far horizon

Butterfly in shimmering light,

Garden blooming in new season.

Kookaburra, sitting, soulful –

Poignant is the far horizon.

Orchid flowers, life awakens,

The day grows ever longer.

Shadows present,

Sunshine alightens,

Prodigious is her effort, action.

Human in kind,

Love we find

In simple, pleasant things.

Far horizon, ever closer,

Droplets they descend.

Life, we wish to never end,

The day draws near,

We transcend.

side by side

The World reached out its hands to

Accept those of less fortune in it.

The bridge provided passage to

Cater for the huddled masses.

They came from far,

They came from wide,

To beat the rising tide.

With humility and honour

Climbing the mountain, side by side.

A borrower nor a lender be

Espouse belief it can be done.

A winner one, a winner all,

Believe it will be won.

Traverse the mountain-top,

Traverse the far horizon.

The valley leads to that mountain-top

Whence one receives their prize on.

That prize be freedom,

That prize be life,

A new one, to be sure,

Whence one will strive for happiness,

And leave behind their poor

Beginnings in the World, now with outstretched hands

To accept those of less fortune in it,

Who came from far ‘way lands.

Lands of the poor,

Lands of the lost.

Their path is with dignity and pride,

From valleys, climbing slowly,

Surely, side by side.

Traverse the mountain-top,

Traverse the far horizon.

Set foot on that mountain-top

Whence one receives their prize on.

the Fire Chief…

The Fire Chief relaxed

As he sat down in his chair

He’d just come home from watching his son play soccer

“I can’t believe it,” he cried aloud, with a touch of flair

“My bloody son has had another shocker.”

“That boy,” he said, “I trained him,

Took him up the park

To play, and kick, and catch all day long.

It never sunk into him that foot went before the ball,

I always knew that there was something wrong.”

The Fire Chief, he reclined in chair

Good and bloody proper

Before he heard a siren near

Too late for him to stop ‘her.’

Brring, brring, it went, brring, brring again

The red phone woke him from his slumber

Realising his wife was not at home

He hoped ’twas a wrong number

“Alright, I’m coming,” he shouted at the phone

Knowing no-one could hear him.

But the phone went dead, “Damn it,” he said

“Bugger, Jesus, f_ck ‘im.”

The Fire Chief’s face had turned a frown

He now knew somethin’ wasn’t right

“Another bloody summer,” he thought

“They’ll need me there to fight.”

So the Chief hopped in his car that sunny day

And whizzed down the main street playing

‘Jerusalem’ on his radio

As he thought his villagers weren’t staying.

“Shit. There’s a fire in my village,”

He could see the burning embers

I must get down to help,” he cried

“Or it’ll be like last September.”

‘If I don’t take charge the villagers

Will think; ‘Where was our Fire Chief that day?’

And I’ll live to regret it,

I may as well just walk away.”

“Johnny, tell the villagers I’m on my way

To save them from their grief.”

“What’s that? You can’t hear me?

For God’s sake man, it is your Fire Chief.”

Watch and act alerts were now

Being posted on TV stations

Stay if you must, leave if you can

As the villagers lost their patience.

Arriving in t-shirt and shorts

The Fire Chief made a dash

For the change rooms where he soon got dressed

Ready for the ‘bash and crash.’

The Fire Chief was now in charge

Dressed in Fire garb

“Let’s work as a team

To save villagers’ homes,” he roared

“Like those of George and Debbie, Bill and Barb.”

As the day progressed, the bushfire

Attracted TV in all its glory

They’d come with newscasters galore

To create a big news story.

“I could be a star,” the Fire Chief thought

“It’ll be my fifteen minutes of fame.

I must get an interview with Seven, Nine and Ten

Before the fire starts to wane.”

“Fire Chief,” the stations asked him,

“What next for the red embers?”

“We’ll fight the good fight, toil through Hell we might

So we don’t revisit Red September.”

“Ahhh, yes, Fire Chief, that was Hell-ish for sure

We lost a few that day.”

“But think back further, to times of yore

And all we could do was pray.”

As Fire Chief stood, tall and straight

Talking to reporters

His team put out the fire, ‘Hoo-ray’

Giving not a quarter.

So the fire waned, saved by the bell

The Fire Chief’s team were fearless.

“Fire Chief, you’ve done well,” the networks said,

“Your efforts have been peerless.”

The Fire Chief said; “Thank you Holy Father,

Thank you Jesus Bloody Christ.

Now I can have a beer,

Better still, make it whisky, and bloody-well on ice.”

He’d saved the villagers after all (or so he thought)

His wife, she was so proud.

But that whisky, “One’s fine, maybe two,”

Any more she’d not allow.

