Lagoon Linger

Lagoon Linger

Coaxed by warm sun

And chirps, chirrups and

Quacks,

I lingered by

The lagoon a while.

Where parents let the waters

And hungry critters

Help the holiday babysitting.

Plump geese puffed out

Their damp down

Of fluffy feathers

Under solar rays.

A pair of Mallard drakes

Flapped and fought for territory

O’er the murky waters.

All parted ways

As a majestic pair

Of pelicans cruised,

Framed a moment,

Between the trees,

As they passed

My line of vision.

As I walked,

Raven was startled

By my nearing gait,

And coyly strode

Behind some brush,

Gathering sticks

For a nesting –

Promise of a new clutch

Of cawing, carrion chasers.

Yet Raven, like the others,

Each have their own majesty,

On a stunning winter’s day,

As they each parade

Their daily life,

In a beautifully simple array.

Simon C.J. Falk  11 July 2016

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Under Strawberry Tree

Under Strawberry Tree

Starwberry tree tree

Image from: http://www.fruitipedia.com/strawberry_tree.htm  .

 

Under Strawberry Tree

Under the strawberry tree
We sat
Shaded and faded from
The heat and light.
Drinks flowed
Into conversations
And smiling faces
Showed the animated interest
In the other.
Stories were shared
About you
And me
And them
And whoever really.
Beneath its boughs
Was sheltered
Our gathering
Of people
And ourself
In its repository
Of memories.

I am the Strawberry Tree,
My branches give you shade,
As you relax together
With your beer and lemonade.
My bark and rings bear memories,
Of children who simply must climb trees,
And how the kids conquered reaching branches

Even if they barked their knees.
I’ve been here many winters,
And lots of summers in the sun,
Serving this family and their friends,

For their leisure and their fun.
I’ve been here frosty mornings,
Or a searing afternoon,

I’ll be here for more seasons
Come back under me again soon.

Simon C.J. Falk 2 April 2016

 

 

The Rage Rages On

The Rage Rages On (edited) – Retro Post

TableLight

We are coming to the end of #Movember and, as I think on matters mental health, I am reminded of this set of lines that I penned years ago.   Back then, due to various reasons, I had spiraled into a situational depression.  I am fine now, but was not then.  It was important to get help. So, in these last days of #Movember, I urge men especially to get help from their doctor or other helplines in places where they come from.  The idea to do another retro post came from  witnessing our esteemed blogger colleague, Robert Okaji at O at the edges, do a great retro post recently.

The Rage Rages On

And the rage rages on!

The rage is maintained:

Surging up,

Billowing forth,

Pulsing through the veins.

The rage rages on!

War against terror,

Against Wall Street,

Against each other,

Against ourselves,

The rage rages on!

I feel it in me

Like a twirling tempest,

Like a surging sea,

Then I feel flat:

So flat,

Heavy,

Weighed down,

Septic,

With exhausting, raging weight.

I anger

At where I am,

At who I am.

I know not who I am anymore,

Save that I want to write again.

Verses, poems, stories

I want to write again.

My eyes are dry and heavy,

My limbs, like suspended concrete

Stiffly droop from my frame.

My head feels heavy

And thick like all its

Liquid is turning solid,

Or like gooey grease.

I am losing my memory

Or am I in fact retaining or attending?

I feel as if I am shutting down

Like a flower retreating from the evening time,

Closing its petals to the gloom.

And I feel in the eventide of my years

Ageing, old-ening, arthritic in body and ideas,

Stiffening against the blows of life

And the pains of past excesses

And yet

To put it down

To lay it on the page

Somehow that helps,

Anchors it,

Shapes it,

Puts it in its place,

And ejects some of the venom.

 

Original 22 February 2008, edited 28 November 2015

Repost: The Kelpie Dog at Christmas

The Kelpie Dog at Christmas

This is a repost of a poem for an Aussie Christmas last year.  A new Aussie Christmas poem for this year Golden Grains, Golden Light!  will be available shortly.

