Into Denial

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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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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

Behind the #Poet Chosen for Invictus Games 2018

Those in Australia, and other participating nations, would be aware that Sydney just hosted the Invictus Games 2018.   The Games website reveals that there is a story behind the Games:

The word ‘Invictus’ is Latin for ‘unconquered’ and embodies the fighting spirit of our wounded, injured and ill servicemen and women. They have been tested and challenged, but they have not been overcome. They have proven that by embracing each other and the support of family and friends, they can reclaim their future. They are Invictus.

Most of us will never know the horrors of combat. Horrors so great that many servicemen and women suffer life-changing injuries, both visible and invisible, while serving their countries, while serving us. How do these men and women find the motivation to move on and not be defined by their injuries? How can we challenge perceptions and send a positive message about life beyond disability to an international audience?

More of the story can be read on this link.

But, I wish to look at one of the, shall we say, back stories behind the poem ‘Invictus’ chosen as the poem for the Games.  The poem is by William Ernest Henley and the Invictus Games website tells us that Henley…

was himself an amputee and the poem reflects his long battle with illness. The title means “unconquered” and the 16 short lines of the poem encapsulate the indefatigable human spirit, which is at the heart of the Invictus Games.

For more about Henley see The Poetry Foundation biographical notes.  An excerpt of his poem, ‘Invictus’ is below:

Invictus 

Out of the night that covers me, 
      Black as the pit from pole to pole, 
I thank whatever gods may be 
      For my unconquerable soul. 
In the fell clutch of circumstance 
      I have not winced nor cried aloud. 
Under the bludgeonings of chance 
      My head is bloody, but unbowed. 

The full text can be found here.

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You Are Where Your Mind Wanders

You Are Where Your Mind Wanders

Sitting

In a peaceful garden

Soundings of

Birdsong

Enter in

Interjected intermittently

By automobiles

Rolling on by

Under a warming blue

Sky.

But, the inner eye is

Elsewhere

Harbouring another care.

For

You are

Where your mind wanders

Where your heart ponders,

Regardless of the place

Occupied by your face.

Listen

Be still

Allow the sound to fill

You, with present concerns

Here and now.

Furrow not your brow

In troubles elsewhere

You cannot be there.

Let the scampering ants

Scarper away your troubles

And chance

Yourself here

Mind and heart clear.

Sitting

In a peaceful garden

Breathing free within

Allowing solar rays

To fall upon the skin

And sounds of birds on ear

Just hear

Here.

Simon C.J. Falk 2 November 2017

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Unhinged By The Lost Moment

Prompted by an excellent post on A Rose Is A Rose called The One That Got Away

Unhinged By The Lost Moment

 

Unhinged

By the words

‘the one that got away’.

Unhinged,

Unmoored,

Cast adrift,

Upon a pond,

Pooling grief

That had

Been forgotten.

Questions opened

Up

Like fissures or chasms,

Swallowing all sense,

Into trenches

Deep

Within

The pool.

What happened?

Where

Did they dare to go?

I may not know.

 

Wait for me.

I did not

Then.

But,

Since then,

I have oft waited

On an answer.

 

 

Simon C.J. Falk 6 August 2017

 


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From Harrowing Towards Wholeness and Healing

From Harrowing Towards Wholeness and Healing

While driving around the countryside for work commitments I was listening once more to Parker J. Palmer’s  ‘Let Your Life Speak: Listening for the Voice of Vocation‘.  In this book, Palmer describes how he experienced a clinical depression after trying to live a life that was not his to live.  Seemingly, it was a life that did not fit, or suit, him.

As he emerged from a bout of depression, he discovered that, in some ways, the depression was a veiled gift to him.  It taught him that the life he was living was harming him.  He drafted the poem “Harrowing” included below.

HarrowingPJPalmer

(‘Harrowing”, a poem by Parker J. Palmer).

I know there have been times in my life where what was then perceived as a harrowing, later opened up to become a gift.

Some of us may be coming through tough times, saddening times, exhausting times. They may be matters personal to us.  Alternatively, they may be triggered by recent horrific events in our world.  Whichever the case may be, I post Palmer’s poem, as a promise of hope in regeneration and rejuvenation after times of trial.

Simon C.J Falk 4 June 2017

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Currawongs Coming In

 

download  Here is a Currawong Song.

Currawongs Coming In

Currawongs, coming in

from the cold country.

How is it that

they feel to us

like denizens of death,

of darkness and drear?

Filling with fear,

the smaller birds,

and their younglings.

A caucus of calls:

Currawong-wong-wong,

Come to linger long-long-long,

With their mournful,

Song-song-song.

 

Simon C.J. Falk 4 May 2017

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In My Hand – #WATWB

It seemed fitting to include a copy actually written in my hand.

In My Hand

 

In My Hand

 

In my hand,

I have a choice.

By my hand,

I can express a voice.

With my hand,

I might strike out in hate.

I can hold back my hand,

And sit to wait.

With fisted hand,

I can pound a blow.

With an open palm,

Myself I show.

With tumbling fingers,

I might tap a rant or rave.

With a lighter touch,

Some grief I may save.

As friend or foe,

I decide to take a stand.

To offer peace,

And stretch out my hand.

 

Simon C.J. Falk 25 March 2017

 

SimonInMyHand

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Late #Summer Afternoon

Late Summer Afternoon

Late Summer and

the afternoon afforded

splendid sights,

and sounds,

and warmth,

amidst the breeze,

sounding

through the trees.

The sun shone,

vivifying

the body with

its soothing rays

after a chill

start

to the day.

A cool wind,

breezy at first,

then

stronger and stronger,

collecting a chill

about us that

seemed to come

as a calling card,

notifying us

that Winter will,

in time,

come

and have its way

with us.

Meanwhile,

ducks paddle,

and plump geese

fluff up themselves

against the wind.

A pleasant afternoon.

Sequestered serenity,

Before the week becomes.

 

Simon C.J Falk 20 February 2017

Transit

A poem on the go while traveling.
Transit
Swollen feet bear

Smelly bodies along

Terminals

Where, termite like hordes

Of people

Swarm.

Take us from arrival gate,

To the next adventure we await,

Take us to the welcome shower,

And liquid refreshment of effervescent power,

As we settle, we have simple need,

Some company, atmosphere 

And a place to feed.
Simon C.J. Falk 27 April 2016