Gazing Eyes of Experience

Gazing Eyes of Experience

Eyes gazed

Into the mirror of

What these days

Have meant.

Energy spent

And expended.

So easily gone.

Eyes crazed

Into the fears

In many ways

Eating at

The grief of what

Cannot be done.

Or, of what will

Become

Of the future.

Eyes glazed

As words are read

On the screen.

Words of love and care.

Words there

In the gaze.

The best glance

By eyes

That gazed.

Simon C.J. Falk 10 November 2017

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Sick Man’s Stroll: A Kind of Rehabilitation

 

 

 

Sick Man’s Stroll: A Kind of Rehabilitation

Sick man’s stroll

Variations of

An ambling gait

And a staggering shuffle.

The slow stroll

Moves along

Like a metronome

On easy tempo

Gradually

Bringing breath

And circulation into

A kind of rhythm

But oh,

To cross the road,

Turtles could pass by

As try, we do

To gather a little more pace

Into the race

To the pedestrian island.

All that is now needed

Is a dowdy hat

And a shabby old cardigan

With turned up cuffs,

Buff or beige,

And with pockets

All sagged from

Hands, hankies and

Whatever else,

With traces of lunch

Lurking between the lint

On its surface.

And we amble on

Willing the legs

To return home

To their former vigour.

Can we handle the rigour?

Of this new metered life?

Calculated, paced, slowed

Oh, who knows

Where this stroll

Will go?

What of tomorrow?

Forecast of a shower,

Some shuffles between

The sleep.

You know what I mean?

The slow creep

Of the stroll to rehabilitation.

Simon C.J. Falk 10 November 2017

Washing Machine of Life

Washing Machine of Life

Throw it in,

The grime of the day

And week

And stains

From yester-year.

It’s still there, after all.

In one day,

A funeral

Can turn up

Hurts from yester-year:

Those we once loved

And moved on

Or have we?

All while

A call

To the NRMA

Is placed to fix

That bloody car

Again

Comes the memories

Of good times,

Failures and hurts,

Near

And years back.

The wanting

To reconnect

Yet disconnect

In the same motion.

All this is thrown in

And spins

Round and round

And round

The agitation

At the centre of life.

The emotions bubble

Up and churning

In the foamy flow,

As you

Spin

Around

And are

Wrung,

Finally coming to

Rest.

Waiting to be

Hung out to dry.

Washed out

And limp

And left

To the elements.

Simon C.J. Falk                       19 June 2015

In our lives we can return to things, places and people.  The baggage can revisit us new experiences are added to the mix.  The verse above captures something of that.

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