#CBF16 Joseph’s List

Joseph’s List

In memory of Joseph Patrick Falk 1956-87

Here it is

With those long, looping letters

R

U

N

N

I

N

G

Down the page and

Over

The other side.

Testimony to times spent

Reading the hours away.

Doorways into homes from

Other eras and vistas.

Witness also to

A brother’s love

For a brother.

Gathered at the kitchen table

Blessed interruption

To “homework time”

Two pens it took him yet

Finish it he did.

Sharing his joys

Of narrative and verse

With his younger sibling.

Now, he is gone.

Many years have past

Since he penned that page.

Fifteen I was

When he was tragically taken.

Yet his words remain

Penned on a page

Cherished by me

Among the true treasures

Of words and life.

I look upon that list,

That you prepared that day.

At times as my gaze sits,

Tears get in the way.

If only you were still here,

To read these faltering lines.

Knowing what a gift you gave,

When we had those times.

I still cherish some of those authors,

That you revealed to me.

As you showed love for brothers,

In a way so literary.

 


This was posted as part of the Cherished Blogfest 2016.  To see my post from last year look here.


Simon C.J. Falk 29 July 2016

JosephsList2

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Another Day in the Mission

 

Another Day in the Mission

Awakened,
Sort of
Alarm induced,
And
Still heavy from sleep
That rests in the body.
Bright sun and cool air
Surround you
And birdsong announces
The activity has begun
As you walk.
Faithful gather in the Church
To hear the Word,
And to receive the Body of Christ
They are called to be.
Others remain afterward,
Bearing their souls to a merciful God.
A visit
Finds a door with no answer.
Then a grocery shop
Opens doors to ladies from the village
Full of chatter about which apples.
And spied,
Further up,
A young family,
The children’s faces
Full of welcome recognition.
A lunch invitation is issued
And so it will be.
Afternoon means
Getting some words together
And travel in the car,
A pleasant past time
In beautiful creation
To the sound of recorded (mp3)
Irish yarns.
Later,
A lovely meal
Is had in a local pub,
Thai sauces opening the palate.
A young family,
Glamorous by wearing their warmth,
Glows with life around the table.
Simple pleasures.
We are grateful.

Simon C.J. Falk 22 March 2014

 

 

 

Dad’s Fishing Knife

Dad’s Fishing Knife

Even though we are often people who live in the ideas in our heads we can be very concrete. Specific people, places and objects ground us in particular relationships and memories.  A knife Dad used to keep in our fishing tackle box brought it all back to me. It was a symbol of times shared together, of his fishing before my time, and of what may happen in the future. 

 

Dad’s Fishing Knife

There it was

in the tackle box

in the boot.

Sheathed in timber,

an offcut of simple grain

that he had cut

just to the size of the blade –

Dad’s fishing knife.

It had lived other lives too:

cutting fine twine for plumblines

on garden edges,

or severing coarse and wispy jute,

to stake up veges and flowers

in the garden.

But

it was the fishing knife for some years.

It had cut lines,

beheaded fish,

and gutted them.

Pippis it had prised.

There it sits now,

out of the tackle box.

Tempered in a forge,

tarnished

by time and tides.

It was with us

when we first fished together

by the banks

of the Murrumbidgee River.

It had sat on the pub jetty

of Merimbula Lake,

while we had fought off crabs

so tailor schooling by

could bite on our lines.

The handle of that knife

holds memories to its hilt.

They are reminders of Dad

The

one I first dropped a line with.

And now,

here it is,

Dad’s fishing knife,

slicing through

the marrows of my memory.

It awaits

The next fish

With one fisherman down.

 

 

 

Simon C.J. Falk 8 February 2014

 

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