A gentle twilight settled over yesterday’s sky, its fading colours echoing the soft hush of evening. This poem grew from that quiet moment — a lingering farewell woven through the last light of day.
Echoes Of Goodbye
Daylight is on the soft edge of night. Today’s sentinel sun has wistfully said goodbye to the world’s indigenous blue sky.
Twilight time melodramatically commandeers earth’s chromatic horizon.
I stand here, amazed and wondering how do I explain these encircling, empyreal surroundings to the echoes of our final goodbye.
A final whisper of twilight, carried forward in song.
It was “our” 50th Anniversary yesterday, the 10th of September. Whispering Flowers was written back in early 2019, during my recovery from two strokes — a time when every small journey felt tender and deliberate. Today, the flowers have been delivered, and we’ve spent the afternoon in the sunshine, sharing an anniversary lunch at the café and a glass of red, letting the memories settle gently around us.
Whispering Flowers (Tullawalla, page 41)
Carole and I, 45 years ago, before her MS developed.
At the cemetery with flowers for Carole, and then to the Cafe for lunch and a toast to Carole.
Whispering Flowers (Revised)
I went shopping this morning, To buy her flowers For our anniversary day.
A bus trip to the local florist, then I boarded another bus to the cemetery — my first time on a bus carrying flowers.
Bouquet in hand, on I hopped, You could’ve heard a pin drop.
Over the silence, I heard solemn whispers. The men on the bus courteously nodded, And the ladies knowingly smiled.
Gratified, I dipped my cap in acknowledgement. Then I started to sense the day’s emotions arise, and with my honesty glowing, I felt proudly special.
And as Scarborough Fair drifts through the afternoon light, I carry her memory faithfully, where flowers and remembrance quietly meet.
Fifty years feels both distant and close, a milestone carried quietly through my days. Some memories soften, some sharpen, but one truth remains — I still see her in the small moments, in the quiet spaces, in the light that lingers. Today, I honour that presence the only way I know how: with a few simple lines.
I See You Now, Fifty Years, Today
A day I celebrate every day — every day, walking my narrow path, I see you now. Every day, looking into our misty mirror, I see you now.
Fifty years, today — every night, in my dreams, I see you now. Every night, in the stars. I see you now.
I am here, you are where you are. One day, my dear, I’ll join you in the stars.
A song that echoes the way I still see her — in dreams, in stars, in the quiet of today.
Fifty years arrives like a soft, golden hush — a moment where memory steps forward, hand in hand with the present. As tomorrow’s anniversary draws near, I found myself looking toward the sky, letting its warm light guide me back through the years. This Tanka is the quiet breath before the day itself, a small reflection of the love still shimmering in every sunset.
Tomorrow’s Our 50th Anniversary (a Tanka)
Sunset’s pure-gold sky And I’m inwardly smiling. She’s flamboyantly channeling me — a bright clue: tomorrow’s our golden day.
And tomorrow, as the golden sky leans close, her light will rise through me once more.
G’day readers. It has been an emotional weekend — my mother’s birthday yesterday, my wife’s funeral day, and Mother’s Day today here in Australia. This haiku is a small tribute to the gracious and courageous women who shaped me, and to the strength their lives still give me as I move forward.
Willing (a Haiku)
Still willing to fly Black sky and an arctic wind Nothing holds me back
For the women who taught me to rise, even on the coldest of days.
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.
These four couplets unfold like stepping stones — small pauses across the quiet waters of loss. Each one holds a moment of recognition, a shift in understanding, a breath before the next step. Paired with Leonard Cohen’s “Teachers,” the poem traces the lessons we never received, and the ones we learn only by walking toward them
Life’s Missing Teacher
I never found a teacher, who taught me how to grieve.
The unforeseen creature was difficult to perceive.
After unplugging her extension cord, time was always near.
While wandering toward the edge of life’s weathered pier.