The Kelpie Dog at Christmas

They gathered around the Christmas scene,

All those years ago;

In the cold air of Bethlehem,

In a rocky cave hollow.

 

Mary, Joseph and Jesus,

Gathered on some hay;

Amongst the rocks and animals,

On that first Christmas day.

 

Angels called to shepherds,

Who came in from fields to adore;

On entering the cave they crouched down,

Amongst the animals and straw.

 

Outside the cave in the weather,

Some sheep twitched in cold, damp fog;

But before they could get away,

Along came a kelpie dog!

 

His black coat glistened with droplets,

His ears pointed to the stars;

His eyes took stock of that restless flock,

He’d put an end to their baas!

 

He circled round the flock,

He mobbed them right in tight;

They were bunched up together,

On that first Christmas night.

 

And while the shepherds paid respect

To Jesus on the hay;

That kelpie dog served vigil,

And kept the sheep at bay.

 

That night was long and dreary,

The cold got in to their bones;

And while those inside were snug,

Sheep and dog stood on chilly stones.

 

When the night was waning,

And the sun appeared in the sky;

The shepherds emerged from the cavern,

And what did they spy?

 

A tight little mob of warm sheep,

Looking on with hungry eyes;

And a kelpie dog with a glistening coat,

Under early morning skies.

 

The shepherds looked in wonder,

And one let out a cheer:

“Bravo, our kelpie dog!

You’ve saved the day out here!”

 

The dog looked up in approval,

Giving a slobbery grin;

Then trotted off past them,

And to the cave went in.

 

He sauntered up to the manger,

Right up close he did;

“Oh no!” Cried out a shepherd,

“He’ll dribble on the kid!”

 

But the dog looked on in reverence,

He slowly bowed his head;

Then nestled down beside the Christ child,

And went to sleep instead.

 

Now some may say this is legend,

And wasn’t part of the night;

But legends survive in generations,

As well as books written right.

 

When you remember Christmas,

As an adult or as a kid;

Rest in the presence of Jesus,

Like the kelpie did.

 

 

Simon C.J. Falk          Repost from 17 December 2013.

 

BeckomRestArea

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

 

Ashes

Image

Ashes

Ashes

In the puddle

Tell a story.

Embers

On the tree-line

Blacken the view.

Once there were trees,

Now blackened silhouettes

Stand on a hill.

Fire

Came right through here.

Stock

Were mustered.

Panic

In the ute

Drove them too.

Storm

Brought some rain,

Slowed the flames.

Ashes

In the puddle

Hold the story

Of that day.

Simon C.J. Falk           6 December 2013

Not far from where I currently live a fire raged during this week.  The “Smith’s Lane” fire burnt a swathe of grassland and scrubby hills between Springdale and Stockinbingal.  Properties were damaged, with homes and lives at risk.  The free-verse above attempts to put us into the story of what happened.  Hopefully it aids our understanding of what some families both had to endure and are still to recover from.

Image

Richard Foote Art

The Unique Art of Richard Foote

Moira McAlister

Writing about Reading and Reading about Writing

Salini Vineeth

Fiction writer

A Hundred Quills

There's a new sun burning, and soft fruits ripening, my precious grizzled tresses tumbling, Dylan's humming 'The times they are a changing', these parting verses are mere shadows merging ...

(CALIATH)

An Empyrean Cycle

Dr Kate Gregorevic

Virtual verse from a viewpoint

Daydreaming as a profession

Daydreaming and then, maybe, writing a poem about it. And that's my life.

http://www.lynnungar.com/

Virtual verse from a viewpoint

Asha Seth

Bookworm. Poet. Story-teller.

THE DOGLADY'S DEN

Dogs*Life*Music*Photography*Travel*Writing

Monica Applewhite

Virtual verse from a viewpoint

Ailish Sinclair

Stories and photos from Scotland

LUNA

Pen to paper

The Light Behind the Story

Seeking the magic and light in life's journeys

BY THE LEFT HAND...

Brett Kristian

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