He Spoke Into the Vacancy

He Spoke Into the Vacancy

He spoke

Into the vacancy

Slow, low

Spoken words

Not at all

Like the chit-chat

We began with

Now words are

Paced

Not raced but

Placed

Like offerings to

The air

And ear

That listens

Listens

First the back-story

Listens

Ah, now

Now

Here

The pain

The poverty

Of the soul

Laid bare

Kind

Of him to

Share

And share we do

The silence

The space

The questions

Again?

Yes!

Simon C.J. Falk 26 June 2021

As Ponds Reflect

As Ponds Reflect

As ponds reflect

The trees and sky

So do we

Reflect

People and places

Around and

Held

Within ourselves.

Simon C.J. Falk 24 May 2021

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More #WATWB coming soon!

Who Speaks? A Valentine Shadow Side

These words were not easy to write. None of us like to be the “kill joy” to others bliss. But as with Mother’s and Father’s Days, Christmas, New Year and so on, Valentine’s Day can be a day of pain for some whom we know. As with those other days, on Valentine’s Day, I’m reminded of the tristesse of those who are widowed, divorced, abused, single and feel isolated and alone. That brings me to the second reason why these words were hard to write. To write them means to see the faces and feel something of the pain of those whom I know and some whom, in my own way, I do actually love. So for them… for those you know…. and for others too… Who speaks?

Who Speaks? A Valentine Shadow Side

Who speaks for

Them who

Visit their valentine in

A sunny graveyard

With memories, sweet memories

Wafting in on the breeze

Across their tear-lined cheeks?

Who speaks for

Those whose valentine

Bolted

Beat or

Cheated

Or still do and

As valentine’s day comes

May feel blue

In heart and flesh?

Who fills the void for

Those who don’t have

A valentine

Didn’t and may not

Feel the presence

Of one

Tomorrow?

Who are their company

On this

Loneliest

Day for them?

Who fills?

Who heals?

Who meets?

The shadow

Of a loving presence

Darkens

Those in absence.

Whence comes the lantern?

Whom shall bear it?

Simon C.J. Falk                   15 February 2021


A COVID Christmas

A COVID Christmas

Boggle, gurgle, woozle fizz!

Professor Fuzz is a science whizz.

You’ll find him in his lab for sure,

Working day and night for a COVID cure.

Cynthia Small wasn’t tall,

But she worked the wards and all,

Nursing COVID patients there.

Many knew her tender care.

Worker Lim was making time,

Manufacturing masks on a production line.

An order came for him from the top.

“Your afternoon is free so you can stop!”

When Cynthia went to her coffee room,

People everywhere dispelled the gloom,

All department stores were there around,

With Christmas Carols providing the sound.

“You cared for our colleagues and grandmas too,

So we brought the shops to you!”

In a place quite far way,

A Son looked down in love upon that day.

Although he seemed so far apart,

Somehow, he’s also in our heart.

He remembered back to a manger and stable,

Where he was born when no inn was able.

That when he had come to birth.

To bring peace to hearts and joy on earth.

Prose addendum: Here’s a fun fact for reader’s. My maternal Grandfather, Patrick Anthony Thomas “Pat” O’Reilly, was known to write verses for his mates at bowls and in the then local newpaper. He died on 1 December in the early 1950s. On 1 December 2020 I woke to the beginnings of this poem rattling around inside me!

Simon C.J. Falk  1 December 2020

Not Just Some Other

Not Just Some Other

I am black

I am white

In restful dark

And shining light.

I am yellow

I am red

I am hard at work

And resting in bed.

I am albino

I am brown

I am in grief

I am a clown.

I am in tropic

Or on the tundra

Even in the Land Down Under.

I am in lush forest

And on arid land

I have an open

And a closed hand.

I am a child

I am old

Sometimes I tell stories

Other times I am told.

I am you

And you are me

Together we can all be free.

You are my sister and my brother

Together we are persons

Not just some “Other”.

Simon C.J. Falk 29 November 2020

A Cornish Turn: Charles Causley

Cornish Coast at Lands End, c.2012.

I’m very grateful to Polly at Rocks and Bones for drawing my attention to Charles Causley, a poet from Cornwall. Raised from humble beginnings, this sailor, teacher and poet is quite a chap. We began chatting about Welsh poets. Then, turning to Cornwall, I asked about Cornish poets and Polly sent me Charles Causley’s very fine poem Timothy Winters. It is dreadfully sad and you can find excerpts of Timothy Winters at wikipedia.

