Zoom Crashed Opera: A Video Cacophony

 

 

Zoom Crashed Opera: A Video Cacophony

 

Zoom

Though the schedule

I’ve been meaning to raise

Acrobat

Up your nostrils

I have audio issues

I can see

They went over

A vacuum goes vvvrrrooooommmm

To Microsoft Teams

Towel clad partner does

The walk of wife by

FaceTime

WhatsApp dude!

End Meeting!

Webex! Webex! Webex!

How about the skype

Share

Goto meeting!

Can you share screen?

What do you mean?

Cuckoo!

Cuckoo!

Cuckoo!

La… la… la… laaaaaa

End meeting for all

Click.

 

Simon C.J. Falk 7 May 2020

An attack on your ears about this poem can be heard here.

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You might also wish to check-out posts with the #WATWB

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Acrid

Acrid

Acrid

Acrid is the smoke sliding down our throats

Choking the lungs of many

Raging are the persistent flames upon the bush and homes

Incinerating are the fierce forest fires

Destruction and death visits our land among the daring fire fighters

Acrid.

 

Simon C.J. Falk 21 December 2019

 

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Member of the We Are The World Blogfest #WATWB.

#WATWB July – The Ring Bearer

The Ring Bearer

PHOTO: Ms Daly and her partner Andrew Bevan were only engaged for three days before the ring went missing.(Facebook/Tayla Daly)  

Welcome to the We Are The World Blogfest #WATWB for July 2018. As usual, we have generous co-hosts who are leading this month:
Peter Nena,
Inderpreet Kaur Uppal,
Shilpa Garg
Roshan Radhakrishnan
Sylvia McGrath
and Belinda Witzenhausen

Please visit their sites and others in the blogfest.

Thanks to social media and a genuine person, a vital ring was found, as ABC News reports:

A Gold Coast woman who lost her engagement ring has been reunited with her diamond after a stranger from social media helped her with the hunt.

After only being engaged for three days, Tayla Daly realised the ring of her dreams had vanished from her finger.

The 25-year-old retraced her trip from work to home, but the ring was nowhere in sight.

“I was bawling my eyes out and just tried to retrace my steps — I’d only just been to the petrol station,” Ms Daly told Channel Nine.

In a last-ditch effort, Ms Daly put a call-out on social media in the hope someone picked it up.

But it was a kind stranger, Jade Austin, who messaged Ms Daly straight away to help.

“I felt really bad for her because six years ago I actually lost mine,” Ms Austin said.

Ms Austin, who is also heavily pregnant, jumped into her car to drive over 20 minutes to search the petrol station, carwash and local pawn shops.

When she arrived at the petrol station, she asked to look at the security footage to see if anyone else found the ring — but no-one had.

Ms Austin was ready to give up when she spotted the missing ring on the ground and messaged the bride-to-be with the good news.

See  ABC News for more details.

And in asking help for finding,

Not just the ring was found,

The story brought reminding,

Of a familiar sound.

The sound of sorrow in the losing,

Of remembering that pain,

It brings a twice-loved pleasure,

When the treasure is found again.

Lo and behold another treasure,

Emerged for a greater end,

For the second lasting pleasure,

Was to make another friend.

Simon C.J. Falk 26 July 2018

 

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For more information about this blogfest click here

#Poetry on the Pavement and Sidewalk

Poetry on the Pavement and Sidewalk

Recently I saw that Singapore’s Sing Lit Station was doing some poetry on the sidewalk (footpath, here in the land of Australia).  This had previously come from Boston’s Mass Poetry.  I found myself really warming to the concept. But then, I also discovered that pavement poetry exists on a number of levels.  Firstly, there is actual poems, stencilled on the pavement.  Then there are the people we see and events that happen, literally poetry in motion, and in still, waiting to be written.

Poetry on the Pavement and Sidewalk

 

Poetry on the pavement,

Stanzas scribed in stencil,

On the sidewalk.

