Poetry & songs

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It seems such a long way home,
It seems such a long way there.
From the morning light,
To the dawn of the night,
It seems such a long way home.

And the sky is an azure blue,
it shines like the morning dew.
From the morning light,
to the dawn of the night,
The sky is an azure blue.

And the bluebird sings like a lark,
And the bluebird darts like a sprite.
From the morning light,
To the dawn of the night,
The bluebird sings like a lark.

And the white clouds dance with the breeze,
Blown along errant leaves.
From the morning light,
To the dawn of the night,
The white clouds dance with the breeze.

But its not such a long way home,
It’s not such a long way there.
From the morning light,
Till the dawn of the night,
It’s not such a long way home.

The isthmus ©


The narrow path it lies before,
Through briers and rocks and even more.
The sea on either side,
The water always at high tide,

The pounding waves and surging seas,
Prove hard to pass and cause unease.
The sea on either side,
The water always at high tide.

The path it widens, quickens still,
On either side the sea is past.
The broader path now winds its way,
Through smiling plants and bended palms.

The sea on either side,
The water always at high tide.

The path it rises broader still,
And lined with flowers that breathe as one.
The path it flows ‘cross dale and hill,
And rises past a working mill.

The Miller works, Creating still.

The desert ©

The breeze it blows through heavens’ vents,
And passes by moonlit tents.
The desert’s flowers subdued and quiet,
Are waiting for the colour riot,
Of mornings bright and rising light,
It shines across the vastness now.
And flowing dunes which rise as one,
To the warmings of the sun.
It seems so quiet, but life abounds,
In every nook and hole surrounds.

Creatures of all types appear,
And some caress the air with flight.
They rise and fall in solitary power,
But llittle do they know the hour.
Time passes in an instant slow,
And quickens then, and slows again.
The day is past, the cycle circles,
In an endless pattern certain.
The wind it blows through heaven’s vents,
And passes by moonlit tents.

Mass extinctions ©

Life’s line adept continued on,
Through hazy light and ‘morrows gone.
They wandered here and over there,
And lived their lives no fear, no care.
Not knowing future paths,
They slept among the fronds and grass
Awoke to find a brand new day,
And lived it as they had before.

Then one day the sky turned dark,
And stayed that way for untold time.
The grasses died, so too the plants,
And soon lives lost far advanced,
Those living creatures frail or strong,
Who just happened to belong,
To lifes line adept, that continued on,
Through hazy light and ‘morrows gone.

John Collins ©


John Collins was the best of the best,
He would not compromise.
He struggled high he struggled low,
And waited for the love to flow,
From Heaven above don’t you know.

And when it did he continued on,
Through long hot days and the dead of night.
John Collins was the best of the best,
He would not compromise.

When doubt and lack prevailed,
He ventured forward bent and bowed,
Struggled high and struggled low,
And waited for the love to flow,
From Heaven above don’t you know.
John Collins was the best of the best,
He would not compromise.

When his death unplanned did come one day,
He was out of here not far to go,
To where he knew the love would flow,
From Heaven above don’t you know.
John Collins mastered all of the tests,
He would not compromise.

Homily ©

I’m not me sparkling best in the morning,
And this is just a warning.
For good, better and best,
Are the only way to progress.
Life is but a test,
Of good, better and best.

I’m not me sparkling best at noon,
And for this I am going to be lampooned.
So try and get the day’s work done,
And rest a while at noon.
For life is but a test,
Of good, better and best.

I’m not me sparkling best at dusk,
And so the following is a must,
‘Early to bedders’ and ‘early to risers’,
Makes tomorrow full of surprises,
For life is but a test,
Of good, better and best.

Intelligence Quotient ©

I’m dumber than my neighbours dog, and that is sure to say,
The reason is he barks all night and then he barks all day,
I’m dumber than my neighbours dog he does arithmetic,
And when he does his calculus it makes me feel real thick,
I’m dumber than my neighbours dog his fleas are folklore,
I send an email message but he just barks some more,
I’m dumber than my neighbours dog he writes in copperplate,
He barks and barks and barks and barks and won’t communicate,
I got a good result when I called the council number,
I’m dumber than my neighbours dog, but smarter than his owner.

A pet called Jet ©

I have a dog his name is Jet,
He’s smarter than your average pet.
He likes his supper and a sleep,
And likes to run around the yard.

A Kelpie – Labrador ‘cross’,
He let’s me know who is the boss.

I have a pet he’s ‘way out there’,
He’s “smarter than your average bear”.
His name is Jet.

