A wattlebird’s song drifted across the afternoon, setting my thoughts wandering beyond the nearby branches. Some journeys take us across landscapes, while others begin with a birdsong and wander among the stars.
Journeying
I was dreamily listening to a wattlebird singing, wandering and journeying in and out of thinking about us wayward earthlings
Will we ever traverse our destructive, warring curse? We are but a tiny dust speck within this vast universe
Is our infinitesimal dot another hovering cosmic shipwreck living on the brink of some black hole’s parking lot?
Here on my verandah’s starry deck, I sense that nature is tiring of being the planet’s wet nurse.
From a wattlebird’s song to thoughts of the cosmos, this gentle tune seemed a fitting companion for the journey home
“A blade of grass is the journeywork of the stars.” ― Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass
Snakes in the Grass
Through my eyes of broken glass I see a holy battleground’s Blades of bloodied lemongrass Are still being voraciously mowed down
With my soul drowning in molten brass I hear the sands of time blowing past The desperate outstretched hands Of the world’s prevailing peaceful class
Beneath skies of darkening light I feel whispers falling upon this warring blight Why does truth linger on our damaged blindside While fear and falsehoods hide?
Some battles are fought in fields, others in hearts. Beneath every blade of grass, a story waits unseen, and sometimes quiet warnings arrive on the gentlest breeze.
Quote:“Why do the war’s doors stay closed to friendly paws?” 🐾 … Frankie 🐶
Frankie wrote this poem on October 21st, 2024. In just a few lines, he imagines a peaceful world with an open door, an earthen floor, and a green décor. It is also a heartfelt plea that humanity stops applauding war’s repeated appearances.
Before the poem, here is Matisyahu’s inspiring “One Day”.
Please! No More Encores(Written by Frankie)
When war is over My door will stay open The floor is earthen My decor is green I adore the theme
Please! No more encores I abhor The vapour Of war
Frankie asks for no more encores. The music that follows reflects on why they keep returning, disguised and renamed, as though each generation must learn the same lesson again.
Watching birds in flight, I am often struck by their grace and seeming freedom from the burdens we humans create for ourselves. Inspired by a series of bird photographs, this poem begins with nature’s gifts before quietly turning its gaze towards a troubled world below.
Nature’s Wings
Birds have wondrous wings and can also sprightly sing
Birds’ lovely lightweight feathers can glide and hover forever
Birds have perceptive eyes and do not criticise or demonise
Birds possess sensitive ears and escape the world’s warring fears
Birds shun the battered ground while eyes still hear that shattered sound
While shaping this poem at the café, I heard “Lift” by Marisa Anderson and felt this gentle melody drifting on the same wings that inspired today’s poem.
A peaceful sunset can feel like the world exhaling — yet sometimes, in that fading light, a different truth appears. This morning’s sky carried both beauty and unease, and my thoughts followed the sun toward the shadowed side of our turning planet.
The Dark Side of Sunset
I was absentmindedly marching, away from worldly soul-searching, when I saw the sun arching toward the dark side of our planet.
Then I wondered who’s there on the other side of this old orb of granite.
And who decides who lives and who dies during the bleak, black night, when the bombs batter what’s left of the moonlight.
A final reflection on the sun’s descent — and the stark questions it leaves burning in the dark.
Hello, dear readers and followers. I contribute to Coffee House Writers magazine (USA) every second week, and I’m delighted to share that my latest poem,“Living in the Shade,” appears in the new issue. You can read it by following the link below.
This week’s piece was shaped quietly at my café table, with late‑day light drifting across the floor and Portugal. The Man’s live performance of “Shade” echoing through my headphones — a fitting companion for a poem about those left waiting in the dimmer corners of our world.
Let this song cast its own soft light across the shadows we carry.
Chocolates are delightfully delicious … wars are deadly and destructive … Above the valley, a white-feathered messenger rises — reminding us how fragile peace can be
Yesterday we visited the Moorabool Valley Chocolate Café for coffee and cake, and the moment brought this poem back to me — a piece I wrote in August 2018, when a simple liquor chocolate stirred memories, questions, and the ache of a world still at war.
Eating Chocolates And Watching Wars (Revised)
Hungrily, I’m eating a liquor chocolate — a selfish heavenly delight, arousing my old mind’s senses.
I wonder what she would be thinking, looking down from the stars through her sensitive olive eyes — her everlasting smile, her gracious courage, her generous heart, her forgiving soul, her love for me and you.
I wonder what she would be thinking, seeing these futile, bloody wars through her compassionate olive eyes — the dead and maimed, the millions of shuffling homeless, the distraught, broken families, the crying children locked in sheds, the desperate refugees with no beds.
I wonder what she would be thinking while she preciously holds the last white dove, observing these senseless wars that never ever ends.
And for the song that holds the cracks and the light, here is Leonard Cohen’s Anthem — offered to a world where the last white dove may never fly free again.
There are moments when a song gathers everyone in the room into one breath.Watching “Spirit Bird” live in Brussels, I felt that pull — a reminder that we’ve walked this path before, laughed and cried before, stood on this same wounded ground before. And still, the spirit rises.
Morning’s silent wings keep tracing the same old stories.
“Spirit Bird”
Yes, we’ve seen it all before “Give it time, and we wonder why, do what we can, laugh, and we cry And we sleep in your dust because we’ve seen this all before.” … The finale lyrics from Xavier Rudd’s emotional song “Spirit Bird.”
As the weekend’s protest thread continues, this poem looks at what we count — and what we choose not to.
VJ’s article on holding to a deeper “why” nudged me toward this poem — a poignant protest shaped by questions of time, land, and what we risk by looking away. Her story is below—the spark behind this poem. >> Having a Why – One Woman’s Quest
Also, over at Weekly Prompts, the Weekend Challenge is the word Invasive. To visit their fabulous site, please click >> Here
Handless Watchbands, or Who’s Counting
How many grains of sand are left in the ancient hourglass? Why are the Holy grasslands a desert full of misguided missiles and handless watch bands?
How many missiles do the leaders in Versailles have to count before the amount is called genocide?
For what we cannot look away from, let the song bear witness.
