The Body

The Body
This poem is dedicated to all of us who live more in our heads and analysis of life.  For those of us who can read books and yet struggle to read the signs our bodies point out to us.  

The Body

The body

Holds

Its pains,

Its perturbed positions,

In its own way.

Way

With a language

All its own.

Oh, if I

Could but

Decipher the details,

Crack the code,

Learn to read

The rhythms

And writhing,

The aches

And the pains.

The body tells us

When enough’s enough.  

As our energy ebbs

Eyelids drop

And limbs flop

And we

We enter

An

Involuntary

Rest.

Still.

Yes, still

We become.

And yet

We are still

Becoming

To know

What our body says

To us.

Simon C.J. Falk 30 September 2015

An Incoming Tide

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Picture: Peering through trees to Merimbula Lake

An Incoming Tide

It was my privilege and delight to have served, at different intervals of time, in both Bega and Pambula Parishes.  Both of them celebrate 150 years this year.  I am unable to attend either of the celebrations.  A truly beautiful part of this State of New South Wales, our family had holidayed there at times.  Later I would work there.  Part of me will always feel a yearning to be there. So, while I was adrift on a sea of memories, impressions and feelings, a poem emerged.  It is included here.

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Picture: Snug Cove at Eden

An Incoming Tide

An incoming tide

Of gratitude

Laps

Upon the shore

Of my thankful heart.

Hearing the news of 150 years

Fell upon me

A wistful haze

And then

A start!

Speak, I must

Of tidings,

Wishes to folks

Friends and others,

Who dwell upon

Meadows and hills,

Crags and beaches,

Or points and rocky ramparts,

That keep watch,

Over billowing seas.

Ah, the mighty Bega Valley

And Sapphire Coast.

Jewel that glints

And glistens,

In the eye

Of everyone who has seen it,

Felt it,

And breathed

The briny air.

And where it has

Taken them.

Taken them

It has.

To a place within,

Where a little piece of coast

Has settled in the heart.

And,

If one listens,

They can hear the reverberations,

The swirling sound,

Like a sea in a shell,

Stirring the caverns

Of our inner selves,

Keeping always a little current

Of this valley and coast

inside.

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Picture: looking up the wending Yowaka River

Simon C.J. Falk           23 September 2015

Terrible Two

Terrible Two

The wonderful blog, Interesting Literature, has a post on Kipling. Which reminds me of one of my favourite poems of all time, If.  As I celebrate two years of an amateur poetry blog I’m very happy to do so in paying  tribute to other great bloggers and inspiring poets like Kipling. Thanks to those who have been part of the journey .

Terrible Two

Well howdy do

I open my app

And they tell me I’m two!

I’ve been with WordPress

More than a few

Months,

Have passed,

And verses

Came to pass

From my pen,

And,

From others too.

Oh, what fun it has been

On the way to two!
Simon C.J. Falk  17 September 2015

There Was a Mob of Kangaroos

There Was a Mob of Kangaroos


Driving between towns last week I came upon this scene.  There was no opportunity for a photo.  The impression remained with me until a moment when a poem was able to emerge.


There Was a Mob of Kangaroos

There was a mob of kangaroos,

As I left fields of canola gold,

These macropods stood tall and bold,

Under eucalypts with boughs so old.

Those rugged trees on a rugged road,

Had sheltered many a storm or shine,

And as the furry critters moved aside,

I drove beside the line.

In Australian twilight these natural sights,

Are coated in a saffron glow,

They dim our days into restful nights,

And of a beauty we come to know.

So often I’ve come upon a pastoral scene,

With no camera to ‘freeze the frame’,

But the splendour seen where I have been,

Creates a memory just the same.

Simon C.J. Falk 15 September 2015 

Distracted

Distracted

Australian politicians have maneuvered another leadership spill in recent days.  5 Prime Ministers in 5 years.  They wax about financial capital, while our social and cultural capital continues to break down.  Some of us are just over it.

Distracted

Distracted.

So easily

We are

Drawn away,

Our attention spans

Shrunk

By the squash and squeeze

Of

Passing data,

Data,

Data.

In it all

Might we miss

Some of the cries?

Of Syrians

Flowing like a haemorrhage

From their homeland,

Of families forced to

Flee home

Even here,

As the spectre

Of domestic violence

Shatters their serenity.

But,

We concocted, clever

Aren’t we?!

A heady cocktail

Of fluff and fizz,

As Australian politics

Lobs a #libspill

Into the lounge room.

Fanciers,

Taken by its offering,

Chase the red herring

from the reality of life.

Meanwhile

More

Homes house hurt,

Refugees run for asylum,

And,

Back home,

Weathered women and men

Sit –

On asphalts and pavements,

Hair-dressed by fingered grim

– And hand

Copies of ‘The Big Issue

To random passers-by

In all

Our major cities.

As each new day dawns,

Another

Contemplates suicide,

Yet another convulses –

‘amphetam-iced’ in emergency

– while a phalanx of staff

struggle to restrain the high.

We dissect none

Of these.

For our prime-time news

Dishes up #libspill,

And

The indigestion

Has riven our guts

In the place

Where compassion

Is felt.

Simon C.J. Falk 15 September 2015