Eumundi

I felt relieved I was no longer

On the freeway. Happy, too, that I’d left

Traffic lights behind.

In two hours I’d gone from a gold coast

To adventure. The sunshine was my GPS –

I’d peeled away life’s rind.

 

‘We love our kids, we love our town, please slow down’

Read the sign. And why not? Why would one

Speed or race?

 

“Merry Christmas,” June said to Diane, walking by –

No ‘happy holidays’ in this small but vibrant town.

“To you and yours,” Diane replied, her smile growing

With good cheer.

“See you at the Markets,” as she shared

Her happy face.

 

The children played in the park – their parents

Watching on. Oh, the joy that supervision gave

When not designed for safety’s sake alone.

 

As children slipped down the slope, swung on the swing

And enjoyed the honest fun of everything,

Not one could be seen texting, talking,

On the phone.

 

And as the clock hit ten am, the doors of the local

Were heard to be unlocked, and patrons wished the best of times

To those they’d come to know so well –

For whom they’re better half had given

Christmas prawns without the shell

 

And for whom they’d shout across the bar;

“Hey, Paul, can you shout out a cheer

For a thirsty traveller off the road

Who needs a full-strength beer.”

 

The sky cried everywhere but here –

The sun rose and shone and rose again

A smile returned by those who knew tomorrow’s sky was blue.

A home away from home – I did much more than travel through.

White – the ‘blush’ of new beginnings

Some say we must experience loss before we can truly love another. If that’s true then the two go hand in glove, like a picture in a puzzle, like the final piece of that uncompleted jigsaw. Like the face without a frown, like the red nose on the clown.

The two sit there, ever so quiet, one chair for each as the moon shines and the stars are seen in the brightest night.

“I love you,” he says to his sweetest, holding her soft hand.

“Me too,” she replies, blushing, rushing to maintain a semblance of what is real.

But this is real – now – the only real thing to her is him: a life lived with him beside her, and within.

She lived a life of solitude until then – a life never to be in solitude again. For tomorrow is the beginning of a life ‘conjoined’: brought together, forever and until…

Grey – the colour of compromise

Compromise lives in uncertainty’s world: a sense of not knowing what path one should take: to look forward with a smile or back with a solemn frown.

Who’ll guide me, who will listen? Does anybody care? I look left, I look right: is anybody there?

Trudging through the mud each day, after rain: its heaviest of all. I shout out to a shadow – hear my call! I just want that shadow to hear my voice, to listen and accept. The first to accept my point of view is my best chance yet…

Of finding my way to the whiter side of grey. I face many bends in the road that lies ahead. Yet find my way I will and I’ll live to love again. The road ahead’s the ‘whitest’ road I’ve seen.

Black -the symbol of grief

A sense of losing what, once, was held so dear: what, once, was held so close to the heart. Oh, how to live, to begin again: to start to feel life hasn’t ended yet?

But how to leave this path of loneliness? How to see a bright light shining through? How can one love again after such a loss: how can one put aside the memory of you?

Yet memories need not be e’er forgotten: they are as much a part of our soul as of our heart. Without cherished memories, what is life to us but an empty, shallow chasm filled with dust?

Happy New Year!

A bit late, I know – but better late than never, as they say.

I hope you all had a good break over the Christmas (okay, the ‘holiday’) period and didn’t overdo it on New Year’s Eve. I happen to come from the best harbour the world can offer and every year it makes the top city list for NYE fireworks. Google ‘Sydney New Year’s’ and you’ll see what I mean.

I went to a little town called Eumundi just before Christmas to talk poetry and came across a couple of people I’ll remember always. A little ten year-old girl named ‘Charlotte’ came up to me with my book, ‘Prism’ and said:

“Can you sign this for me please?”

She was on holidays and told me she’s taught poetry at school. I was so pleased! I didn’t know they still taught poetry at school. There’s hope for us literati-types after all.

Soon after, an attractive young woman named ‘Nicole’ came over to me and said she was looking for the poetry workshop. We had a chat about verse and lyrics, poetry and song-writing for about an hour. Out came her notebook and, with pen at the ready, she started writing. I hope she got something out of our little chat. “Vibrant,” she called it.

And so here I am – back on WordPress after a family break and another wonderfully merry Christmas.

Welcome to you all! I hope 2017 is full of well-written fables and famous phrases.

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