It will make people

look

and stop,

And talk.

Rain has long

been

a bringer of life,

And now,

it brings

life to lines,

of words

between

lines of

limestone and concrete

and asphalt.

Graffiti on the ground,

Verses that are found,

To be

words for our walk.

Then,

As we look around,

More poems can be found,

In sight and in sound.

The lady walking by,

Shoulders sagging

under an unseen burden,

And face

quivering

with sobs and tears.

What are her fears?

A mother passing by,

Pushing her reclining infant,

Her face in a fixed, blank gaze,

As if in a daze.

What can bring meaning

to her days?

Sign in café window

“Closed today.”

Cancer treatment is added

to their fray.

Poems on the pavement

to us do greet,

And are in more places

than what passes

under feet.

 

 

Simon C.J. Falk 19 February 2017

 

 

 

 

Guest post #Anxiety by Kia Jones via spillwords.com

Those who enjoy poetry may already have discovered spillwords.com .  This guest post features a spillwords post by poet Kia Jones called Anxiety.  Aka Mrs Jones can also be found on twitter @CYSMbyKia . Those who may experience feelings of anxiety are encouraged to seek help.

Who Trod These Paths and What are Their Tales?

Who Trod These Paths and What are Their Tales?

How many times have you heard the expression: “if only these walls could talk?”  I’ve had that thought about pathways, seaways, rivers and landforms. They hold stories.   Two paths in the images I included here hold stories of their own.  The poem tries to get a feel, however incompletely, for the story under the surface.

 

Who Trod These Paths and What are Their Tales?

Who trod these paths?

What voices do they give?

What are their tales?

How did they live?

First Picture: A scene from Pioneer Park Lookout, Griffith NSW, Australia.

(i)

Way back in the Dreamtime,

Shapes formed in the land,

Great marsupials and serpents,

Gathered as a band,

They came,

They ate,

They played,

They strayed,

And so began another day.

People came to tread upon

This earth with shoeless foot,

They hunted with the spear

And the boomerang they tossed.

They walked upon this hillside,

As to other lands

They crossed.

They communicated with message stick,

Traded food and skin,

They came across the white fella,

And now both dwell therein.

Tourists tread along this path,

And youngsters doin’ their thing,

In the grating of the gravel,

And the rustling leaves,

We hear their stories sing.

 

 

Second Picture: ancient gateway in the old city of Rhodes (Rodos) in the Greek Island group.

(ii)

Peoples disembarked upon this isle,

Greeks and Turks

If you please.

Add mixes of Italians,

Even the Maltese.

There were Spartans, sparsely clothed,

But tough and fierce and strong,

And Crusading knights

Who came to smite,

And hold their banquets long.

Fisher folk and traders,

The powerful and the slaves,

Those on land and waders,

The mature as well as knaves.

Battles won and lost here,

And even change of names,

From Rhodes to Rodos we hear

Tourists pronounce in ancient lanes.

Some gather for the markets,

Others for historic sights,

In busy tourist seasons,

Cafes and beaches

Are crowded in at nights.

But in the age-old pounding

Of waves from o’er the sea,

The archaic tales are sounding,

Of the indentured and the free,

Inviting into the story,

People

Like you and me.

 

 

Simon C.J. Falk     30 October 2016

 

Martha – From a Word Prompt

Martha – From a Word Prompt

All thanks go to our fellow blogger A Little Me Apparently with her post Why Did I Make This Writing Prompt?   She said to start with ‘Martha’.  This is what I came up with.

Martha – From a Word Prompt

Martha, Martha!

Do not fret,

We will get your groceries yet.

True, they are strewn in the aisles,

Some are rolling, some in piles.

Martha, Martha!

Wait a tick!

The manager’s coming to show a trick.

With that big wide broom right there,

He’ll sweep up all without a care.

Martha, Martha!

Let’s go to the bus,

Then we’ll be home and no more fuss.

