There is a number attached to everything, Tracking them down is overwhelming; Tallying the total is mind-boggling.
I perceive, with a twinkle in my blurry eye, an extra wrinkle on my milky thigh. But I do not cry at the number of crinkles that falsely belie the sounds of my life’s happy jingles.
The number of memories shall not diminish until time decrees, “you’re finished.”
Accompanied by Sleeping At Last’s “Saturn” performed live with the Symphony Orchestra, this poem listens for the echoes beyond numbers—where memory, music, and existence intertwine.
“Frankie the Salesman, master of the lucky-dip and poetry protocol. Cavalier by nature, befriending by heart.”
Frankie the Salesman
Here we are, under the glass-roofed part Of the covered Centrepoint Arcade. The spring sun is decorating our book stall, And my salesman is in charge of poetry protocol.
The ‘Take a Poem Home Lucky-dip’ is again very popular My furry assistant has been willingly jocular, And appropriately, befriendingly cavalier.
Throwback Friday: Shadows Revisited. First shared in January 2025, this poem now finds its place as the opening to my upcoming collection, Time Hears No Sound.
The final proofreading of my upcoming poetry collection, Time Hears No Sound, is nearly complete. This weekend marks the last quiet read-through before I send it off to my editor and publisher (Judy). Meanwhile, my talented cover designer (Kerri) is crafting the book’s visual soul. There’s still a journey ahead, but everything is unfolding beautifully. Thank you for walking beside me.
Lost and Found – or – There, Here, and Where?
There Lying on solid ground, my shallow shadow wears no face And utters no sound.
Here My outline bears no carapace.
Where On a graveside mound, I see my darkness — waiting to be found.
Today’s Throwback Friday poem, ‘This Lost Shadow’, was my first-ever published poem, in the anthology ‘Melpomene’, edited by Gwendolyn Taunton. Melpomene is a collection of poetry, prose and short fiction named after the Greek Muse of Tragedy. The central theme of the anthology is the beauty found in sorrow and the darker sides of human nature. Melpomene is broken into four sections: Liber Veneficium (Book of Magic), Liber Maeroris (Book of Sorrow), Liber Fatum (Book of Fate), and Liber Mortuorum (Book of Death). Each section contains both new and classic literature dealing with these themes. Authors in this volume include Charles Baudelaire, Paul Verlaine, William Blake, Edgar Allan Poe, Emily Dickinson, Gwendolyn Taunton, Azsacra Zarathustra, Math Jones, Bernardo Sena, J. Karl Bogartte, C. B. Liddell, James WF Roberts, Christopher Pankhurst, H. A. Cledones, Tamas Nagyatadi Horvath, L. Alexander Carle, Bill Noble, Marg Howlet, Ivor Steven and Gene Banyard. Containing works both old and new, Melpomene offers a prime selection of works on the melancholic side of existence, the transformational beauty of the esoteric, occult secrets hidden in verse, sorrow, doom and the inevitable grasp of death. Melpomene will haunt the reader with a dark and unearthly beauty that is both forbidden and forlorn… >> https://www.amazon.com.au/s?k=Melpomene+by+Gwendolyn+Taunton&crid=3KH5IGU638GFK&sprefix=melpomene+by+gwendolyn+taunton%2Caps%2C903&ref=nb_sb_noss
This Lost Shadow
I’m writing this song for my body and for my soul. I’m singing this song, about my return from the cold. Why am I so tired? Is sixty so old? Why am I so sore? Have I been far too bold? I’m physically worn out and mentally torn. I’m so worried about my every waking dawn. I’m thinking of this quiet life, for you and for me. I’m wondering if this vigilant life is too hard for me. I’m pondering if this tragic life shall continue to be. And feeling this bonded life, drifting out to sea.
I’m writing these words for everyone to see. I’m writing this book about a single weeping tree. Why am I so sleepy? Am I aging too quickly? Why am I so sad? Who is looking after me? I’m this furnace log, burning up with glee. I’m this sinking boat, all about to flee. I’m this overburdened camel, or a donkey maybe. I’m this empty desert, a void, far as the eye can see. I’m this broken branch, withering and dying, oh so slowly. I’m this lost shadow, wandering this barren land furtively.
Once upon a time In a land of ice and rhyme Darkness was my crime When a rift of hollow mime Ravaged my body and mind
“The Throwback poem that began the great Rowback”
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”
I am entering the last five days of my journey to Canada and appropriately I have chosen “Within Us” as my Throwback Friday poem. This nostalgic piece also appears in my book “Tullawalla”, Chapter 6, page 98.
Remembering our 49th wedding anniversary, Carole
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Within Us
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The oceans wave us goodbye. Sand and sea, one beach. Like the surfs white crest. Love is, within our lonely breasts.
The lands push us apart. Alps and plains, one realm. Like a rivers rocky cascade. Love is, a turbulent escapade,
The sky opens us up. Dawn and dusk, one sun. Like the moons daytime eclipse. Love is, a hidden apocalypse.
The universe covers us complete. Stars and planets, one creation. Like the distant Milky Way. Love is, within us to stay.
Island View Beach and kites, with my wonderful cousins, Lynn, Mungo, Robin, and Kelly
On the Island View Beach and kites
Deer in my cousins yard
Kites in flight
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A Kite in Flight
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Serendipity is overwhelming my soul I am tripping the lights fantastic From cloud nine to cloud nine My feet have not touched the ground I am living a surreal dream that has come true
I am an untethered kite in flight Free as a bird, enjoying all the wondrous sights I am in a land full of kind hearts And breathing in all the light that surrounds me I have reached the stars of my universe But wait, there will be more from beyond to this verse
The Saanich Peninsula, is a beautiful stretch of land on southern Vancouver Island, just north of Victoria. It’s bordered by the Saanich Inlet to the west and Haro Strait to the east, with a rich history tied to the W̱SÁNEĆ (Saanich) First Nations, whose name means “emerging people”
It’s a fitting place for a poet to wander—rolling hills, coastal views, and a quiet kind of magic in the air.
The historic Stonehouse Pub
A rustic atmosphere and friendly staff
Excellent beer and doggie friendly
The Canoe Cove marina was a fascinating place
Andrea was the new owner of this boat being lifted out of the water, and she graciously accepted one of my poetry cards
The boats had some interesting names: Cloud Nine and Spill the Wine
At the end of the day, Mungo looking exactly like I am feeling
Ivor.Plumber/Poet 