Today, my Throwback Friday poem was written on December 4th, 2020
Every Ordinary Day
If you look up There is air and sky If you look backward There goes the sunset If you look forward Here comes sunrise If you look sideways There shines the fullness of the day
Look and you will feel Nature sharing her love Look and you will hear Her crescendo of life’s adrenaline
Dedicated to my dear wife, to celebrate her birthday on Wednesday the 17th of April. I think my words say enough … I’m proud and honoured to present this Haiku as my “Throwback Friday” post today. Twelve years have passed and I’m quite emotional this week, and I apologise to fellow writers, and readers for not blogging and commenting with my usual zest.
I found a poem in my old files yesterday, from September 2018. Here I have revised the wording slightly, but without losing any of the original’s impressive imagery. Dear friends and followers, as you read my article today, I am on my way to the “Clunes Booktown Festival” and won’t be back until Monday afternoon. But, I have been busy writing and have ‘Scheduled’ a post each day while I am away, but my blogging ‘Comments’ will be minimal … >> https://www.clunesbooktown.com.au/
Purple Tomatoe Ferns (Revised)
I have hallucinations of Vikings sailing in the cold
Plundering forgotten hearts and pilfering gold
I am dreaming of the old farmer’s wife
Milking cows, cleaning, and baking for life
I have feelings for the king, in his isolated castle
Looking forlornly upon his drawbridge, a foodless trestle
I am wandering through an empty paddock
Kicking dew off the grass, searching for a lover’s locket
I have plans for the planet’s desolate future
Growing purple tomatoe ferns until they are mature
I remember her bravery, her ever-lasting smile
Crawling over jagged garden beds, every painful mile
I have written and posted a number of “moon” poems lately, and there will be a full moon tomorrow night. So, my Throwback Friday Poem is another Moon Poem, “Did You Hear the Moon Call?, from September 2021
Did You Hear the Moon Call?
Time is an eternal sundial
The sun rises, and the sun sets
Tides roll in, tides go out
The rivers ebb and flow
And the gray clouds of life
Continue to fly on by
Curtains open, and curtains fall
The audience wants more
Feel the crowd roar
Last night, did you hear the moon call?
Until Eyes Hear Sound Not available on Lulu or Amazon yet … but you may purchase it from me, via this web page or my email >> ivorrs20@gmail.com
A poem from my WP archives (March 2018), that I’ve tinkered with, and rehashed a number of times over the years. The original poem was written years before Carole passed (12 years ago), so the wording is quite ambiguous and introverted, and I’ll leave it up to your imaginations to interpret my thoughts …
Today’s Throwback Friday poem is a rewrite of a piece original called “Living On a Knife Edge”(Feb 2019). This poem was one of two, that I submitted to be published in March 2020 , but the other poem was accepted ahead of this piece, and here today I have again revised the 2020 poem.
Living On a Wooden Bridge (Revised)
Fire, fire, there’s raging fires
I need help to stamp out the flames
Burning down this old timber bridge
A traveler’s last causeway to the edge
Carrying today’s harsh realities
Spanning a lifetime of dreams and fantasies
Rain, rain, there’s a Noah’s flood
I need help to stop the cascading suds
Fill the sandbags with riverbed mud
Plug the leakages with woolly rugs
Ring out qualms and doubts
And accept the charity handouts
Warning, warning, there’s a heatwave
I need help to see through the shimmering haze
And peer into nature’s fiery atmosphere tonight
Where millions of her fireflies are alight
Forcing eyes to hear the sound of flashing delights
Gathering above the bridge to be the world’s new sunlight
“The Hosting Of The Shee” a poem by William B Yeats, sung by the Waterboys
The host is riding from Knocknarea And over the grave of Clooth-na-Bare Caoilte tossing his burning hair And Niamh calling: ‘Away, come away’ ‘Away, come away, away, away’.
The winds awaken, the leaves whirl round Our cheeks are pale, our hair is unbound Our breasts are heaving, our eyes are agleam Empty your heart of its mortal dream.
The host is riding from Knocknarea And over the grave of Clooth-na-Bare Caoilte tossing his burning hair And Niamh calling: ‘Away, come away’ ‘Away, come away, away, away’.
Our armsa-wave, our lips are apart And if anything gaze on our rushing band We come between him and the hope of his heart We come between him and the deed of his hand.
The host is riding from Knocknarea And over the grave of Clooth-na-Bare Caoilte tossing his burning hair And Niamh calling: ‘Away, come away’ ‘Away, come away, away, away, away, away…’.
Ivor.Plumber/Poet 