Ride on Social Media

Ride on Social Media

Distractions can have us lilting or limping through the agendas of our days at times.  Do you ever get distracted or sidetracked?  Ever have a fish for a proverbial red herring?  Anyhow, these little words were bugging me and I had to write them down. So, a nonsense rhyme emerged. I had been meaning to write a tribute to all the crew on WordPress at some stage. I guess that has begun.

 

Ride on Social Media

 

I entered into MySpace

And very soon got lost,

All those images and music,

And all the time it cost.

I don’t know if it’s still up there,

As I haven’t visited in years,

I never found a home in MySpace,

And over it did not shed tears.

I then ventured into Facebook

To keep touch with distant friends,

And before long found some groupies

Who getting hundreds, even thousands, were their ends.

Then I saw the rants and raves

With their belly-aches full of bile,

Who practised defamation

In various versions of vile.

But I stayed on with Facebook,

Keeping to my original ends,

I enjoy staying with close ones,

And still bump into random “friends?”

Then got added on to LinkedIn

Where people strut their professional stuff,

But if they wanted spiffy resumes,

Then mine is pretty rough.

I’ve enjoyed leafing through the Goodreads,

To get amongst the books,

And have been circled into Google Plus,

But then forget to look!

I tumbled headlong into Tumblr,

To see how I would fair,

I really like their layout interface,

But didn’t find many things there.

Thank God I found WordPress,

It’s much better for the soul,

There I have found some writers

Whose words fill in a hole.

I really enjoy WordPress,

And what comes into its reader,

When it comes to social media,

For me it’s become a leader.

 

Simon C.J. Falk 18 June 2014

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Across the Dim Threshold and Back

Across the Dim Threshold and Back

What do they feel
When that time comes for them?
When all seems too much
And the weight of their world
Weighs wearily on their shoulders.
Is it simply a fault
In the delicate dynamic
Of brain electro-chemistry?
Or have life’s lessons
Just been more than they can bear?

I am the voice of failure
I speak in whiney monotone
I follow your mistakes
And haunt you when alone.

What turns the tide for them?
What makes it all too much?
When the daily drudgery of getting up
Becomes all too hard.
When answering that mail,
Taking that call,
Making that appointment,
Seems too much burden,
Or too futile
In the pain
Which pendulums between numb and ache.

I am the voice of apathy
Depression fills my days
I drain the marrow from your life
In many little ways.
And before you know it
I take away your zeal
I hold your energy captive
Till nothing can you feel.

What then makes some end it?
What steels their resolve?
Is it the sheer necessity?
The only way to escape
Across the dim threshold?
What then leads others back
From that deep, dark dungeon of despair?
Is it love for others?
The not wanting to punish others
For our own pain?

I am the voice of honesty
I stand and eyeball pain
I look into its darkest depths
Searching for its name.
I sit as an observer
In a firm but empathetic gaze
I draw the dark out to the sun
That it be examined by the rays.
And when the rays have warmed it
And cast out all the chill
I hand your life back to you
To your measured, tempered will.

Simon C. J. Falk 10 June 2014

 

One early death or person with depression is too many. We all know them. At times, we are them.  This poem points towards some of the experiences and observations gathered  along the way. It contains no definitive plan or answer. It merely offers some wisdom gleaned from life experience and shares it in both free verse and rhyme.

Drought

Drought

This post takes us back to the very earliest days. We dig deep into the past of poetry.  I was only 11 years of age when I wrote this poem.  Australia was in drought at the time.  I was in Year  6 (or Grade 6) at St. Joseph’s School in Junee (rural NSW).  Oddly enough the school principal (from Polish background and had a fondness for wearing Hawaiian shirts!) gave it a principal’s award.

Drought

This drought,

Has put rain in doubt.

Cattle dying,

Farmers crying.

Dry plains,

No rains.

No feed,

Bad indeed.

Empty dams,

Dying rams,

Skinny lambs.

Unbearable heat,

Hot feet.

 

 

Simon C.J. Falk Summer 1983

Off to Candelo!

To Candelo

Another example of an older poem.   Recollections of a time when I lived in the Bega Valley.  I hope some readers get a little enjoyment from it.

To Candelo

 Off, off, we go, to Candelo!

Where the creek runs through the hills.

Where the wombats run and foxes dodge the gun,

And the dairies take their fills.

 

Where folks milk their cows,

And fatten their sows,

Where sheep take leave of their fleece.

 

Where Mount Myrtle stands tall,

And the Candelo Hall,

Bears generations of stories in its walls.

 

Where hockey and bowls

Give young and old some roles,

To play for their local team.

 

And the Pub and the Club

Keep serving the grub

And a schooner or two in between.

 

Where they’re proud of their show

And their markets you know

And the milk that is topped off with cream.

 

Then open your eyes to the snakes and fish,

The creek carries down in its stream.

 

So, come back! Come back!

Along Candelo track,

Where the folks make you feel at home.

You remember a while, the Candelo style,

No matter how far you roam.

 

 

Simon C.J. Falk 25 October 2008

 

The Fighter

The Fighter

We all know that life is busy for so many people.  Some days we take it in our stride. On other days it annoys, frustrates or frightens us. This poem explores some of that condition.  It places the primal fight-flight mechanism right into the breach of the dialogue.

 

The Fighter

 I am the boxer

Flailing on the rope

Trying to knock away my opponent

And I fear I cannot cope.

 

The demands come

Like constant jabs

Shooting pains

At times from various directions

Google calendar alerts

Email inboxes

Pushy ‘push notifications’

Piles of ‘snail mail’

Tetchy texts

And more besides

Come in.

