The Silence Before the Break of Ocean Waves

The Silence Before the Break of Ocean Waves

The silence before the break

The pause preceding

The fall of foam

The measured metre

Of the ocean’s tide

Knows its own rhythm.

Gathering itself

A quiet moment

Then

Crash!

Upon the sandy shore

And solid stones.

Even the great force of the sea

Poises its posture

Gathers itself

Before passing on.

Were we

To do the same –

Gather ourselves

Pause to inhale

Prior to crashing

Ourselves upon

The new task

Or person –

Might our rhythm

Then be

Different

Like the measured metre

Of the ocean

Synchronising sound

Gathering 

before launching

A lesson for us.

Simon C.J. Falk 30 January 2017

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Words Wafting

Words Wafting

We can be weary under the weight of words.  They shift in meaning from time to time. Many of us employ ‘sentence-fillers’ when tired or have a lot on our minds – “like… you know…maybe… kind of…”.  I do it myself. Some words vary in contexts.  For example, “hang” can be shorthand for “hang about, around or out”.  In another context, “hang” can refer to a tragic means of death of a dear one and the shorthand use creates a misunderstanding. This poem is a cheeky shot at words that just roll off our tongues.

Words Wafting

Words wafting

away from the mouth,

dribbling

a half thinking

public-speak,

in attempt

to appear

robust

and transparent,

to

h

  a

    n

      g

as sentence-fillers.

You know,

Like,

in awesome

epic

bites

of

sound jargon,

coded

just for us.

Cheers!

 

 

Simon C.J. Falk 28 January 2017

Disconnected

Disconnected

Whether on the wordpress feed, the workplace, or among friends, people disappear for a while.  At times it is tragic.  At others, it’s just the complexity and busyness of life that means we see or hear less of them.  Their return is welcome.  

Disconnected

Disconnected

Adrift

Unhooked

Lost to us and

when

we looked

we a saw a status

blank

and felt an absence where

your place

and face

had been.

Did you also feel

the break

the quake

that made a fissure

spring apart

asunder

where once

you

were seen?

Later the path

came here and

there

and where

you came and went

and returned

towards

us again.

Then we saw

your place resume

your face return

and words spilled

from your

spring

and flowed

to us again.

 

 

Simon C.J. Falk 27 January 2017

Guest Post via Spillwords – What If? by L.M. Giannone

A guest post from a regular on the Spillwords site What If? by L.M. Giannone. Spillwords can also be followed on twitter @Spill_words .

Reflections on Australia: My Backyard 1991 – #retropost

Reflections on Australia: My Backyard 1991

 

When I woke up this Summer morn,

And cast my eyes upon the lawn,

Beauty unfolded there before me,

With little birds dancing happily.

The sun shone brightly on their plumes,

Their glistening dispelling all shadowy looms.

 

Willy Wagtail stole the show,

With his clickety sound, as he went to and fro.

Away from him on rooftop tall,

Magpie made her presence felt, with her mighty call.

And on the fence posts sparrows cheeped,

As from the gumtree a rosella peeped.

 

So as I went to begin this day,

I gave thanks for the Australian way.

This way so pleasant to the heart,

When noticed in its entire part.

This sun-covered land is dear to me,

From its arid inland, to the open sea.

 

 

Simon C.J. Falk 27 December 1991

Grandfather and Great Grandfather – #retro

On this day, in 1900, my maternal Grandfather, Patrick Anthony Thomas O’Reilly, was born.  Like Philip, his father, he was known to write some poems, or several.  As a tribute to Pat’s birthday I post this poem I wrote about his Dad back around 1991.

 

Great Grandfather

 

His name is Phil O’Reilly,

A gentle man was he;

He liked to notice plants by the road,

And tend animals by his knee.

 

I once heard as he went to town,

Thinking all alone was he,

Not knowing a sheep followed close behind,

Oh dear, what a scene it would be.

 

He could pen a poem just like that,

And good it would be too;

Some day, when you have got the time,

I’ll read some of his poems to you.

 

The saddest thing I know of now,

Is that he’s here no more;

He passed on to our glorious maker,

To live in peace forever more.

 

It’s not sad that he’s in heaven,

No, not by the slightest bit;

But that he’s not here to entertain us,

To share his tremendous wit.

 

I wished I could ‘ave known him,

For I’m sure I’d love him heaps;

I’ll just have to wait, while he, with angels,

A place in heaven for me keeps.

 

 

Simon C.J Falk circa 1991

 

Bird Things

Bird Things

Bird things

on this cool morn.

Fragrant with

eucalypt scent,

even after dawn.

Bird song

here,

and there.

Near at times,

and everywhere.

These things,

borne

on bird wings.

 

 

Simon C.J. Falk 16 January 2017

The #Sun Rises

The Sun Rises

risingsuntemora08012017

The Sun Rises

The sun rises,

Dawning

A new day.

The night shadows

Recede,

Then pass away.

What hopes arise

Afresh

On this morn?

What adventures

Begin

From the refulgent dawn?

 

Simon C.J Falk 8 January 2017

#Bridge Over a Brackish Pool – Two

Bridge Over a Brackish Pool – Two

See also Bridge Over a Brackish Pool – One

mirroolcreekbrackish1

Bridge Over a Brackish Pool – Two

 

A Second Glance

 

Bridge

over a brackish pool

we look upon you

again.

What delights also

hide within?

Among the rotting

litter and

fetid fungal growth

emerges

new life.

From growing pains

of boyhood

bounce

the adolescent

footy star.

From teenage

trials

she pursues

promising years

of medicine.

Warm stirrings

germinate

dreams within.

A magnetic

u

n

d

e

r

current

draws me to you

and, maybe,

you to me.

Bridge

over a brackish pool

life springs

from recesses

in your depths

and rise

to reflect

the sun

to us.

 

 

Simon C.J. Falk 7 January 2017

mirroolcreekbrackish2

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