Fall

Fall

 

Moving along

Slowly

Faltering.

The dizzying head

The jelly legs

Sway

And crumble

The earth holds

The weight –

No further to fall.

 

Then

Comes the decision:

Get up

And go again?

Stay awhile

Resting on terra firma?

Surrender

Give up?

Until

You become

Another’s burden

Borne as their load.

 

 

Simon C.J. Falk 25 March 2016

 

Advertisement

Best Australian Poems – Poetry for Australia Day

Poetry for Australia Day

We are approaching Australia Day, 26 January.  Since this is a poetry blog our minds might turn to familiar poets who have written over the years. Some classic ladies like Dorothea MacKellar and Mary Gilmore stand out. Perhaps some of the gents such as A.B. ‘Banjo’ Paterson (a reading of ‘Clancy of the Overflow’ here) or Henry Lawson spring to mind. Maybe the humourous, like C.J. Dennis, with his ‘Glugs of Gosh’, captivated other readers too.  But there have been many, many other poets since them.  I keep returning to Les Murray and Bruce Dawe.  But, I am always on the lookout for others.

    Black Inc. Publishing have been giving readers a selection of Best Poems for some  years. Although I have not yet finished reading through it, I would like to send out a  shout to Black Inc. and Geoff Page, who have given us the 2015 edition.  We look forward to the 2016 edition.

What are your favourite Australian poets or poems?

 

 

I’m Back There Again

I’m Back There Again

Watching the film La famille Belier raised responses in me.  The daughter struggling to live with the consequences of her discovery took me back to similar struggles over talking on an extra, and more advanced, English unit at school.
I’m Back There Again

A response to La famille Belier
I’m back there again,

Awkward and nervous and

Trying.

Trying, yes, it was trying,

But trying not to be seen,

Lest the little confidence

Might falter and fall

To pieces.

So I put my name

Upon the list

For the class.

But fright caused flight

And

I never fronted.

I wanted to and lingered

But could not carry myself

To the info meeting.

He:

He came looking

For me

Yes, me.

That teacher was

Wanting 

To know

Why?

Why had I not come?

He still put me on

The list.

And

I did that English class.
Lived all this again, I did,

In the cinema,

On that wet day,

As the daughter

Of La famille Belier

Found her voice.

It frightened her

I felt it

I knew that damn’ed fear!

For it took me back.

She could not attend

Nor could l

Her voice

She could not own

As with I.

But her voice was freed

And took me back

To becoming.

Becoming self.

Becoming free.
Simon C.J. Falk 15 January 2016

La famille Belier

La famille Belier

Yesterday I saw this film called La famille Belier.  It was very moving and a trailer can be viewed on youtube.  The soundtrack also has a bright vivaciousness about it too. 

 

La famille Belier

The sight:

Of the countryside

Of Normandy,

Of signing

Between persons,

Flailing arms

In arcs and swings,

All

Denoting

Encoding

And decoding

Words

Thoughts

Emotions

even

The ‘sex life’

Of a couple.

Visual laughs,

Then

Come the tears.

 

The sound:

Of lowing cows,

Honking horns,

Of silence,

Of inaudible groans

Of exasperation,

Of piano keys

In syncopated rhythm,

With

The intensity

Narrated before us.

 

The sound:

Of a voice,

First feeble,

Then,

Finding

Its fissure to freedom,

Flows,

Out and out,

And flies,

From the back

Of a room to:

Teacher,

To Paris,

To us.

We hear

Its sound,

And its delicate

And unravelling

Passion.

 

The love:

Of musician for music,

Of a family,

Of friendship,

Of the melody

That flows

And circles

And gathers

Into its rhythm

The narrative

On the screen,

And plays

A meaningful resonance

On the strings

Of our hearts.

 

 

 

Simon C.J. Falk   15 January 2016

 

Petite Pieces and Some a Tad Longer

Petite Pieces and Some a Tad Longer

Various bits of flotsam and jetsam that happen along the way. Some of them a bit gross and others leaning towards awareness of the beautiful. 

Reflux

Arise and awaken

As the perspiration quickens,

And the dread,

The light head.

A freight train,

Stock car race

And,

Whatever else,

Are going on in the gut below.

The duodenum

Is in convulsion

Run!

Pitter, patter,

Get to the matter!

Up she comes!

A torrent of liquid

And solids.

Now:

The waiting,

The settling,

And –

Ahhh –

The after sleep.

 

 

Simon C.J. Falk 10 January 2016

 

 

Decidedly Dishevelled

 

Yep.

That’s it.

Decidedly dishevelled day.

As the hours pass

It all glides by

In a giddy sort of way.

Urge to sleep

Lurks around every corner.

Co-ordination

Somehow is

Or isn’t

Wired quite right.

