The Easybeats song ‘Sorry’ carries their sound and our sentiments.


Stevie Wright called it a day

We are sorry.

Every time we hear

The Easybeats play

We will be sorry.

Another has laid down the mike


We are sorry.

Another singer we did like

So we are sorry.

But greater the sorrow

If we did not give thanks

Then we’d be sorry.

If we could not play their recordings tomorrow

Then we’d be sorry.

If we forget music’s gift to our lives

We’d have reason to be sorry.

Music that harmonises our joys and our strives

And helps us

When we feel sorry.

Simon C.J. Falk 29 December 2015


Lazy Hand

Lazy Hand

My handwriting has always been untidy.  Yet I still prefer to write first and then type it up later.  How many of us still like to handwrite drafts first?


Lazy Hand


Lazy hand

On the page


The shortest route

From letter to letter.


My handwriting –

Or scribble –

Was never good.

A spidery script

Over the lines

May better describe

What appears

on the page.


I have been seen


My best squinty stare

In a vain attempt

To decipher

Or decode

A word

I had written.


With the times of typing

Has my lazy hand


Or honed its hazy ways?


It is worse!

As it zigzags


The page.



Simon C.J. Falk 29 December 2015

I Dreamed Santa Saved the Day

I Dreamed Santa Saved the Day


A little fella watched the news,

And saw the images fly,

Of fires and floods and shopping queues,

And stopped and wondered why.


He closed his eyes and imagined hard.

That Santa was by his side.

Then when he told what happened next.

I nearly broke down and cried.


He said to Santa: “This cannot be!

We can’t have all this stuff!

There’s kids having a rotten Christmas!

Enough! I say, enough!”


“Ok” said Santa with a nod,

And a twitch that resembled a wink,

“I’ll fix a scene to give us a prod,

This will make folks think”.


Santa left and went away,

Back to the cold country land,

He harnessed his reindeer on his sleigh,

And gathered his merry band.


He saw the fires in the Land of Oz,

So he galloped to the South Pole,

With teams of penguins and other mobs,

He loaded a blimp through its hole.


Back he came with his load in tow,

And let the bomb bays go!

Out of the blimp came tonnes of snow,

That doused the flames below.


South America was next on course,

As he headed for flooded places,

He replaced his sleighs with pontoons and barges,

With plenty of rescue spaces.


With anacondas as living ropes,

And tapirs as pulling teams,

They saved the people who’d dashed their hopes,

Away from where rivers had burst their seams.


The English Midlands were next in sight,

As he headed round the earth,

He’d give them back their Christmas,

So they could have some mirth.


He gathered the Yorkshire badgers,

And anything that burrows,

They dug almighty ditches and trenches,

And the water went in the furrows.


He galloped off to the lands of war,

With special commando elves,

They took real specialised equipment,

And sorted it themselves.


With candy canes they clogged the barrels

Of all the enemy guns in rows,

They tied up all the terrorists,

And added bowties of Christmas bows.


Then Santa headed to the street,

Of all the world’s great cities,

They gave the hungry plenty to eat,

And sang carols to replace their ditties.


Our little fella could not believe

The sights before his eyes,

Yet it shows humanity can give real gifts,

When it really gets down and tries.


Simon C.J. Falk     27 December 2015










Prone and flat

On the cool lawn,

Verdant verge

Of parkland in inner London.


The bustle and crowd

Just soaking the sun

And feeling held

By the terra turf.




On upper deck

Touching the timbers

Of a vessel

Slowly steaming,

It’s paddle turning,

Upon Mildura waters

Of the Murray River

With birdsong

Harmoniously hovering

Our fore and aft

All sides besides.




In the armchair

Footrest supporting

The weary legs

While fingers fondle

The touchpad

Forming letters

Into words

That punctuate the white space

And continuing the conversation

Between the speaking and the silence

As the words


To rest.



Simon C.J. Falk 26 December 2015



Caved Inn of Light

Caved Inn of Light

This poetry blog, ‘Simon’s Still Stanza’, exists for all kinds of poetry.  At times, because of who I am and the ministry I’m involved in, poems take on a particular tone of religious or spiritual quality.  Christmas is one of those times.  The following poem is meant for younger readers and is a bit of fun. It tries to pick up some ‘Aussie’ ways and is therefore a bit ‘ocker’. What I attempted to do was to take up some of the scene from Joseph’s musing over the story in latter days.

Caved Inn of Light

Well, my name is Joseph,

And you asked me for my view,

So I’ll try and give it ‘Aussie’ style,

Since you do like a yarn or two.


Well we got the summons,

From the city, the big smoke,

It came all the way from the Roman Caesar,

Back then there was no bigger bloke.


