Please visit Cosmofunnel.com to see my latest offerings, including:-
Please visit Cosmofunnel.com to see my latest offerings, including:-
- Others still to come…
Her sense of solitude
was lost in sunshine’s spring
happiness was humming
with the fun that children bring
In a moment far from anywhere
she jumped into his arms
the tree, so far from where you are
unknown, she sees the calm
That he and her bring to she
cherubic smile of red
caught in her sense of only-ness
before a turn of bed
Quiet in her own surrounds
happy as the flame tree can
the blessing brings a child
made of girl and made of man
She reaches high up to the sky
the branch she’ll almost touch
raised on the farm by stronger arms
that teach her to fight
For what is right, so hard to find
amongst the cloud of day
‘hush’; she says; ‘leave me alone
to walk, to find my way.’
Are these the words I needn’t say?
You say them for me when you pray
You kneel upon a wooden floor
Sit on a bench they call a pew
And talk to those who cannot share
Your presence in the holy room –
Who sacrificed so you could live
And care for those who cannot give
What they receive to those they love –
Who treat them like a waveless shore –
They cannot see you anymore
But where they go there will be care
And one day they will see you there
Yet now, the congregation flows
Singing hymns we all would know
From the hymn sheet given them
And once done, in sight, the choir sings
A hum is heard from those ahead
Then the scriptures will be read
By the Reverend that fine day
And if a Bible you don’t have
No need for you to worry, so –
One will sure be given you
And inside that holy room
Where words are said for me through prayer
I wonder whether I could share
The sentiment being written there.
Built from nothing but botany and earth
A harbour fore, deliverance be true.
Now the best there is, anywhere on earth
Harks of a persona harking back to you.
My family come from Melbourne, don’t you know?
The only one born and bred in town!
When we moved south I had no say at all –
A two-year old, in back seat, bears a frown.
On our return, my smile fast appeared –
Ahhh, the wattle, the humidity and sand.
A blow-up pool in our backyard of cheer
Was where you would find me and my fans.
As years past, Sydney grew to adulthood –
A child that had, now, come of age.
A life of love, forgiveness – yes, I could
Be that man standing on the players’ stage.
I sat there on the House’s stairs, watching them drink –
Vodka looked like water to the naked eye,
Donating funds for those left on the brink –
I fixed my eyes on the harbour’s night-time sky.
I looked from my balcony at night
And saw fireworks – New Year’s still far away –
A picture perfect backyard scene of light
That drew me nearer Southern Cross each day.
Old Sydney Town, I love you with my heart –
My family belong there with the Bridge.
I may move north for a brand new start
But you stay with me – in hindsight, you are it.
I missed you every day I was away,
Frustrated at decisiveness to move.
My mother brought me to your world to stay
And trickling water fountains would disprove
That Old Sydney Town left slow-coaches behind
Only one speed here – fast or you were dead
But your city’s splendour, elsewhere I couldn’t find –
Secluded beaches ‘round the foreshore’s sand I tread.
Under the Bridge I lay, gazing in her eyes
My hand pressed to her palm as we embraced.
Where else is there a park beneath constructed site?
Yet my main attraction was her suntanned face.
The caterpillar and the crane – far away
And the dust gave blue sky a dirty hue.
Please keep the beaches open – don’t betray
The places, splendid, we can all walk to.
Old Sydney Town, I love you now you’re grown
And the waning winter weather waits the sun.
Raise your head with pride at amalgamation’s show –
Out of many we live life as one.
Dance the dance that gives a chance
To come again before the end
Build the build that holds a choice
To feel, to fawn, via the voice
That speaks to you and speaks to me
As I look through glazed window to the sea
That trickles in reflected moon
A place I’ll tend to very soon
Before the store can empty, new
Be one of them, the very few
That sort out disorganised array
And drift so far, a world away
Before they stop and turn and come again
To touch, to tremble, now and then
‘Cos every heart beats faster still
When faced with someone that until
Just recently they never thought
The one true thing that they had sought
Would hold their hand in life’s romance
And walk the walk
And dance the dance.
He slunked down to the ground
He saw a shadow, not his own
“Where have you been?”
She asked him with surprise.
“I’ve been here getting shade
From the baking morning sun.”
The park was empty
But for their huon cries.
“You left me,” she said, scolding him.
“You wanted time alone. Besides,
I wasn’t meant to be there
But by chance.”
“I’m not allowed up to your bedroom –
Remember what happened once before.
It was half past midday,
When she ended our romance…”
“But you left me,” she said a second time,
Forgetting what she really meant to say
Her sleeveless cotton dress
Was on her mind.
She flicked her brown hair past her shoulder
And tilting her head to one side
Her strap fell to her upper arm,
He moved ever closer
Sitting on the grass under the tree
His eyes no longer shaded
In the sun
Had he ever stopped believing?
Was his mind attuned to hers?
Did he think she was, of all the girls,
The noonday sun was getting stronger
Than the morning ever had
They came to share the romance of a kiss
Not since first date memories
Parking by the lakeside in the night
Had he felt something, anything, like this.
May the cotton-dressed brunette
With hair waving in the breeze
Desirous, yearning, wanting him some more
Walk with him from the park
Their eyes set on the light, left on inside
Her apartment, near the pillow
By the window, past the door
He put his finger to his mouth
And told her so quietly to ‘shush’
They spoke a language known only
Ever, unto them.
They spoke a language, reminiscent
Of the first date they’d ever had
They were a blooming flower
Lightly watered, from the stem.
Just started working 9-5 for the first time in a year. Hard to get back to the daily grind after book-writing and poetry. Here’s my take on Week 1, with a bit of satirical humour thrown in for good measure
It feels just like a prison with no bars
Not being used to regimented ways
It appears like a facility for those
Who need some help re-positioning their days
With no card I’m unable to get in
I ring the bell and someone comes to help
It feels like something’s missing from the tree
The bird used whisper happy tunes each morn’
Now no-one whispers anything to me
Is it lunch-time yet? I try hard not to look
At the clock – the more I look the less it turns
Confusion has its place in that first week
How the hell, ever, will I learn?
I sit and think but sometimes I just sit
Do this, do that, in sequence every time
I sit and think but most times I’m amiss
A sour grape dying on the vine
Across the way the grapes are reaping wealth
Their beauty is the essence of the dream
I wish I could attend work by stealth
Nothing’s ever quite the way it seems.
Well, well, well.
I was going to make this blog about emerging authors and how to make the most of your opportunities as a writer but I’ve erred in my mission. I posted a couple of poems of late and you guys seem to have enjoyed reading them so I thought, why not?
Why not keep it up? Why not post more? Why not treat you all to a little bit of what I’ve been up to of late? And I’ve been up to a few things of interest.
The second book is in manuscript form and I’ll drop in to post a few poems from it in the next few weeks. It’s been a real joy developing my poetry into something I think you’ll find to be a little more sophisticated than what you found in ‘Prism’. I’ve even taken to drawing. Faces.
And I’m here to tell you, don’t ever let anyone tell you ‘you can’t’. Can’t draw, can’t paint, can’t write. I used to think drawing was such a difficult task, but then I took a couple of lessons via my good friend Google and, lo and behold, the cartoonish drawings you find here accompanying my poetry have come from none other than yours truly.
See, it can be done. Even Van Gogh took a while to believe in himself.
Walk that extra mile if it means you’ll find belief, for it will set you free – and the world will truly be, colloquially speaking, your oyster.