A Walk in #MartinPlace Remembering #LindtCafe

A Walk in Martin Place Remembering Lindt Cafe
As I walked

And looked,

Upon the rain-wet

Surfaces,

Of Martin Place,

A glow in me

Mirrored

The sheen of light

Upon

The scene.

Martin Place:

Monument of memories.

Dandy dashers

Grasp a quick bouquet,

To take to lovers

On the way

To romance.

Others snatch,

A printed read 

Of newspapers,

For a daily feed.

Military men

Women,

And their beloved,

Stand in sentinel,

Reminiscent

Of standing guard

Over national security.

Monument

To bustling business

And busy-ness,

To commerce,

To remembrance of war.

But, there is more

To tell.

As, remember well,

We do.

Don’t you?

That other war,

That breaks out

Like a pesky rash

In unwanted places,

Afflicting us where

We expect not.

It broke out,

Up the way,

At our much loved

Lindt Cafe.

We remember 

The footage:

Journos palpably posed

And poised

Before the plight

Of those held within,

And of their loved ones,

Held hostage too,

By their powerless worries.

We return and remember,

Now in greater peace,

And release

From that torment.

The Lindt Cafe

Is a welcome sight again.

A place to go when

On one level, we enjoy 

Hospitality.

And, on another,

Lift our cup

For sacrifice,

In service

Of liberty.

We recall the fallen,

Their grieved families,

As we walk on,

Grateful

To be free.
Simon C.J. Falk 15 July 2017
……………………..

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Taken

Taken

We who are left behind do not know, taste and smell the real horrors of war. It is relayed to us. We see it in those who return. Occasionally, at times like Anzac Day, we are given a rare gift of empathy with those affected by war. We are somehow taken into their experience. We are also taken to a place of raw emotion ourselves.

Taken

(i)

They were taken

By a cause

By ‘the Services’

To the front.

They were taken

And some

Were never given back.

(ii)

Some returned,

Some with spirits broken,

An innocence in them

Taken away.

As we think on them

We are taken

By their courage and sacrifice.

We are taken

By their pain

Their listless, wistful

Half-lived life.

(iii)

At memorial services

We are taken

As the hymns play

And we are taken

Somewhere deep within.

Where we hear:

Whistling shells,

The crack of guns,

And booms of cannons,

And drones of aircraft fly by.

The sound hits upon us

Like a torrent of rushing waters

And we feel as if we

Are taken

Under,

Drowning in a sea of war.

(iv)

At Dawn Services

We are taken

In the silence before the dawn

By the solemn flying over

Of planes in peace time,

Like sentinels,

Guarding our ritual remembrance.

We are taken by their care.

Simon C.J Falk           25/26 April 2015