In keeping with this week’s ‘Bird’ theme, today’s Throwback Friday poem (originally written in May 2023) is drawn from my third book, Until Eyes Hear Sound. It appears as a poem in Chapter 1: Little Creatures and the Birds
Bird on a Ladder
I am a blackbird on a circus ladder Singing about how the world is feeling sadder Or should I sing, “becoming madder”
Here on the last rung, I stand Below, I see a treeless land Above, I hear a breathless sky After the show, I untangle my necktie And I ask you why “Does it matter, when I leap, what route do I fly?”
“Let the music spin the world’s madness into something we can still sing about
In keeping with this week’s ‘Environment’ theme, today’s Throwback Friday poem (originally written in July 2020) is drawn from my upcoming book, Time Hears No Sound. It appears as a poem in Chapter 2, Nature: An Unbiased Timekeeper
Polar Bears and Cold Sheep
hello world, do you see my frown? will the blizzards ever calm down? will the rains forever fall on broken ground? will our tears of silence be the only sound?
the frozen wounds are deep the mountains of snow are steep humans need to stop being cold sheep and begin taking their own individual leaps
the rewards of being caring and kind far outweigh the coldness of being left behind
For the wounds we’ve carved into the earth, may this music echo the quiet truth our planet keeps trying to tell us.
Today’s Throwback poem was written in May 2024. For reasons I can’t quite explain, this reflective piece never found its way into my new book Time Hears No Sound. Maybe this insightful poem will nudge me toward beginning a new manuscript for my fifth book.
Cold Feet
I wandered outside; the evening air was damp and cold, and the moon was sharing the dappled midnight sky with dark, satiny clouds.
Forlornly, I looked up and quizzically asked the moon, “I have failed. My words were drowned in the hail. I’m poor and unbound; all I have is muddy ground. Who listens, anyhow? Where do I go now?”
“Do not fret, my friend As Confucius said, It does not matter how slowly you go as long as you do not stop. And that old Japanese Proverb: Fall down seven times, stand up eight. “
I wandered back inside. The desk lantern was still burning. I reopened my torn notebook and began writing again.
For the nights when the cold settles in, but the words still find their way.
G’day readers. As this tender weekend approaches — my mother’s birthday tomorrow, my wife’s funeral day, and Mother’s Day on Sunday here in Australia — I’m returning to a poem from September 2019 for today’s Throwback Friday. It feels like the right one to hold all of that.
Me, sitting on Mum’s knee. … L to R, Carole, Aunties Elizabeth & Pearl, & Grandma
Grandma and her 3 daughters. … My mum (left) and her lady relatives
The Woman In Me
Inside every man There is a woman
The mother of his soul The lady of his heart The kindness in his touch The passion in his blood
The woman who fostered The way he shows love
For all the women who shaped our hearts, let this melody bloom again.
Today’s Throwback poem was written before I started my website and is from June 2012, not long after Carole passed away (14 years ago, May 3rd). For reasons I can’t quite explain, this nostalgic piece never found its way into any of my three books. Maybe this unheralded poem will finally nudge me toward completing my fourth.
Where’s That Dream
I have seen the universe through to the stars beyond There is a deep darkness; she is gone. She is gone I saw her smile crack from the pain There was a sorrow, she caught it tomorrow
I have seen the moon through the burning sun Where is that planet she is walking on? I saw her eyes crying tears of sand Where is that beach she is lying on?
I have seen the ocean through the broken coral Where is that ship she is sailing on? I saw her body serene and frail Where are the ashes she is covered in?
I have seen the earth open, swallowing the multitude whole Where is that chasm she is falling through? I saw her gentle soul disappear out of sight Where is that secret haven she is flying to?
I have seen the land go through violent storms Where are the winds of time she is spread upon? I saw her heart, her love, for all of you and me Where is that dream she has left us to find?
