We Are More

We Are More

Another response to reading a very good post on depression from Inside the Life of Moi yesterday.  There may be times we feel unwell, having a bad day, or, are beset by maladies or pathologies.  But we are more than our symptoms or our passing circumstances.


We Are More


He sits on the kerbside

With a cardboard sign,

“Please help,” inscribed

on its pulpy surface,

and, in the lines around

his eyes, and in them too,

darting side to side,

“Need more money”,

continued the message.

For while he medicated

His ‘voices’

With cheap plonk,

A desperate user took

His last dollars.

His schizophrenia controls

His happiness and habits,


We are more

Than the pathologies

That pin us.



She shares half her sandwich

With him,

Then hears


An idling car awaits,

In readiness to take

Her where

She will ‘work’

This night.

Later she breathes in,

As the barby point

Of the syringe

Also enters in.

Morning sees

The ambulance there

To take her away.

“Another overdose”,

we overhear

someone say.


We are more

Than some

Of our habits.



He takes his “Please help” sign,

Turns it round,

And with

A texta he found,


To sketch,

Feebly at first,


With gusto,

A portrait

Of her,

That Toulouse-Lautrec

Would be proud of.


We are more

Than the symptoms seem.






Simon C.J. Falk 13/14 July 2016


Days on Decks

Days on Decks

Our lives are full of little rituals and daily habits. Some are as menial as the morning routine. Others are the ritual of catching up with friends, over meals, on decked verandahs and so on.  This free verse is about life and love and how it can happen around timber decks.  It finishes with a note of how our lives can be like timber.  Our knotty parts absorbed by the grain of our lives.  All of this contributes to the beauty.


Days on Decks



Early morn.

Crunch, crunch

The icy frost is

Under foot.

The biting air nips

At unsuspecting ears, nose

Eyes and toes!

And the panels of the deck


Under the soles.


A cacophony of currawongs perch

Above where we are.

A carpenter’s canopy

Behind the house.

A bedecked surface

Where the table is set

Pieces of pizza

Homemade and kneaded

With love and care

Sit upon plates

Headed by generous pourings

Of Barossa Reds.

And the stories flow.

And we hope

That currawong

Perched above

Won’t open its ‘bomb-bay’

Onto our precious pieces

Perched on plates.


Down the road towards rivermouth

A south head

In the near dark.

A capped head

Standing in sentinel,

A beacon in the blur.


Upon a deck

A face full of welcome

Shines with possum-like eyes

And a beaming smile.

So we enter

The threshold of timbers.

One deck gives way

To another below

Like a cascade of warmth

Closer to the heart and hearth

Of the home.

Lengths from hewn logs

For us to lean on

Table our tales and support,

Steaming mugs,

And stories among friends.


So we are built

Upon little rituals

The daily habits

The visits with friends

That graft together

The grain of our lives.

Binding the knots

Warmly holding the blemishes

To create a total

Work of beauty.

Simon C.J. Falk                      9 June 2015

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