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?
“There’s a crack in everything, that’s how the light gets in” … Leonard Cohen
“The sky cracked open for a heartbeat, and the light played its own soft melody.”
Through the Widening Crack
Twilight’s canopy of clouds eclipses the evening sky with an embracing violet shroud.
However, the squinting sunlight was silently trying to wave goodbye through the widening crack above the sun’s transient eye.
And there on nature’s colourful curtain, I saw columns of light ascend the nebulous mountain; then I wondered whether I was witnessing the world’s grand celestial pipe organ playing a lullaby to the purple night
At our Dome group meeting, Jen — our chairperson — said, “I’m not here next meeting, so we need to choose a theme for next month.” A few of us laughed, and someone replied, “Well, I’m Not Here sounds like a theme in itself.” And just like that, the idea settled over us, light as a wink.
The Geelong Library and Heritage Centre … affectionately known as The Dome.
This image shows someone holding three cups and the cups are made in the image of a woman’s face. The expression on the three cups are slightly different from each other.
I’m Not Here
I’m not here — I’m in limbo, behind a solitary glass window, there on the north side of the Dome; it stands out like a fairy’s magical home.
I’m not here, but I am somewhere high above the Gingko in the fresh air, where I hear the fairy Godmother’s vacant chair whisper haunting poetic quotes by Voltaire.
“Life is a shipwreck, but we must not forget to sing in the lifeboats.” ~ Voltaire “The right to free speech is more important than the content of the speech.” ~ Voltaire “Many are destined to reason wrongly; others, not to reason at all; and others, to persecute those who do reason.” ~ Voltaire
And still, from that quiet window in the Dome, I’m not here — yet somehow feeling at home.
Somewhere between presence and absence, the music carries what words can’t quite hold.
After a stretch of nostalgic posts and tender reflections, I found myself drawn back to the calm of the outdoors today. There’s something reassuring about standing under a wide sky, watching a flock move as one — a reminder that even a quiet gatecrasher can find a place to belong.
One of the Crowd
Beneath the drifting clouds, within the circling flock who ritually gather from all around the block, I enjoy being one of the crowd — and I’m socially allowed to be a peaceful gatecrasher.
In the easy company of wings and drifting light, I found my way back to calm.
As the evening sky burned low, it carried me back to a younger road — one lit with promise, before time dimmed the colours I thought would last.
Today, the Weekend Challenge on Weekly Prompts is the word “Interlude.” To visit their fabulous site, please click >> Here
Along This Road
Once upon a time — when I was young, and life glowed, I came along this road where twilight’s crimson light meets the edge of night.
Beyond once upon a time, I saw her candle of joy turn white, and her happy fire fell out of sight. Thereafter, her merciless plight became an ongoing, cruel fight.
It’s Market Day this Saturday from 10 a.m. to 3 p.m. * Our popular monthly markets are all undercover at Centrepoint Arcade on the third Saturday of every month. * They feature art, unique goods from local makers, second-hand goods, plants, books, and more. * There are also open art studios, Yesterday Vintage, Untether Gallery, HBT Collectables, and the May’d Shop. * Grab a unique gift for Mother’s Day!
All at, Centrepoint Arcade 132 Little Malop St, Geelong From 10 am to 3 pm
And I’ll be there with ‘Frankie’ and my “New Bookstall Set-up“
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?