The Fire Chief took all the credit,

His face appeared nation-wide.

He ‘thumped his chest’

“Man, I’m the best.”

Yes, he suffered from false pride.

Brring, brring, brring brring, The phone rang,

This time the private line.

“Fire Chief, is that you? It’s the PM here.

What’s that old man? Oh, I’m fine.”

“We want to share our love around

And throw your villagers buckets of money.

A hundred million, maybe more.

What? A joke? Man, this ain’t funny!”

“I’ll be making an announcement on Seven, Nine and Ten

That my government will spend a hundred mill

When will we disburse it you say? I know not when,

But my binding promise is to say we will.”

The long hot summer, well, it cooled

Global warming had failed the nation

The whole episode, the villagers thought

Had been one bloody big sensation.

freedom

Freedom stood upon the mountain top, to view the rising sun,

That day he felt happy walking tall and straight.

The sun brought warmth to the travails of His fight,

A fight He’d surely ne’er for granted take.

Freedom looked down toward the villagers.

Within their village many roamed carefree.

But unlike Freedom, they were unaware

What they could think and feel, they could not see.

Yet Correctness could be seen by villagers that day

Spreading the word that Freedom was a danger.

“We must reign in our freedoms,” Correctness was heard to say,

“And be careful ne’er to share with perfect strangers.”

“Oh, my! Correctness is a foolish man. He’ll cause my village certain strife,”

Said Freedom as he strolled down the mountain top.

“We must maintain our right to congregate, to speak our minds,

Or otherwise our freedoms we’ll allot.”

As Correctness walked and talked that day a grey cloud above him stayed

Wherever he went the cloud would surely follow.

“It’s a sure sign of danger looming, of our freedoms taken back,”

Said Freedom, starting to flounder, lurch and wallow.

“You have no right to talk the truth, to speak ill of others,

You have no right to say what you truly think.

You cannot harm feelings of those you consider less than brothers

Or our village’s morality will sink.”

Freedom was losing patience with Correctness,

As the cloud over the latter moved away

Villagers nodded “yes, Correctness, yes, I do believe

One should not speak ill, one surely shouldn’t stray.”

But Freedom thought this madness, foolishness and folly,

“We’ll all be ruined if you follow through.

Our liberal village will put asunder, and then we’ll all be sorry

A Silent Order we’ll become, our free land lost to me and you.”

Freedom or Correctness, who will win the day?

It all depends who you listen to.

The first one on the podium will be the one to spread the word,

They’ll be the first one and they’ll be the last one heard.

Let the villagers hope it’s Freedom, for they ought to cherish these,

So many villages have none of their own.

The right to speak their mind, a right through all their live long years

Is a right to be encouraged, to be sown.

 

from Prism – an anthology – a collection of poetry, published November 2016

Oh ye

Oh ye of little faith

Where has hope gone?

A smile doth be lost

Now only wan.

Is that all ye can stir

This full, bright day?

There must be more whence it came

To satisfy one’s love, come what may.

For without belief one’s hope is lost for good

Forever, now one’s faith be gone

And ye be destined to live alone anon.

The only hope is to begin anew

In which case hope, faith and belief will brew,

But charity in absentia remains,

For now there is no need.

On this full, bright day ye will see the sun

To allow us once more to love as one.

tomorrow…

We remember the past,
Live through the present
And wonder about the future.

Life's been full of challenges
We've settled for what's expected,
Whilst we hope our future brings belief 
In special things, reflected.

The wonders of a world unknown,
The emotion of a feeling grown,
The excitement of achievement sown.
These are but some of those special things.

Enlightenment to what once was dark
The future may at times seem stark,
But with you in it we shine bright
Like a glistening star on a moonlit night.

the eyes of man

What do we see through the eyes of man?

The sun shining bright on a summer’s day

Or the dark grey storm-clouds of winter?

What do we see through the eyes of man?

The beauty of youth in a red dress

Or the empathy of ageing in a wheelchair?

What do we see through the eyes of man?

The stupidity of ignorance in those who know it all

Or the well-utilised knowledge of those who want to learn?

What do we see through the eyes of man?

The arrogance of a man who knows no better

Or the humility of a woman who compliments others?

What do we see through the eyes of man?

The stupidity of a bureaucrat who builds a kingdom through procedure

Or the spirit of an entrepreneur building his kingdom through invention?

What do we see through the eyes of man?

Regret for past mistakes that encapsulate our life

Or the promise of the future where trust and faith abound?

What do we see through the eyes of man?

The sun shining ever brighter, even in winter

Or dark clouds surrounding our thunderous end?

What do we see through the eyes of man?

Is it death, destruction and dissatisfaction

Or does life, belief and hope truly spring eternal?