“Can we make a time?”

“This opportunity not to be missed!”

“Have you read those documents?”

I want to shred those documents!

 

I am the wrestler

Grappling with the foe

Trying hard to throw them off

Then down the road I’ll go.

 

Then there are the regulars

The constant appointments

Didn’t I just write a report?

“Umm, that was last month’s one,

now we need another one.”

“We haven’t seen you at our group for a while.”

 

I am the runner

Running from the malaise

Darting here and darting there

Fleeing all my days

 

Ahh, a free night!

Put the phone on silent!

Get out of town.

Go to a quiet place

And keep company with your soul.

Be quick!

Or your opportunity will get eaten up!

 

I am the writer

Fighting with pen again

Trying to make some sense

And to verbalise the pain

 

To anaesthetise the pain

 

Or pour it down the drain

 

And purge away the drain

 

Before I go insane.

 

 

Simon C.J. Falk  17 May 2014

Yowaka River

 

 

 

Occasionally I like to post some older poems.  It gives a bit of a mix.  It also helps us see what is enduring in writers and what changes.

 

Yowaka River

 

In Yowaka’s twists and bends,

The peace follows in the breeze,

The calm is balm to all its friends,

Who shelter ‘neath its trees.

 

The mullet jump at passing insects skimming water’s top,

Flathead sink in sandy hollows in the river’s pools,

And then you hear a plop!

As children jump from the pontoon, when they’ve come home from schools!

 

Canoes you see a paddling,

Up river or down the mouth,

Cars the bends are straddling,

On the Highway north or south.

 

Fisher folk with plenty of pluck,

Cast into the balmy brine,

A puffer fish might test their luck,

Or a whiting find their line.

 

But the Kooris know the spots to go,

To find fish in scales or shells,

With patience that lets them take it slow,

And their dreaming giving them spells.

 

The Yowaka’s been here longer than us,

And will be when we’re gone,

It wends its way with little fuss,

Sparkling in the sun.

 

Simon C.J. Falk 21 December 2008

A Salute to Our Notebooks When the Time Arrives

This is another topic that has been pestering me for a while.  A fellow blogger posted about filofaxes http://giorgethomas.com/2013/09/02/filofax-obsessed/ .  I love Paperblanks notebooks.  I am also fascinated with the various places writers go to.  In what locales do they find themselves needing to write?  Do they write on napkins (serviettes), on scraps of paper?  Or on the back of letters and other snail mail? This post is about writers and the little (or not so little) books they leave in strategic spots for that moment.

A Salute to Our Notebooks When the Time Arrives

 

We find them in all places,

Inside cupboards and within drawers,

On the upper storeys,

As well as downstairs floors.

 

We slide them in our pockets,

In satchels and in bags.

They ride in our motorcars,

And lurk among our rags.

 

At times they get full mileage,

At others, they sit and wait;

Patiently riding out the writers block,

Until the silence does abate.

 

And then we reach out for them,

Open the latches and leaf the pages;

The carbon and the ink flows

In the writing stages.

 

When we run out of space,

We start scrawling round the fringes,

Infilling all the margins

Amidst our writers’ cramping twinges.

 

We love our little notebooks,

The Paperblanks and the Moleskins,

The Collins and the Filofaxes,

And the ones from bargain bins.

 

So give cheers all you writers,

To your favourite writing pages!

Tell us your zany stories,

About your favourite writing places!

 

Simon C.J. Falk 10 May 2014

Reminiscences of Romano’s Fairfield!

On a recent visit to Canberra I was struck by how a coffee shop that didn’t look that cosy still had a sense of community.  The architecture and decor was harsh and hard. But…. there were regulars streaming in who were obviously known by the baristas.  It reminded me of days in Melbourne of when I had my own ‘regular’. I wrote them a poem for when I left Melbourne and have posted it here. Cheers!

Reminiscences of Romano’s Fairfield!

Beautiful baristas! Some coffee for me please!

My eyes are heavy,

My limbs flop limp,

I’m weakening at the knees!

I wandered in one morning,

Seeking a coffee for my way,

Something broke right through my yawning,

And stayed with me from that day.

No doubt characters cross the threshold,

Of the glassy welcoming doors,

Some may be shy, some may be bold,

They may come in sunshine, or shuffle in when it pours.

But when I entered Romano’s,

Something seemed to click,

It was more than just coffee and milky flows,

Whatever – it seemed to stick.

Is it the bouncy family way,

With kids gawking at the cakes?

Or those seeking to ease the day,

With the Age or Herald Sun news breaks?

Or is it the staff of friendly face,

Who kindly spread their cheer?

Who know their regulars around the place,

And who ordered what in here.

It’s more than just the grind and steam,

Of the coffee they tenderly give,

But an ambience in the scene,

That helps you want to live.

Romano’s helps you greet the day,

With a good and spritely start,

Whether sitting inside or take-away,

It helps to lighten the heart.

Coffee beans might pick up your rate,

And milk might give your bones strength,

But Romano’s staff add a pleasant state,

And boil an atmosphere in their cafe length.

The atmosphere percolates through little gestures,

Like giving a coffee card,

Which might give no frequent flyers,

But makes walking past real hard!

You might give a tip to them,

But here’s a tip for you and me:

Count your blessings as well as your money,

And with your gratitude be free.

So, as you in the morning greet

The bustle and Melbourne breeze,

Make your way to Station Street,

To Romano’s, if you please!

 

Simon C.J. Falk      Commenced 10 December 2010