Walking from one shady spot To the next shady spot Via the street’s shopfront verandahs We arrive at our favourite Cafe Where the staff gives us a welcoming wave
Outside, the blazing sun is wickedly hot Inside, beneath the fan, in a shady spot The open porch area remains hot Although a caressing sea breeze Is beginning to cool our lot
Hello, dear readers and followers. As you might know, I stopped producing my “Tullawalla Booklets” at # 31 because that was the house number of our family’s Tullawalla Homestead. But the booklet formats are a superb way for me to catalogue the vast number of poems I produce and as the saying goes “I Am Turning Another Page”. Here I have begun a new series of poem booklets, called “Shangri La” which is the name of my little Villa, and is my piece of “earthly paradise, a retreat from the pressures of modern civilization”. I now have “1901” Poems filed in these booklet formats!! (on my bookshelf I have “The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson, which contains 1775 poems … when I first started writing poems, I never envisaged that I would produce so many poems)
Over at Weekly Prompts, the Colour Challenge for February is Green. To visit their fabulous site, please click on >> Here. Hmmm, no green words in my poem, but there was a showy “Green” succulent plant under the cafe’s verandah
“We Were the Last Mohicans”
Saturday at the Cafe It’s not as hot as Helios But the mid-summer sun Is flexing his Solar Plexus I’m sweating And Frankie is panting
The open verandah is shady With an occasional zephyr Wafting over our table Refreshing enough To keep us comfortable Pleasant enough To allow me the energy To write these casual words
Mid-afternoon The cafe’s patrons Are gradually departing And we are the last Mohicans
Please Note the featured photo and attached photos above are taken from Street Art in the Geelong CBD
A Blade of Light
Far beyond my darkest night Clambering out of purgatory’s deepest void I grasp onto a single blade of light On the edge of my soulless asteroid Who rescues me from Armageddon’s endless fight
Awaking in a pool of sweat, just after midnight This meaningless nightmare gave me a hellish fright
Today’s Throwback Friday poem is from January 2021, and it was a piece that I had forgotten about, so it was a pleasant surprise to find the poem while searching my files this morning.
Playing Cards
To many questions And I do not have the answers I am running out of rhyme Is it time? To go back to school Me, a forgetful old fool Or, I could stay here Wait for the anteater to cheer Sit in my garden courtyard Avoid soul searching and just play cards With Oscar the wise old owl And Phillip the penguin, he’s my pal
Today I received the most wonderful news, that my book “Until Eyes Eyes Hear” has been accepted by the Geelong Regional Library, and will soon be available on the Library’s bookshelves. A big thank you to Pete, the Collection Support & Information Services Officer at the Geelong Library, for accepting my book. This publication now follows in the footsteps of my first two books at the Library, “Tullawalla” and “Perceptions”. I know Dad and Mum would be proud of my achievements, and that my Dear Carole would be crying tears of “Liquid Joy” for me. …
I am neither black nor white I am not day nor night I am neither sand nor sea I am not a flower or a bee I am not wrong or right I am not heavy or light
I am Clear and free I am a cool ocean breeze I am a song we breathe I am the air from our trees I am a star above your grave I am a shy sound wave
I can be brave I am your invisible slave
When I began writing (scribbling) poetry 23 years ago, not long after my first stroke, Leonard Cohen’s music and poetic lyrics had a huge influence on the emotions behind my words, and his song that I have attached below, “One of Us Cannot Be Wrong”, still evokes my heart every time I listen to the incredibly beautiful lyrics.
On this sombre Sunday morning the day is typically quiet and under the hanging grey clouds there is a whispering cool breeze for the birds to hover upon where they uniquely monitor the unpredictable world below
And while lazily meandering I cannot help but wonder what do the birds perceive? of us, unappreciative homo-sapiens as we continue to vandalize our sacred planet and randomly ravage our own nest
“The Wild”, lyrics, Mumford & Sons
We saw birth and death Can’t we be still What makes you kind From where comes your sparkling mind
Was it under the earth? Tied up in a knot Which I forgot you were ever there
Do not be afraid Do not be afraid
What’s that I see? I think it’s the wild Puts the fear of God in me
And was there a grudge Up from the dust Inconceivable lie
What’s that I see? I think it’s the wild Puts the fear of God in me
Ivor.Plumber/Poet 