying for those that cannot work,
Like John & Debbie Tucker,
And poor old Nelson & Mary Burke.’

Tom’s finger pressed against the page,
Against the envelope
Pushed it open, took out the note, and said;
‘S**t, it’s gotta be a joke.’

‘Honey,’ his wife said, excitedly,
‘It’s not like you to be obscene.
What on earth can be wrong?
What can it possibly have been?’

‘Look what they’ve done,’ Tom replied,
‘They’ve added a chart to my refund check.
It tells me where my tax dollars go.
Oh, what the bloody heck?’

By now Tom’s wife was adamant
Her husband had gone quite off his tree.
He hadn’t spoken like this before,
Not since his days at sea.

The chart, it was before him
In colors blue, yellow, red and green.
Twenty-three thousand went on welfare,
He wished he hadn’t seen.

Seventeen billion dollars a year
Went on Disability alone.
He’d seen it in the paper
Yesterday, when he was home.

Tom, (well, the taxpayer in him at least)
Threw the paper to the floor,
And said to himself (as you do);
‘I can’t take it anymore.’

His wife was always careful
To see the other side.
‘How could people less fortunate
Get by,’ she said, she sighed.

‘The welfare system exists for a reason
And we taxpayers pay our share.
But at the end of the day,’ Tom’s wife thought,
‘Someone has to care.’

She quietly put her arm around
Her husband’s shoulder, on a whim.
Gently, surreptitiously,
She knew she could mould him.

Tom’s wife could feel him releasing
All his inhibitions and frustration.
He was no longer concerned, she felt,
About the social welfare of the nation.

At last Tom had come around,
He could see the other side
Until next year (when his refund came again)
And he’d have a hissy fit, and cry.