Beautiful Lines Upon A Face

Beautiful Lines Upon A Face

Beautiful lines upon a face,

Adorn its features with particular grace,

Many a story or experience I spy,

Hidden beneath an expression wry.

As my age moved up the years,

Something in my perception appears

To change its sense of what appeals,

As newer forms of enticement reveals,

A glory not previously known.

Now a natural beauty is shown,

From that sparkle deep within,

Displayed upon their full-face grin.

Simon C.J. Falk 22 June 2017

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Morning Motoring in the Mind and Moment

Morning Motoring in the Mind and Moment


While driving early this morn

A familiar sight emerged again,

In the car and

In the mind.

The sun shone,

A scene unveiled,


The mind clattered on

In its own

Gobbledy-gook and dumblety-dum

Gibbery-gibberish and bumbley-bum of



From my peripheral vision,

A vista formed

Upon the retina

Of the eye

And soul:

A thin veil of mist


Like a gentle caress,

Upon the land.

Embracing trees

In its delicate fold,

Meeting the dew-damp earth,

Mist held


Of air

And presence too,

As I gaped upon

What I saw


For those minute moments,

The monotony of mind machinations

   Were stilled,



To the now,

And the scene

On the way.


Simon C.J. Falk 23 April 2017


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Reflections on Australia: My Backyard 1991 – #retropost

Reflections on Australia: My Backyard 1991


When I woke up this Summer morn,

And cast my eyes upon the lawn,

Beauty unfolded there before me,

With little birds dancing happily.

The sun shone brightly on their plumes,

Their glistening dispelling all shadowy looms.


Willy Wagtail stole the show,

With his clickety sound, as he went to and fro.

Away from him on rooftop tall,

Magpie made her presence felt, with her mighty call.

And on the fence posts sparrows cheeped,

As from the gumtree a rosella peeped.


So as I went to begin this day,

I gave thanks for the Australian way.

This way so pleasant to the heart,

When noticed in its entire part.

This sun-covered land is dear to me,

From its arid inland, to the open sea.



Simon C.J. Falk 27 December 1991

There Was a Mob of Kangaroos

There Was a Mob of Kangaroos

Driving between towns last week I came upon this scene.  There was no opportunity for a photo.  The impression remained with me until a moment when a poem was able to emerge.

There Was a Mob of Kangaroos

There was a mob of kangaroos,

As I left fields of canola gold,

These macropods stood tall and bold,

Under eucalypts with boughs so old.

Those rugged trees on a rugged road,

Had sheltered many a storm or shine,

And as the furry critters moved aside,

I drove beside the line.

In Australian twilight these natural sights,

Are coated in a saffron glow,

They dim our days into restful nights,

And of a beauty we come to know.

So often I’ve come upon a pastoral scene,

With no camera to ‘freeze the frame’,

But the splendour seen where I have been,

Creates a memory just the same.

Simon C.J. Falk 15 September 2015 

Littered on a Rocky Crag

The late John O’Donohue mentioned, in one of his talks, how poets don’t finish poems at times, they just abandon them. This very ponderous little free verse was an example of that. It was also an example of how our human intervention can, at times, detract from the natural beauty already there.

Littered on a rocky crag
Graffiti had been put
A comment about the agelessness of God.
It may be a true message
For a Christian to write up
But one wonders if they knew what they did.
A tautology – the ancient rock itself,
By its centuries of sitting there,
sits as monument
to agelessness of God.

Simon C.J. Falk 20 December 2012


As a child I had some freckles (barely visible now in my middle years!).  I did not like them on me.  Nor did I find them attractive on other people. In recent times things have changed. On some persons faces I have noticed their freckles actually enhance their beauty.  It has been helped by really looking at people when with them. This free verse poem had begun to write itself over a period of time. It finally popped on to the page last night.  It is dedicated to all the young, and young at heart, who bear freckles to our world.





For freckles

Was not part

Of my repertoire

Of yesteryear.

I ust’

Think of them

As blotch and blemish,

Detritus on the countenance.


I saw them

On a face

And then

On another.

They gave definition,


A smattering of beauty


Not before seen.


I enjoy them

Upon pate and profile,

Spotting cheek and jowl,

Across the nose

And under the eyes.

The make-up free facial,

The natural self,


With false beautifiers,

Just in its

Bare necessity.

Spotted and delicate.

A delight

In its difference.



Simon C.J. Falk  5 November 2013

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