Hi dear readers, I’m re-posting this poem, as I post it originally at 3.30 am, and some of my readers may have missed the article. What was I doing, being awake at that time of the morning ???
Hello dear readers, friends, and followers. I’ve been in and out of hospital again, but hopefully I’ll be able stay out for a while now, and my progress is improving everyday. I’m keeping myself busy, bike pedalling (On Yorkie) exercise sessions and walking 6000 steps a day, In between, I’ve been preparing my new booklet of poems. I’ve just finished the manuscript (Phew and yeah !!), and this one is called, “Tullawalla: “Beyond The Brick Wall”, metaphorically that’s where I am at now, and all the poems were written since Christmas, after my first stroke in Mid-December. Like my other 7 Booklets, all money’s that I collect from the sale of these booklets goes to the Geelong MS Charity Shop. The list of my 8 booklets is below. These booklets are all printed here in my little writing studio/haven, put together by hand, and they’re a foolscap size folder of 21 pages and 40 poems in each booklet
Tullawalla, Poems, By Ivor Steven Tullawalla, A Sign Of The Times Tullawalla, The Waves Say Goodbye Tullawalla, Who’s Left To Row The Boat Tullawalla, Home Is The Air I Breathe Tullawalla, Waiting Time Tullawalla, The Healing House
And, Tullawalla, Beyond The Brick Wall
Booklet #5: Home Is The Air I Breathe Booklet #6: Waiting Time
Booklet #7: Tullawalla, The Healing House My “Isolation Time”
And, Booklet#8: Tullawalla, Beyond The Brick Wall My front door.
The Weekly Prompt, Photo prompt is : Fences.. Across the road from my home, there’s a large housing development, under construction with a high wire fence around the site. It’s in vast contrast to my private little yard here. I’m on my exercise bike, Yorkie, pedalling away and looking around at my courtyard fence. I’m wondering, how I got this far and how I arrived at this place, jumping all of life’s tall fences on my to journey here. On my courtyard fence hangs so many memories, and it takes me back to when I wrote a poem, of when life was extraordinarily hard and I felt the end was near, it was just after I had my first Stroke eighteen years ago, and I couldn’t jump “This Fence”<< Click to view the Weekly Prompt’s site
This Fence
I am quickly nearing this fence.
An obstacle of a lifetime I see.
And from my side of this fence,
The hurdle is too high for me.
And on the other side of this fence,
There seems nowhere to land or flee.
I have arrived at this fence,
Above the pickets, just grey sky.
And on my side of this fence,
The grass is brown and dry.
On the other side of this fence,
The grass is green, but still I cry.
How am I to clear this fence,
There seems nowhere to go, or get by.
This fence, all built of stones,
Breaks my spirit, and all my bones.
I was catching a bus home this afternoon, as per normal, after my walk down Pakington St. However, mistakenly I caught the wrong bus !! I looked up, and I did not see the sign. In the long process of hopping on a couple of different buses, I eventually found my way home. During my time of the extra bus trips, I came up with the words of this poem.
Sorry, We Caught The Wrong Bus
Is this the air I breathe
A misty haze out in front of me
Is this the sky I see
A big smoggy Vee
High in the mountain plains, flowerless, without bees
Miles of burnt-out wasteland and no trees
Beyond the eroded soils, there’s the earth’s oceans
Mercury settled deep, with a topping of dead fish by the millions
I wrote this poem last night, when I woke up at 1.30am. The featured image above, is looking up at the Geelong hills north of the town, they are called the “You Yangs”. I suppose my poem below is about, how our politicians, should look up , to see what’s coming down on their heads. This post is for the Weekly Prompt, Photo Challenge: Up <<Click on, to view The Weekly Prompt site…..
Feeding Them Up On Bullets Instead
How hard must we hit the nail
On their heads
Before the white house wooden hearts
Finally count the living-dead
How hard does the rain have to fall
On their heads
Before the farmer’s empty buckets
Only fill via tears from the living-dead
How hard shall the sunshine burn
On their heads
Before the number of extinct birds
Light-up the dark gap between government heads
How hard do crumbling icebergs break
On their heads
Before both polar ice-caps melt
Flooding our storage silos and sheds
The answer my friends, rests
On their heads
Before all the starving arise from earthen beds
Crying out, stop feeding us up on bullets instead
Words, Between the Lines Of Age . Neil Young. Lyrics
Someone and someone were down by the pond
Looking for something to plant in the lawn.
Out in the fields they were turning the soil
I’m sitting here hoping this water will boil
When I look through the windows and out on the road
They’re bringing me presents and saying hello.
Singing words, words between the lines of age.
Words, words between the lines of age.
If I was a junk-man selling you cars,
Washing your windows and shining your stars,
Thinking your mind was my own in a dream
What would you wonder and how would it seem?
Living in castles a bit at a time
The king started laughing and talking in rhyme.
Singing words, words between the lines of age.
Words, words between the lines of age.
Ivor.Plumber/Poet 