Hands, feet

Fumble and miss,

Yes, miss,

Today was a miss.

A decidedly dishevelled day.

 

 

Simon C.J. Falk 10 January 2016

 

 

Early Morning Drive

 

Early morning drive

Bounces the sleep

From tired eyes

And heavy bodies.

Senses

Slowly awaken,

Like petals, testing the sunlight.

And a vista emerges:

Light dancing across the lake,

Geese feeding in the stubble,

Almost serene, this scene,

And pose,

Behind the wheel.

Almost feel alive.

 

 

Simon C.J. Falk 10 January 2016

 

 

Farewell Feral Carpet

Farewell Feral Carpet

The pictures at the beginning of this post show the hallway carpet before removal.   It was worn, rotten, and, in some places, it was mouldy. The pictures at the end of this post show the floors after the removal of the offending floor coverings.

 

Farewell Feral Carpet

 

Farewell feral carpet,

We miss you not at all!

You keeper of lice from the pet,

And every grain of dust to fall.

 

We cut you and we rolled you,

Then we took you out the door,

We can now see the floorboards too,

Of the crafted timber floor.

 

Although the wood is scratched in spots,

And the white ants had a chew,

It will get cleaned and polished lots,

And we will sand off all that glue.

 

So farewell feral carpet,

Hope you enjoyed your final trip,

A chauffeur ride in a utility,

Off to the garbage tip!

 

 

Simon C.J. Falk 10 January 2016

Poems that Emerge

Poems that Emerge

 

I cannot force a poem. They just seem to arise in me when I do not expect them to come. It is as if I am some kind of steward, tending to them, waiting on them, and handing them on.

 

Poems that Emerge

 

They come ashore to us,

They come from who knows where.

They come and set up court with us,

They are here and come from there.

 

But glad we are that they arrive,

That they come and enter in.

We cannot force their forming as we strive,

Yet they appear to arise from within.

 

These verses come to be our guest,

And we but welcome them such.

We steward them and they do the rest,

And we so cherish them much.

 

We give thanks for poetic words set free,

That come from our pencil and pen.

We feel their loss when they are not around,

And welcome their return again.

 

 

Simon C.J. Falk   13 December 2015

The Rage Rages On

The Rage Rages On (edited) – Retro Post

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

Reflections – Inspired by Cherish Blogfest 24,25,26 July 2015

Reflections

I already had a post in the #Cherished Blogfest .  But it has inspired me to keep going.  Reflections are part of our lives.  Both the reflections we see and the ones that take us on a journey inside with our inner eye.

 Reflections

Reflections
Enter our lives
Resplendent

And radiant

Shadowed

And

Shiny too.

How wondrous they are!

To be in them,

In concert with

The rhythm of them.

So much the better

Than

A captured image

Of photograph

Or screen –

Copyrighted, of course!

Ah, but

To be present

To them as they

Are to us.

To sniff the unconstructed air

To feel the feather-soft

Lakeside humus

Underfoot.

Foot of fowl

Of beast

And halting human

Like myself.

Soil soft

As the down

Of ducks drifting by,

Their low quacks

Alerting friends –

In a ducky dialect

Unbeknownst to me –

That

A human

Is here.

Reflections that

Still us 

Suspend us

And,

Holding us 

In a gasp and sigh

So deep

That it reverberates

Silently within.

And then

The reflection

Turns in and out

And about us.

We bow our inner selves

In reverence

Before the majesty

Grateful

And full,

Sated and

Brimming over

In a deeply felt

Knowledge of sorts.

Knowledge

That we too can

Reflect

And radiate

Like the scenes.

We reflect within and without,

In concert

With the reflecting

and resonance

Of the cathedral of creation

Around us:

In a refracting dewdrop,

A lake,

A beloved’s eyes;

All of them

Replete with splendour.
Simon C.J. Falk. 22 August 2015

 
  

Healed Home

Healed Home

Danced!

My soul

It danced

The day

The healing

Came

To me.

Pushed,

Crawled,

Lurched

And leaned

Onward

I went

Through the crowd.

Touch

If I could touch

But the cloak.

Reach

Stretch

Yes

Oh!

I am whole

I am healed

One with myself

No longer alone

I can rejoin

My people

My own.

I am

Healed home.

Life

I now have life

He dried the flood

That led to death.

Humbled

I am before

But oh,

The gratitude

Bursts from my heart

In the new springtime

Of my days.

Simon C.J. Falk                       27 June 2015

In the common Christianity Lectionary (book of Bible readings) this weekend, an account from the Gospel of Mark (5:21-43) tells of the healing of both Jairus’ daughter and of an unnamed woman with a haemorrhage.  The verse above attempts to catch the jubilation the woman may have felt.