Let not your heart be troubled

Let not your heart be troubled,
Its easy enough to try.
In truth it sets you free,
And gets you through the day.
Let not your heart be troubled,
It’s easy enough to try.

Let not your heart be troubled
Meditate a while.
Focus on what’s positive,
And forget the harmful style.
Let not your heart be troubled,
Meditate a while.

Let not your heart be troubled,
Do good works through and through.
Good works do help others,
To pass their day its true,
Let not your heart be troubled,
Do good works through and through.

The simple prayer/meditation

Take a breath, relax,
And gently focus inwardly,
On the heart region.
Thinking not necessary.

John’s Gospel

The book of John is Gospel,
You can read it anytime.
From “In the Beginning”, to “Amen”,
You can read it line by line.

Birthday card creative ©

Happy to know you,
Happy to love you,
Happy that you care
Happy Birthday!

Then and now ©

There is a place called Mundijong,
Where men and women dairy farmed,
And children wiled their days away,
And roamed the creeks and paddocks.

In the sixties weatherboard shacks,
Dotted the gravel roads and tracks.
From the Depression, homes did last,
Token mem’ries of the past.

Now the old shacks are rarely seen,
Land values soared, new roads put in.
Developments, a recent thing,
Rusty roofs long gone.

There is a place called Mundijong,
Where men and women dairy farmed,
And children wiled their days away,
And roamed the creeks and paddocks.

The Port ©

The seawalls reach towards the west,
The port has slowed and is at rest.
Its eventime the tide is low,
The gulls have left till morning shows.
But Fishermen’s harbour and the strip,
Spring to life for the hip.
A fisher casts his line sublime,
And also casts a solitary shadow,
And now and then he moves along,
On the jetty narrow.

But in Fishermen’s harbour oil has spilled,
From working boats now quiet.
Probably not the best place,
To extract a healthy diet.
Ciccerello’s or Joes ‘Shack’,
Are better options for a meal,
Of fish and chips right royal,
For the fisher’s nightly toil.
And the seawalls reach towards the west,
Fremantle slows and is at rest.

Port Beach Fremantle in spring ©

Spring clears the air of winters’ frosts
The sun is back all is not lost.
The sea is aqua green and blue,
And moves quite gently too and fro.
Tiny waves shake and shimmer
Along the beach the seagulls clammer
Fishers casts their lines afar
And draw the baits towards the beach
While Ships appear horizon bound,
Then disappear into the clouds
A swimmer slowly passes by
Stroke, kick, stroke, kick, stroke, kick, stroke.
Spring clears the air of winters’ frosts,
The Sun returns all is not lost.

A friend

Her eyes are pure beauty
Her breath must be love
Her voice is so lovely
From God high above.

She moves like an angel
And speaks the good thought
And trys to help others
With great rapport.

One day I might love her
And heres to this thinking,
But by timing and luck
It might come to nothing.

Who is she then
This angel amongst us
She is a great helper
And a receiver of much.

Heart transplant talk

Several years ago I viewed a television documentary on a heart transplant anomaly which happens in a small percentage of cases. The anomaly was that the transplant recipient took on some of the likes and passions and maybe some of the characteristics of the transplant donor. For example a middle-aged woman had a transplanted heart from a young man who had been an avid mountaineer. After the transplant the woman started having strong desires to climb mountains something which she had not had before. There were other similar cases cited in the documentary. The patients concerned were very troubled by their experiences. It seems that the heart may have a memory! Maybe the heart is to the soul what the brain is to the mind and is not just an organ for pumping blood around the body?

Tony

The conscience

The voice of God is within our heart,
The still quiet voice which guides and loves.
But it’s hard to hear when covered in dross,
If unheard it is a great loss.
For those who wish to hear the truth,
Be still and quiet and wait on Him.
Clear the conscience and do not fear,
God’s direction will guide your near.

The Carer

He works  alone with nought to say,
He Cares for her alone each day.
She trys to help as much as possible,
And gives some respite as she can.
But life is difficult and relentless,
Punctuated by acts of kindness.
It seems that time will pass him by,
He won’t give up and that’s no lie.
His mother has been a great support,
And as she ages there is still rapport.
He works alone with nought to say,
He Cares for her alone each day.

Survival

The glass is half empty
The glass is half full,
Time waits for no man
And the waters aren’t still.

Deep waters are silent
Like the quiet soul,
Who tries to survive
A world out of control.

But then there is Jesus
The one and the all,
His love will sustain us
And not let us fall.