Love more than life

Love more than life
Tears over rain
Laughter stronger than stress  –
the weaker strain

Smile brighter
Than eye’s refrain
Arms outstretched
To face the sun

Heart so sore –
Creates a shroud
What can I do –
Who can I hold –
Where can I stand
To void the cloud

When I see the tears that fall
I think I know her not at all
Yet when I feel her touch my hand
I feel us walking on the sand

A new brand – or old one re-jigged
Arm ‘round shoulder as we stand
See laughter, tears and smiles through

You are my boat –
And I your crew.

Forever in between

It matters not how hard or harrow
The hindrance that I hold
But how soft and purely supple
The helping hand I doth extol

The caressing care known as compassion
Opens the door to grace
Forever in between
Comparing looks upon the face

It matters not how rough the gaze
How tough the buccaneer
Believe him when he tells you;
Want for her when you doth hear

The sound of songbirds singing
a school chirping from the sky
Witness strength in one’s illusion –
The white breeze (or red?) will knoweth why

Flapping e’er so slightly
When care is on the rise
Deluding e’er so lightly
As the sun says his goodbye.

The hallowed vest

To reach toward the pyramid
Atop the burning light
E’er thrust and run and tally –
The trepid traveller’s flight

To be void of divinity –
Subtracted from the sun
Brightness dwindles as time allows
And peddles thoughts still young

Sounding like an orchestra –
The music sung by one
Though whispering – a baritone
Transcends the gathered throng

Who listen to the music
As if they hear Him still
Waiting the day the christened ground
Shares its ingress with some

Relieve one of their wherewithal
Comparison attests
The one atop the pyramid
Wears the hallowed vest.

Travails with a conscience

It came from far away

And nestled nearer home

All the while beside me

From birth to when I’d grown

 

My travails with a conscience lay

Still active – I had known

It came from far away –

Perched by my very own

 

And every time I saw her

She looked peaceful –

Like the sand

Reaching out from yonder

Saying; Come, now –

Hold my hand

 

Whenever I would touch her

She’d shiver – as if scared

I’d think, again, and wonder

Whether storm-clouds over there

 

Would rain on the parade

That had gathered, with the band

Yet my travails, with a conscience

Would reach out, and hold my hand

Please slow down

Sometimes we move so fast that life just can’t keep up with us. Always running, faster, harder, to get to that next meeting, that next doctor’s appointment, to be there for our loved ones or to pick our children up from school. When can we ever find the time to just slow down?

Recently I was in a town in Queensland, Australia, called Eumundi. The picture that you see with this publication was taken as I entered the town. The town itself was like returning to the 1950’s. I don’t say that in a bad way but rather an affectionate way, for I’d jump in the car to go to Eumundi again tomorrow – if only I could find the time.

Time. Have you ever tried taking your watch off and judging the time by the sun? In days gone by that’s exactly what people would do. The only clock was the one in the Town Centre on the Clocktower. Otherwise, the sun would tell those of yore that it was time. Even today, I’m sure some of those we hold dear judge time the very same way. Take my dog, for instance.

Needless to say she knows when it’s time for breakfast ‘cos the sun’s up. She knows it’s time for a walk ‘cos breakfast is over. She knows it’s lunch-time ‘cos the sun is strong, and the shade in the backyard has moved ever so slightly. And, most importantly, she knows when it’s dinner-time, for the sun is getting ready to set. As it falls dark she knows the day is over and it’s time to rest.

But we keep moving at a hundred miles an hour, failing to take in the beauty of the day, the sunset’s rich colour, and the bay of sparkling water with moored boats that we pass on our way home from work. When did we get ahead of ourselves?

Does it make you wonder how we ever survived without those gadgets we use to divert our attention from impending boredom? Do you ever stop to think we seem to be heading in the direction of ‘losing time’ for ‘sitting and thinking’, as rare as it might be, has taken over from, well, just ‘sitting’. So we turn to our gadget. Each and every day when I try and find the time for a bite to eat, I walk up the street and see people walking toward me, head down, hand around their gadget, checking their latest text message, or looking at their latest photo sent from a friend they used to catch up with most weekends at the bar but now – yes, you guessed it – just don’t seem to be able to find the time for.

One time it so happened I was in a Shopping Centre and the girl walking near me was walking toward a water fountain, her head down attending to her gadget. She kept walking far enough that she fell right into that water fountain, her dress soaking wet, and another shopper bringing her shoes to her that had been floating around the other side. Luckily, no harm came to her that day. Nor did it come to the young man who tripped and fell on the sidewalk near the CBD because he was too busy texting to look up and face the day.

