Coming Of Age

Coming Of Age

When an infant small

I could not feed

Myself at all.

My food came from

Your hand.

Now

In brokenness

Of a fall

To our distress

You are fed

But from my hand.

In this maturing of

Coming of age

We are both nourished

For a different stage.

Simon C.J. Falk 19 July 2019

A Neighbour Passed By

BoulderTwo

A Neighbour Passed By…

 

I sat

Slumped

Bereft from the beating

Wasn’t they raised with

“You don’t hit girls!”

Or, do I not look

Like a girl?

Whatever that means.

But I wasn’t letting them off

Easily, with the ‘Big Issue’ cash

Not for their stash

Towards their double-dealt slavery

To their cravings and fealty

To the faceless dealers.

Suit-clad women and men

With important looking papers in their grasp

Tapped a rapid rhythm

As their fashionable footwear

Bore them away

To offices of the clones.

 

The odd Christian and Muslim cleric

Passed by

Looking furtively from me to there

And where others

May be observing them

From the courtroom of current conventions.

 

Before they all passed

Another left me lying.

It was I.

I passed me by

Passed me off

Passed on.

I could have called

“Help! I’ve been beaten!”

“I’ve been robbed

By broken people

And a broken society

And my own broken spirit!”

I was not a neighbour

To myself.

 

From where

Would come the help?

 

 

Simon C.J. Falk 13 July 2019

Casting For Laws

IMG_0094

Casting for Laws

Another reading of John 8:1-11

 

Casting stones

And aspersions

He said

I thought

He said

Nasturtiums

Anyway

There was this lady

Supposed adulteress

They were to stone her

Where was the bloke?

Or blokes?

How inconceivable

That so called

‘Civilisations’ have

Bad laws!

Perhaps

Some still do?

 

Simon C.J. Falk 7 April 2019

+++++++++++++

Looking for some good stories?  Follow #WATWB

img_0683-1

Her Name is not Spoken But her Face is Seen

 

Her Name is Not Spoken But her Face is Seen

A reading on John 8:1-11

 

I cast a stone but

It ricocheted back

To me

In her plight I saw

I was not

Free.

In my grasping, accusing

Tone

Did I not notice the sin

Was not her’s alone?

But my vile need

For adulation

From the mob.

Her name was not

Spoken

Yet her face seemed to say:

My name was not called

As they allow me no dignity

Let alone integrity.

But my face

Is known

It is seen in many

A place, or stage

And age

Where nameless women

Are objectified and tried

By the menacing mob

Ironically lustful

For their own ends.

Who can cast a stone?

It comes back

To stony hearts

That know not they are flesh.

 

 

 Simon C.J. Falk 6 April 2019


Don’t forget to follow the good stories on #WATWB

banner-650-x150-black

A Collective Noun For Cranes

A Collective Noun for Cranes

A collective noun for cranes

Is?

No matter

But, assert themselves they do

Erect and in

Full view

Of me and you.

Clanging and clambering about

We hear a shout!

Of riggers at their toil.

So many of our dwellings now

Are assembled by these cranes

They rise above our plains

Monuments to man-made cities.

But, nature is still here

Pooling lest we fear

That we are left

To our constructions

Alone

And think that our world begins

And ends

With us

Alone.

A collective noun for cranes

Could be

Waterbirds

By a pool

Lest we fool

Ourselves

That nature

Excludes

Us.

Simon C.J. Falk 25 February 2019

—————–

This blog also supports two initiatives

The We Are The World Blogfest – follow #WATWB

and

Project WHY in New Delphi, link here.

 

 

Do They Know Whom They Reject?

Do They Know Whom They Reject?

Do they know?

When they go

What they reject.

That when they go

They                                      inject

And they infect

A pain

B

 E

  L

   O

    w

A wound to grow

That what we sow

We’ll reap, you know!

Within, to show.

Do they know?

Our hurts, our woe

That we wish to see

How we can free

A person’s pain

That they may gain

Some liberty.

 

Simon C.J. Falk 15 December 2018

Beauty is Found- Lines on the Camino

1089521F-EE73-4F7A-9E4E-DB7476E426DF

Beauty is found in airline seats

Where a little family greets us

On their way to London Town.

Their mother’s eyes aglow with the beauty

One may know is her love for her little ones.

Beauty is found in an accent recognised

In a bustling bus queue

As a lovely Darwin female says

“Join me here.”

Beauty is found in the methodical air of

A stewardess following the line

Of passengers to check that all

Are there to enter the deck aboard.

Her beauty is seen in her assiduousness 

To not leave out a single one.

One other scene of beauty is enjoyed

By staff employed in a restaurant 

As the first diners arrive.

All care descends as they strive

To share and explain all there is to name

On menu and wine list.

It wasn’t to be missed

But miss them we did after retiring from their care.

 

Simon C.J. Falk 28 September 2018

He Entered My Decapolis

 

He Entered My Decapolis

A ‘hearing’ of Mark 7:31-37

He entered my Decapolis

My region of haunts

All populated with complexity

On opening

My ears

Oh! My ears

Resounded

And, my heart pounded

As I was loosened

I was not the same

And words came

Flowing and flowing

Until growing

Into written reflections.

I heard

And found voice

A moment to rejoice

And bask

In freedom.

 

Simon C.J. Falk September 2018

Even They – When Our Supporters Suffer

 

6.jpg

Image: Videezy https://www.videezy.com/free-video/sea

 

Even They – When Our Supporters Suffer

 

Even they

Have their down days

Those ones who often

Buoy us up.

Yes, they too

Are dashed and smashed

Upon the rocks of life

Having their share of strife

They too have grown weary

At times swimming with

Us

Seeming to show little fuss

As they tread water

Yet

In the power of the great

Wet

Their strokes tire

And waves wash them

Away.

They

Will have a day

Where the tumult of life’s sea

Catches them in

The melee

Oh!

If they could be free

And drift gently, gently

Ashore

And moor

Upon the care

For them

That we all share.

 

 

We all have those days, at times, even weeks, where life seems against us. This poem arose from moments when we see others cast upon the vicicissitudes of life and, is for them. For some musical accompaniment, you may like to listen to Eric Genuis’s The Tempest.

Simon C.J. Falk 9 July 2018

 

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

banner-520-x120-black

 

Being In a Body Is…

img_0412

Being In a Body Is…

Being in a body is

Sometimes like being at home

At others

It bewilders and perplexes

With things that feel more

More like foreign.

Yes, foreign territory

Or new lands, caverns and wells

That well,

Take some exploring

And groping around

To hear the sound

To feel the sensation.

It can induce consternation

To not recognise

Such feelings inside

Our eyes open wide

In wonder.

Our minds they can race

At a break-neck pace

Yet the body feel limp, heavy and

Just wants to sink

Into peaceful slumber.

Being in a body is

A still revealing land

That I’m yet to understand

The language of limbs

Of pressure and pains

And weariness remains.

Now

For some peace.

Be still and

Release.

Be still

Be.

 

Simon C.J. Falk  10 February 2018

 

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Want some good news.  Follow #WATWB

img_0475