Today’s Throwback Friday poem (originally written in July 2022) is drawn from my third book, Until Eyes Hear Sound. It appears in Chapter 5: Observation, Until Eyes Hear Sound.
A Torn Thesaurus
With my fiddle and riddles Here in the middle Of this unopened universe Time spirals in reverse
Quills fly in from cyberspace As alien words unravel and interlace A torn thesaurus is my database I wonder Have I landed in the right place?
A special poem I wrote, after I’d taken my Lady to the hospital for the last time, on the day of her 65th birthday, fourteen years ago.
Hello Carole, time goes by, and my heart has not moved …
Under The Snow
We emanate to a birthday. We deflate to a final day. Birthdays, they all come, they all go. Birthdays, in the sunshine, under the snow. Birthdays, slow to mature, quickly an eon. Birthdays, before we are born, after we are gone. Birthdays, hanging on by a breath. Birthdays, nailed to a cross ’til death. What does it all mean to be alive and cry? What does it all mean to live and to die?
In keeping with this week’s ‘Moon’ theme, today’s Throwback Friday poem (originally written in January 2021) is drawn from my third book, Until Eyes Hear Sound. It appears in Chapter 8: Poetry in Slow Motion, and if you need to have a chat with me, “I am up here floating on the moon.”
Floating On The Moon
I am not always wrong And at times, I may have been right Behind my mask, I smile And at times, I grimace
Numbness has entered my bones Clumsiness guides my pen Awkwardness precedes my stride Uneasiness resonates in my voice
I am not able to walk on water And at times, I have sunk like a stone I live within my soul’s cocoon And at times, I am floating on the moon
In keeping with this week’s ‘Anti-war’ theme, today’s Throwback Friday poem (originally written in June 2024) is drawn from my upcoming book, Time Hears No Sound. It appears as a poem in Chapter 8, War: A Waste of Time
And I Wonder Why
On a windless winter morn I am walking beside the waveless bay Watching the white wispy clouds Wandering above the whispering trees
And I am wondering why Our worried and weeping world Wantonly wastes time On unworthy and wearisome wars
“Esmerelda”, a wonderfully dramatic song by Ben Howard
Today’s Throwback Friday poem (originally written in May 2023) is drawn from my upcoming book, Time Hears No Sound. It appears as the opening poem in Chapter 8, War: A Waste of Time
“And I have carried on this war. Though no one wins an endless fight. I have claimed that God has guided me. And killed to prove I’m right.” Lyrics from Damien Rice’s song, “What if I’m wrong.”
Between Lines, Who Holds the Power
Do you see – a man walking on water? Did you see – his feet were bleeding? Do you read – the missing scriptures? Did you read – your own family tree? Do you hear, speechless angels, singing? Did you hear – the songbirds crying?
Do you feel – the erased wars calling? Did you feel – the hard rains falling? Do you know – the ones who are lying? Did you know, the refugees are dying?
“What If I’m Wrong”, Lyrics, by Damien Rice
I could wrestle with tomorrow Until tomorrow’s in the past Because I have torn apart what’s beautiful To prove that nothing lasts I have stayed locked behind these doors To show there’s no way out I got lost within the space between The question and the doubt I have built a wall between
What I believed and what is true I have sacrificed the love I had For power over you
I have convicted those who disagree And walked over the weak I have placed a gun within the mouth Of those who dared to speak
And on an ordinary day In an ordinary way I have crushed the minds of children With extraordinary shame
And I have carried on this war Though no one wins an endless fight I have claimed that God has guided me And killed to prove I’m right
What if I’m wrong What if I’m wrong What if I’m wrong What if I’m wrong
Is this soul worth saving at all? Cause if I lose my wings then surely I must fall And the gods prayed to the gods they made
We could wrestle with tomorrow until tomorrow’s in the past We could tear apart what’s beautiful To prove that nothing lasts
We could stay locked behind the doors To show there’s no way out We could get lost within the space between The question and the doubt
Ivor.Plumber/Poet 