Every day I try and wake up, pull the curtains, look at the woman beside me, and then look out the window at the sun shining, as if to say; ‘Good morning’ and then I stare at the palm tree in the front yard and, to use a colloquial expression, thank my lucky stars for being a part of the day that lies ahead of me.

After all, we love our kids, we love our town – let’s slow down.

NB: First published on https://mytrendingstories.com/admin/publications/article/26423/ 

the path less travelled…

He rose above the helpless throng
He was only one among a crowd
He heard a calling, 'twas a song
Timely, he could not disregard

You've come to me for rationale
You've come to me for saviour
No-one else can take the stand
You've come to me, the one you favour

The steps on which we stagger
From one level to the next
Like climbing up the corporate ladder
Feeling e'er, between, betwixt

The next step up he could not see
The frond led him to the money tree
Ladder of wealth, mendacity
The pathway opened unto me

Who and what and where we were
Why and how we hit upon
Invited, I failed to confer
I took the path less travelled on

Night-time

Night-time wouldn’t show itself

Until Sunshine moved away

Like a road-way that disappears in flood

Like a child who will stray

 

Night-time hid away God knows where

Like a sock hides in a shoe

Not wanting to come out and play

Like when I played hide and seek with you

 

The pages turned as Sunshine faded

Sunset became the star

New chapter aglow, best time of day

People came from near and far

 

To hear and see the sweetness, cheer

Sunset brought to all

Listening for the climax

That would entice, enthrall

 

Sunset’s colours made the day

Surely to behold

Night-time felt alone, left out

Dark, upset, anxious, lonely, old.

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.

I write best when…

I’m a member of the Facebook Poetry Society.

Recently, I found a post entitled, ‘I write best when…’ It was fascinating, to say the least, and at last check 146 people had replied, including ‘yours truly’.

Some posts said such things as;

I write best when…

  • I am angry, upset and frustrated
  • drunk
  • emotional
  • alone

I wrote that I write best when I am “inspired.” And then I added;

“usually last thing at night before I go to sleep or first thing in the morning when I wake up.”

In both cases, it tends to occur when I’m in bed. I wonder why that is?

The funny thing is, writing doesn’t seem to be a 9 to 5 profession. The fact most of us are required to support our writing with another job that pays the bills could have an effect on that. And this is backed up by those people who replied to the Facebook Poetry Society’s post. The one’s I quoted responded at:-

6.34pm

10.33pm

10.37pm, and

5.43am

So why do we write? I bet I’d get all sorts of answers from those writers on WordPress. And that is only to be expected. There are as many varieties of writing styles as there would be answers. Some, like me, delve into poetry. Some writers prefer biographies, military history, romance novels, horror, science fiction, the list goes on.

The beauty is we can all get together in writing groups and share each other’s experiences. We can join groups on Facebook and be introduced to other writers, or even via Twitter, WordPress, Tumblr and so on.

I’ve never been a social media ‘mogul’. Yet, after writing ‘Prism – an anthology’ (http://www.zeus-publications.com/prism%20-%20an%20anthology.htm) and having it published, I was told;

“you must be on social media.”

So, I ‘took the plunge’ and joined Facebook, Twitter, LinkedIn, and other social media sites. And, lo and behold, Facebook has led me to a friend from university I hadn’t spoken to in twenty-five years. Imagine! I never for one moment thought I would make contact with her again, but I am so pleased that I did. We haven’t met, as she lives in Sydney and I’m on the Gold Coast, but our infrequent chats via Messenger have added a little something to my life. Almost like it has connected the present with the past.

Yet it doesn’t stop there. Facebook has also introduced me to a friend of mine from school days. I went through school with this man from Year 7 to Year 12 and now we have made contact once more. We share similar political views and it has been through a group on Facebook that I found his name. Once again, connecting the present with the past.

My university pal directed me to a friend of hers, now one of my Facebook friends. We chatted the other day about writing, the passion involved, and how she would write stories in the back of her notebook while in class at school such was her attachment to the written word. It seems her future story was already written for her before she’d even started the manuscript.

She is a screenwriter now, a very difficult form of writing, to be sure.

All this proves is that our ‘obsession’ if you like is clearly not a 9-5 obsession but a passion that lasts all day, all week, all of our wonderfully creative life.

It also proves that what I had previously disregarded as ‘trivial’, social media, is now the main way I connect with other writers.

You can too – you probably already do! And by doing so we’re making a vast planet smaller with every new contact from New York, Sydney, London, Lagos and beyond.