The Emperor Had No Clothes Then No Mask
The emperor had no clothes, then
No mask.
Bare necessities
Or not
So it seems.
Strutting stridently
On his
Self-styled stage.
Emperor or jester?
Which side
Of the coin?
Simon C.J. Falk 11 October 2020
Tag: free verse
Into Denial
Into Denial
Denial
No, it’s not
It didn’t
Happen
You were here
Now
Denial
you are not
not denial
You were robust
Always strong
Our light
Joking
Denial
With you we were
Safe and then
Fading
Denial
You seemed
Distant
Denial
I’m not here now
And you’re not there
Not
There
Not…..
A memory left of you
But we remember
Always
Always, we remember.
Simon C.J. Falk 28 July 2020
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Lost Soles?
Vincent Van Gogh did a number of studies on work shoes. He saw the meaning and story behind them. Even the philosophers, such as Martin Heidegger, would write about it.
This frivolous verse seems light and vague at first. Beyond the humour is more.
Lost Soles?
Dropped
Discarded or
Lost.
Lost soles
Looking and
Longing
Lingering.
Oh the hide
Of separation!
Past postured parable
Perhaps?
Of the lost soul
Who lost them.
Booty of the bereft
Isolated
In lack
For a place
To pace
Where soles
And souls
May roam free.
Simon C.J Falk 27 April 2020
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Remembered Scent
Remembered Scent
Car ignition
The motor and
a smell
long, long
forgotten
returned.
A long forgotten
scent
of him,
one loved deeply.
The same smell.
And we
remember.
The nose knows
and remembers.
Simon C.J. Falk 6 January 2020
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To Forget
To Forget
We at table
talk –
to forget.
Muse over a morning
of banter and doings
of what we do –
To forget.
Pick up pages
of someone else’s
story, in a book,
escaping to….
Forget
The window hazy
The smoke entering
Open door
We remember.
Lest we forget –
The furrowed and frazzled brow
Of Firies*:
their boots
seared to the soles.
Sear not their souls
too much
we plead
as images roll in,
role in too,
as politicians posture.
The worn weariness
worn like a day’s drearies,
As its been months’ now
that our bush has burned.
But
We remember
The Firies
and those who
offer water
shelter
food and
their love
tapped away on keys
that carry updates.
We remember
sacrifices made
by volunteers
leaving homes,
some leaving
country,
at the call
of the crisis.
Children paddle
families to freedom
Sons bear medals
Meant for their Fathers
Under the smoky
Southern sun.
*Firies is a term of endearment for Firefighters.
Simon C.J. Falk 6 January 2020
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I Dreamed An Angel of Light
I Dreamed An Angel of Light
For Christchurch, NZ and too many others
I dreamed
An Angel of Light
Came down in the
Silence
Of the still dawn.
It gathered up
And held
The fallen
Close
To its bosom
And then rose
On great wings
To soar like eagles
Bringing them to
Eternal light and peace.
Simon C.J. Falk 18 March 2019
* * * * * * * *
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We Three Kings A-Cantering Are
We Three Kings A-Cantering Are
Recently, I heard a rendition of the Christmas Carol ‘We Three Kings’. The pianist played in such a way that captured the pace of camels feet bearing their cargo. Initially startling, it was surprisingly refreshing and kept returning over the day.
Tink, tink,
Tink, tink,
Clip, clop,
Clip, clop,
We three kings a-cantering are,
Our camels are off,
So watch us, ah,
Hill and valley,
No dilly-dally
Cantering to a star
Ohhhh…
That piano
In its metronomic affect
Turns us inwardly
Inside out
And up and
D
O
W
N
To the pace of camels
A-cantering, a-cantering.
Ah, the energy and verve
Striking every nerve
Ending to its beginnings
It has us all singing.
Never ever before
Has this tune taken the floor
In a such a way
Oh, to stay and sway
On the dromedary delight
We may take to flight
At the sound of the piano.
But we go
Yet find a memory still aglow
Of the flight of the camels
By day and night.
Simon C.J. Falk 7 January 2019
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Drinking From A Dry Well
Drinking From A Dry Well
Drinking from
from a dry well
chewing over no longer
the savouring similes
but grinding on the grit
of dust
and deadness
where the words came from
once
but now
gone.
Simon C.J. Falk 4 December 2018
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Where Are You My other Self?
Where Are You My Other Self?
Where are you
My other self?
It’s like a hole
Has opened up
Within
And creativity has
Vacuously gone
Through the opening
And is
No more.
Simon C.J. Falk 4 December 2018
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We Walk Past Now The Room Where The Poems Are
We Walk Past Now The Room Where the Poems Are
We walk past now
Scurrying away down the corridors
Of bustling business and
Busyness and superficial fluff.
Its door is closed now
And we know not where
The key has gone in the dark
The dank direction near its entry to
The room where the poems are
Forgotten history and
Nostalgic museums of
Creativity past
Up
Past
D
O
W
N
And past over, but
Past.
No longer accessible
They sit in the dark.
Yet even a seed
Hides in dark soil.
Simon C.J. Falk 4 December 2018