Here is a fun one called Colonel Fazackerley Butterworth-Toast.

Colonel Fazackerley Butterworth-Toast
Bought an old castle complete with a ghost,
But someone or other forgot to declare
To Colonel Fazak that the spectre was there.

On the very first evening, while waiting to dine,
The Colonel was taking a fine sherry wine,
When the ghost, with a furious flash and a flare,
Shot out of the chimney and shivered, ‘Beware!’

For the remainder of the poem you can read, listen to, or both, at Poem Hunter. As is often the case, writers become acquainted with other writers. As we see from wikipedia

He was corresponded with well-acquainted with such writers as Siegfried SassoonA. L. RowseSusan HillJack Clemo and Ted Hughes (his closest friend) — and a host of other figures from the literary, publishing and wider cultural spheres around the world, as well the southwest region. In addition to Causley’s poetry dealing with issues of faith, folklore, memory, his wartime experience and its later impact, landscape, travel, friends and family, his poems for children were and remain very popular. He used to say that he could have lived comfortably on the fees paid for the reproduction of ‘Timothy Winters’.

Ted Hughes and Sylvia Plath would be known to other poetry fans and I have mentioned Plath before.

It is wonderful to be taken on a poetic pilgrimage to new poets from other lands.

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The Emperor Had No Clothes Then No Mask

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

Hay Fever Muses

Hay Fever Muses

For all those who know who you are!

Achoo! Achoo!

It’s a sneeze for me and a sneeze for you.

Achoo! Achoo!

No, it isn’t COVID too!

Hay fever, hay fever.

With a sneeze and a wheeze

And a drippy nose

As red as a rose!

Itchy! Itchy!

Eyes and nose and the

Scratching goes all over!

It’s Spring! It’s Spring!

The blossoms bloom

The birds will sing.

And hay fever.

We love our Spring

But our ears do ring

Our eyes then run

When we’re having fun

Achooooo!

Simon C.J. Falk       13 September 2020

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Late Allusions Among Frost and Others

This post is an apology to those who have written splendid comments, thoughtful phrases and lovely sentiments on my blog posts in recent weeks. So sorry to have not replied sooner!

I am very grateful to you all and hope that I have replied to each one. Life has been rather full of late and I was not able to give them the attention they deserve.

Speaking of late, there have been some fabulous poems written that include the theme “late” or something similar. Thanks to poemhunter.com for the excerpts and links.

Here is a excerpt from one of Robert Frost‘s – A Late Walk

I end not far from my going forth
By picking the faded blue
Of the last remaining aster flower
To carry again to you.

Full poem here. Frost is often remembered for A Road Not Taken and Birches. But A Late Walk is splendid too, as is the poem!

Here is a fun one from Rebecca Ryan – I Am Always Late For School

I am always late for school;
The reason why is obvious.
I am always in the pool,
So much, it is obnoxious.

When I don’t get there on time,
The teachers there get mad.
But if I could read and rhyme,
Surely they’d be glad.

The late and great Carl Sandburg wrote some as Poems Done On A Late Night Car. This one is powerful.
NB: it may trigger painful thoughts and feelings for some.

II. USED UP

Lines based on certain regrets that come with rumination
upon the painted faces of women on
North Clark Street, Chicago

Roses,
Red roses,
Crushed
In the rain and wind
Like mouths of women
Beaten by the fists of
Men using them.
O little roses
And broken leaves
And petal wisps:
You that so flung your crimson
To the sun
Only yesterday.

Mary Havran writes of Late Of Love

Love came late
Not shouting
Not leaping
Not looking to move mountains
Only tapping softly on my shoulder
As I tapped away
at my keyboard

Love came late
But bringing with it all
Love ever had to offer
Asking only
For my open heart.

There is much to dwell on “late”. Perhaps it could even be a writing prompt?

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Blood is Thicker Than Water in Thin Places

Blood is Thicker Than Water in Thin Places

For Hans and Dolores

Blood is thicker than water

So they say

Where the blood of lineage

Seeps through

To cells of

Absent

Distant kin

From the same lands

Of the ancestors.

Where the very ground cries

Out to unify.

In what the Celts might

Call thin places

Transcending time

And place

And life

And death

To union.

Our genes

Lead a way

No rational rendering

May dare to say.

So

As a German chef

Is blended in me

As an Irish voice

Finds my familiar ear

Tears flow

At the loss of either.

A parting is felt

As thin places

Pierce

And pierced we are

In the poignancy.

Simon C.J. Falk  1 September 2020

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