The older you get, the more I grow on you..
Category Archives: Poetry Blog
Reckless
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Like swimming
In a stagnant pond
Tiresome
But can’t put it
Beautifully
Your face serene
Tender note
Telephoned her
To imagine
Climbing onto her roof
I smelt your hair
On the east wind
Guesses are in store
With innumerable tins
Or else all likely places
Electric fire ends
Whimsical fondness
We should meet again
Dark & grubby
See hear if you wish
Stop. Love. R
Erasure poem from ‘Dying with Henry’ p.135 from ‘Romancing: The Life and Work of Henry Green,’ by Jeremy Treglown
Pilgrim’s Pass
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Tried, true, black & blue
So close to fine
To have your back
While roasting mine
Move the body
Do not desire
Still the mind
Do not dwell in the mire
The cooking pit
Half filled with smoke
They prepare the spit
Urge us to revoke
Body in a cage
No chance for a dance?
When the river rages
Don’t take the chance
Watch your footing
Past pilgrims plummet
Can’t see from here
We’re near the summit
Companions of the journey
No critique, compete, comparing
Everlasting prize is ours
His compass for our bearing
Heavy feather
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Duty is heavy as a mountain, death is light as a feather.
-Robert Jordan
Thick and fast
Right, left, hook, jab
Punch, drunk, reeling
Painful throbbing stab
Build quick defences
Cover vital places
Stance erect, leaning
Set, determined faces
Eyes off opponent
Solid bearings
Everlasting arm, iron will
Master, Saviour, sparing
Null and Void
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Hope up here
Expectation down there
straddle the void
build the bridge
overcome
love without words
give without gift wrap
surpass all assumption
bypass need for affection
silence we’re not listening
playing records on repeat
strumming songs of defeat
who will intercede
between you and I?
Every night is followed by a sunrise
– Native American Saying
Sunrise Dance image – created by Rachel Johnson
Unveiling
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So much time and effort expended
tediously applying glue
to the shards that fall from the plastered façade
hand-crafted for all to view
How much more time and rest afforded
if we cheered as each piece fell down
allowed it to crumble and fall at our feet
then, rise up on this conquered ground
Image of ruins near Ross, Tasmania – Mercury Newspaper.
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Pneuma (Breath of Life)
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One simple breath inhaled heavy like dew, set gale force winds in tow
To re-arrange my sentiments, fix my eyes on an other-world abode
The birth was painful like the first, shot like a quivering arrow
Still as a statue outside my sandstone baptism,
this divided my flesh, bone and marrow
I returned to life just as it was, but touted a whole new agenda
My circle of friends were aghast at the change,
their replies were like silent surrender
Another life conquered in the spiritual realm, on the North Sydney Bible belt
From an altar to an unknown God – my sacrifice clearly felt
Alone among many friends, delivered to Byron Bay’s music fest
Swimming in mud, flowers in my hair, this would put her new faith to the test
We took along a son of a preacher, from the backwater of Mount Druitt ghetto
Jesus shirt, long hair, bare feet, and a heart for all folk, rock and metal.
Standing behind him in the communal space
of a crowded purple haze tent city
With multiple bands on multiple stages, belting out blues, dazed in self-pity
He asked them all as they passed us and stared,
had they heard about Jesus’ name?
My heart pounded then, my eyes opened again,
just as much as when Silverchair played
So we swam in the mud, we were wrestled to the ground,
not a single clean person around
We walked and we talked, we crowded and surfed,
swam the beaches and baked on the ground
Soaked in tea tree dams to tend to our complexions,
under darkened clouds it pelted down
In the midst of sheer joy my two worlds collided,
I saw that anywhere God could be found.
The Giving Tree
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I gave up
Pride and Dignity
as a gift
to those I loved
Because they did not
ask for it
I freed it
like a Dove
As if afraid
they’d snatch it
I gave it up
in haste
If only
these I give
I save Joy from
being laid waste
Sky image from ‘Composer in the Garden’
Syntax Error
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All I have are words now
words are all I need
typed, texted, scribbled out
dribbled out of me.
Pleading words, asking, begging
verbal therapy
Waiting on reply, words
Words said absently
Words poured out in fire
through the scribes of centuries
Both comfort and question me
yet remains to be seen..
Do I have the words
or do they possess me?

Wrestling for glory
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to wrestle…
Strive
Battle
Combat
Struggle
Contend
Grapple
The kind of gentle fellow who lends us all an ear
Who shares the clothes off his back and casts out all our fears
With but a word and warning, that nought can harm us here
When the power of the all mighty, is ours but to revere
As such, a simple gesture, to pluck off his collar in haste
Trading robes of white for white, a blackbelt round his waist
Just as Jacob endured long night, these duelling fellows and dames
Eternal glory for the fight, lest we forget His name
For the young Reverend..