So we saddled up the donkey,

Took on water and our swag,

And a made a bee-line to Bethlehem,

Before too much time would lag.


We started in the Galilee hills,

Where wallabies or goats might hang around,

Then made our way over the flatter plains,

Where your kangaroos might stand their ground.


We went across a desert,

Where your scorpions might feel at home,

The winds and sand then blasted us,

We felt so dry and alone.


Finally we rose up to Bethlehem,

It was King David’s stomping ground,

We needed to get a room for the night,

Set off and to see what was around.


We knocked upon the doors of inns

Of B & B’s, hostels and all that stuff,

We couldn’t find a room to fit,

And we’d nearly had enough!


When we thought all was lost,

An innkeeper said: “hang about a tick.”

“We’ve got something a little private,

But you can have it if you’re quick!”


They led us to a cave,

Wherein a bunyip might like to hide,

It was all decked out like a stable,

With their animals set up inside.


I sighed within myself awhile,

And heard myself say “yes”.

Then Mary and I settled in,

To try and sort the mess.


It seems that they used this cave

For livestock in winter time,

It smelled like cows and horses,

Yep, the odour was a little prime.


But we found a little manger,

Just the right size for a kid,

And on the straw that had held a harvest

This is what we did.


We laid my love Mary

On straw that had fed stock,

She gave birth to her little baby,

Who had come to tend the flock.


Later, yes, much later,

When I was no longer present,

That baby grew and taught the flock,

Which some would come to resent.


Then they put an end to him,

On a cross upon a hill,

The shepherd became the butchered lamb,

And few gathered at the kill.


They say we go full circle,

We go back to where we began,

Well, when he died, our fella,

Got put in a cave again!


Blow me down, after a few of our sleeps,

They told me that he rose to life anew,

He went back with his mates to Galilee,

So their mission he could renew.


I’m back at the cave again,

I can hardly leave that place,

For in the glow of the firelight,

The light of the world shone on his face.


He was the shining light for many years,

As he helped me make and mend,

The pride and joy of his mother’s eyes,

And towards wisdom did he tend.


You may say this is just legend,

That I’m spinning you some bull,

You bet mate! This is real legend,

Of a life lived to the full.


So when gathered round the fireplace,

And you see light upon a face,

Remember the light on a kid in manger,

Who’s our light of the world and gift of grace.



Simon C.J. Falk 22 December 2015




Poems that Emerge

Poems that Emerge


I cannot force a poem. They just seem to arise in me when I do not expect them to come. It is as if I am some kind of steward, tending to them, waiting on them, and handing them on.


Poems that Emerge


They come ashore to us,

They come from who knows where.

They come and set up court with us,

They are here and come from there.


But glad we are that they arrive,

That they come and enter in.

We cannot force their forming as we strive,

Yet they appear to arise from within.


These verses come to be our guest,

And we but welcome them such.

We steward them and they do the rest,

And we so cherish them much.


We give thanks for poetic words set free,

That come from our pencil and pen.

We feel their loss when they are not around,

And welcome their return again.



Simon C.J. Falk   13 December 2015



In the wake of those stricken by suicide.  If this raises concerns for you, or for one whom you love, seek assistance now.  Australia ; USA  ; Canada  .  Or check where you live.




You were.




No longer here.

The dance of dark and light,

Padding within,

Has come to

It’s zenith;


To is plummet.

The darkness has cloaked you,

And the light

Has gone.

Except for a glimmer

That we grasp in memory,

Holding it in our hands,


It too

Is gone.

Were you freed

As you crossed

That final breach?

Or was it a sudden last jab

Or pain?

Then did you rise?

Like a raptor aloft,

Away from the soil of your sorrow?

Do you now feel pain?

Or a new one,

As you witness the wake,

The grief,

Of the remnant

Who mourn the loss,

your passing

From their midst?

In their lives now

You’ve left.

And left, yes,

A capacious hole,

Like the cold fissure

Of a crevasse,

Deep, sharp, biting and

Dark at its bottom.

As the pain left you

It alighted

On those who love you,

Who miss you.

The hurt is not gone,

Just transferred to others

Now needing,

Oh yes, needing much,

To do the healing

That needs to be done.



May the dance of light

Leap over the shadows.

May its rays bring a new warmth

To the cold hurt.

And may those who remain

Catch the light

To illumine their pain.

And may that light,

Ever so bright and warm,

As it animates them,

Shine forth.

And may it beam so brightly

That it goes to you

And completes the cycle.


This time,

Encircling your darkness in its ray,

That you may become

A star shining,

A beacon of peace,


The darkness




Simon C.J. Falk   13 December 2015

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