 

Simon C.J. Falk 20 July 2016

Down Days of Darkness

Down Days of Darkness

It is more fun to write of cheerful or fanciful things. However, on reading a very good post on depression from Inside the Life of Moi yesterday,  I was drawn to write a poem by way of backing up what Amanda had shared.  You may also like to see The Rage Rages On.

Down Days of Darkness

For those who’ve walked the streets,

Down the days of darkness,

Know the shuffling of the feet,

And the foreboding tristesse.

In those dim, drizzly days,

Where all is hard to see,

Even the tears struggle to flow,

In the depression melee.

I scrawl as one who’s been there,

And for those who are there now,

To remind them another avenue waits,

And they will reach it somehow.

The cloud will lift, and the rain will dry,

Another avenue will come into view,

And the sun will beam down from the sky,

To warm the way for you.

 

 

Simon C.J Falk 13 July 2016

In #Istanbul

In Istanbul

April 2016 – Some friends and I spent some days in Istanbul Turkey as tourists cum pilgrims.  We loved it.  In recent days the sadness that has descended is crushing.  The good and hospitable people of Istanbul could well do with our encouragement.

 

In Istanbul

 

We travelled in,

We trod the streets,

We slopped the beer,

And ate the treats.

In the Bazaar Grand,

Some tried their hand,

At a haggle or two,

For a rug or a shoe.

And we loved our days,

On the ‘Gold Horn’ way.

They took us in.

Made us at home,

And it made us grin,

To see spruikers roam.

 

But the terminal we travelled,

Has now been unravelled,

Leaving crumble and rubble,

From the hateful trouble.

And streets we walked in peace,

Amidst crowds and police,

Now could appear,

To become pathways of fear.

But people! O people! Of Istanbul,

Do not lose heart when others kill,

Those you looked after

From far across sea,

Call out to you from a land roaming free.

You hosted us,

And we toasted you,

Do not let hatred or fuss,

Your spirit subdue.

Your history is splendid,

Your hospitality is fine,

When the hatred subsides,

You’ll return to your prime.

 

 

Simon C.J. Falk 30 June 2016

 

‘Ardly Anythin at Ardlethan – a retro post

‘Ardly Anythin at Ardlethan

At times I have been moved to write poems about the places I work in.  Ardlethan is a small town of around 500 people.  Comment had been made that there is hardly anything there. However, at the time of writing, as now, I saw much there of interest. 

‘Ardly Anythin’ at Ardlethan
There’s ‘ardly anythin’ at Ardlethan!

In a statement once was said;

So can we find an answer?

To put the matter to its bed.
True there’s ‘ardly any traffic

To be managed at traffic lights;

But there’s ‘ardly any smog around,

To dim the stars during our nights.
There’s ‘ardly a sniff of round-a-bout,

And ‘ardly a court, crescent or cul ‘d sac;

But there’s creek and scrub and birdsong

As you take the cemetery track.
There’s ‘ardly any carriage way

With exits to this and that;

But there is the Newell Highway,

With trucks pelting along the flat!
Then there’s Burley Griffin Way

Taking cars to western plains;

And parallel, the graincorp load

Is borne along by trains.
There’s the mighty London Pub,

Which has stood up to the floods;

Where a schooner’s yours to grip upon,

As you taste it’s kitchen’s grub.
There is no huge cathedral

To dominate the street;

But where can you find a place

To wash exactly twelve pairs of feet?
Now the story of the feet

Is a story worth a tell;

Given I was there that night,

I remember it quite well.
It was a Holy Thursday,

Twelve were gathered on that day;

So in our Church at Ardlethan,

Twelve were washed in Jesus’ way.
It touched something deep within me,

And though I’m not really one to bet;

I’ll wager many tomorrows

It’s an event I won’t forget.
Now back to our original question,

Seems there’s ‘ardly any doubt;

There’s as much to amuse in Ardlethan,

As any little town about.

Simon C.J. Falk 6 January 2013