A Romance of Sorts

A Romance of Sorts

Smooth, shiny and sliding

Under hands

Nestled between covers

Awaiting the night

Where

In subdued light

Is the longed for

Book!

Simon C.J. Falk 14 February 2018

#Meditation of Sorts

Meditation of Sorts

People from various backgrounds and belief traditions have tried meditation of some kind.  So many of us battle with the tribulations and trivial distractions.  It varies from day to day.  But it is familiar.  This verse gives us an opportunity to have a laugh at these moments and begin again. Compare with Nearer.

Meditation of Sorts

 

(i)

Out of bed in a bleary stupor,

Worrying mind trying

To get a groggy body scurrying.

Into the shower,

Scrub-a-dub-dub.

On you go.

Button the shirt.

Bucket up that belt.

Where is that pen?

Sit down.

Water – check.

Phone off – check.

Meditation app – check.

Bong!

 

(ii)

The body stills,

And the mind starts.

Inner chitter-chatter

Of mind apes and monkeys,

Gibbons yabber to chimpanzees,

Gobbledee-gook and wobbledee-dee.

What worries you today?

What stresses come the morrow?

What regrets from yesterday

Still visit you with sorrow?

Whoa!

Breathe.

Listen.

Ah…

……………..

Bong!

Time’s up.

 

 

Simon C.J. Falk 19 February 2017

 

Grandfather and Great Grandfather – #retro

On this day, in 1900, my maternal Grandfather, Patrick Anthony Thomas O’Reilly, was born.  Like Philip, his father, he was known to write some poems, or several.  As a tribute to Pat’s birthday I post this poem I wrote about his Dad back around 1991.

 

Great Grandfather

 

His name is Phil O’Reilly,

A gentle man was he;

He liked to notice plants by the road,

And tend animals by his knee.

 

I once heard as he went to town,

Thinking all alone was he,

Not knowing a sheep followed close behind,

Oh dear, what a scene it would be.

 

He could pen a poem just like that,

And good it would be too;

Some day, when you have got the time,

I’ll read some of his poems to you.

 

The saddest thing I know of now,

Is that he’s here no more;

He passed on to our glorious maker,

To live in peace forever more.

 

It’s not sad that he’s in heaven,

No, not by the slightest bit;

But that he’s not here to entertain us,

To share his tremendous wit.

 

I wished I could ‘ave known him,

For I’m sure I’d love him heaps;

I’ll just have to wait, while he, with angels,

A place in heaven for me keeps.

 

 

Simon C.J Falk circa 1991

 

The Childhood of Thomas Thimbleton #postingforpeace

The Childhood of Thomas Thimbleton

 

We’ll get it, yes!

We’ll get it, and you

Can…

Even

As he stands,

Flat on his feet,

In the noontime of his years,

Thomas can be

A child again.

As the joking, jocular, jibes

Dart, dart, dart

His heart aches

And his head spins

Spins, spins.

He is back

In the schoolyard again,

The gang of voices fencing

Him in and

Poking

At his tender soul:

Little Tommy has a thimble, has a thimble, has a thimble,

Little Tommy has a thimble, a thimble for a ____!

Funny?

Oh, how he wished

To be free,

Bold,

And able

To feel their glee,

Instead of

Anxiety.

 

Simon C.J. Falk  9 September 2016

I Saw a Grey Nomad

I Saw a Grey Nomad

This cheeky little piece plays with the notion of ‘grey nomads’ and the irony of finding one who is brown!  It plays with our quest to keep on looking younger than we are and of not taking our appearance too seriously.

I Saw a Grey Nomad

I saw a grey nomad in a brown rinse

Not many sleeps had passed

Since she had been seated

Not in the campervan

But in a hairdresser’s chair

With colourful conversation

And now

With colourful hair!

Hair with constructed youthfulness

Telling a different tale

To the face there beneath it

Shaded somewhat more pale.

May their adventures on the highway

Be colourful too.

 

Simon C.J. Falk 20 June 2016

Richard Foote Art

The Unique Art of Richard Foote

Moira McAlister

Writing about Reading and Reading about Writing

Salini Vineeth

Fiction writer

A Hundred Quills

There's a new sun burning, and soft fruits ripening, my precious grizzled tresses tumbling, Dylan's humming 'The times they are a changing', these parting verses are mere shadows merging ...

(CALIATH)

An Empyrean Cycle

Dr Kate Gregorevic

Virtual verse from a viewpoint

Daydreaming as a profession

Daydreaming and then, maybe, writing a poem about it. And that's my life.

http://www.lynnungar.com/

Virtual verse from a viewpoint

Asha Seth

Bookworm. Poet. Story-teller.

THE DOGLADY'S DEN

Dogs*Life*Music*Photography*Travel*Writing

Monica Applewhite

Virtual verse from a viewpoint

Ailish Sinclair

Stories and photos from Scotland

LUNA

Pen to paper

The Light Behind the Story

Seeking the magic and light in life's journeys

BY THE LEFT HAND...

Brett Kristian

%d bloggers like this: