After I had left the hem Without women I could not have survived my time I would not have braved the climb Ladies, you are my rhyme My mother’s of thyme
Helping me roll away the stone Maintaining these old bones Repairing the bridges, I have burnt Reciting the messages, I have learnt Cheering from the sidelines Supporting my broken designs Women of My Rhymes Mothers for a lifetime
I am a hybrid of mixed origin An off-spring of my parents Dad was a red-head with freckles From Tasmania, a convict great-grandson Mum had dark hair and olive skin A German and Scottish background She was born in Penang Malaysia They were worlds apart The great war shaped their paths Time and peace brought them together I’m their hybrid, with freckles and dark hair
Over at Weekly Prompts, The Weekend Challenge is the word Absence. Please visit their fabulous site by clicking on >> HERE
Imaginary Bookcases and Bootlaces
In the absence Of any commonsense I’m here talking in mime About my memories and rhymes From behind my imaginary bookcase And wearing a quirky poet’s face
This is my ordained place Where I bravely embrace The unpredictable pace In this dysfunctional race
Then I cautiously retrace My creations’ underground faces From the days of waterlogged bootlaces
During early February, my stunning Day Lily begins to bloom, which nostalgically coincides with my father’s birthday week. A potted perennial that I rescued from my dear departed parent’s homestead. The lilies always grace my garden in February as nature’s tribute to Dad, and today’s revised poem was originally written in February 2017, when me and Dad’s day lily moved into my villa, “Shangri La” …
Day Lily and Love (Revised)
Upon my pillow, I sleep Good morning, I do peek From the cushion of my dreams To my garden’s awakening beams Blushing red hues, oh so bright You bloom during the night
And after cuddling the dew You open up your scenic view Flowering, standing proud, and steep Perfection at my feet A glorious Lily, like the wings of a dove And by sunlight, you air your love
Hello, dear readers and followers. I write for Coffee House Writers magazine (USA) fortnightly, and my poem “Wandering In My Universe” is in this week’s edition. … To Read my poem, please click on the link below to visit the article, at Coffee House Writers Magazine. >> https://coffeehousewriters.com/wandering-in-my-universe/
** Please note: The featured image above was copied, with permission from Niki Flow’s; >> blog site. https://under1000skies.org/
Today’s Throwback poem is from July 2019, six months after my third stroke, and stroke fatigue was still occurring regularly. Today, I’m feeling quite fatigued, but it has more to do with my hectic schedule lately …
An Empty Shell
I’m a broken stick Hit by a tonne of bricks I’ve stroke fatigue Tiredness out of my league The psyche says go My body says no Yesterday everything was fine Today nothing is mine Only rest and sleep Not even a sneaky peep They say, what’s wrong I say, who’s playing my song They say, you look ok I say, I cannot stay Read us your poem No! I want to go home Don’t spoil the show I’m an empty shell, they do not know
Today’s Throwback Friday poem was originally written in August 2018. The story is about the occurrence of my first stroke on the 20th of September, 2000.
Who’s Left to Row the Boat
The storms are too many to count Emotional lows had weathered me out Her journey with MS was a struggle How much lower could our lives sink
After fourteen years of our battles, I suffered a Stroke An ambulance came, my brain was in a boat Floating out to sea, overboard and panic-stricken I wasn’t swimming, barely awake, and drifting I had fallen, nothing was working, and not talking She’s crying, I’m sobbing, my heart is dying And who’s left to row the boat, I’m thinking I was jabbed with a needle and silently sleeping
I awoke a day later, in hospital, feeling wasted My face was limp, mouth parched, was that death I tasted My mind was active, I thought, where is she I knew I was bad; the room was all blurry to me Strong anxieties had set in, I needed to know Nurses came to me, I pleaded, I wanted to go “Help me to see her, just give my bed a tow Please let me go, before I’m covered in snow”
This morning I attended the Dome Poetry Group’s monthly meeting, and the theme/topic was to present a “Haibun”. ‘Falling’, is the Haibun I wrote for the group to peruse.
Haibun Definition:In a haibun, the prose section provides a descriptive narrative or a personal essay-like passage, while the haiku serves as a brief, poetic moment or reflection that complements the prose. The prose typically describes a scene, a journey, an experience, or a memory in a concise and vivid manner, often incorporating sensory details and emotional insights.
Falling (a Haibun)
On this day 24 years ago. I abruptly awoke. I was struggling to breathe, and my right arm and leg felt strange. I did not know I was having a stroke. I struggled and fell out of bed. My tumble woke my wife, Carole, and I could see the anguish or fear in her eyes. Somehow, I was able to ring “000“, and slur enough information for them to locate me. Fortunately, the ambulance guys knew of Carole’s condition and promptly organized the appropriate health agencies to have her minded and cared for.
Ivor.Plumber/Poet 