As I sat down by the brook

A moment for reflection I took

Emotional I became

For reasons I cannot name

Tears ran down my face

For some distant hurt I can’t place

The river bubbled

I no longer felt troubled

I obviously needed this time of grief

Because it has granted blessed relief

I won’t question mysterious ways

As I wander home in a bit of a daze

Calmer I am, some peace within

So sit down by the brook awhile

It may send you home with a smile

If I had a penny for every thought
would I be bedecked in richer cloth
would my opinion be widely sought
or would I be worth nought

The Sun Slowly Dropped,
Behind The Grey Of The Clouds,
The Stars Peeked Through Them,
They Smiled As They Sparkled,
On Top The Vanishing Snow

Standing on the hillside is a rustic yellow cottage,
Rusty yellow staining from the steel dust of the trains.
Passing, rushing carriages that crisscross by the hour,
The ten o clock from Frankston meets the City train detained.

Golden light of sunrise in the calm of early morning
Golden light reflected on the rusty cottage roof,
Puffing at his briar and sitting at the doorstep
Old Grandpa drinks the peacefulness whilst stroking cat aloof.

Bacon smells a-beckoning from coal range fires a-glowering
Delicious tang of coffee from my Granma’s breakfast fare,
The clattering of silver wheels as silver rails reverberate
Sings the music of the morning with not a trace of care.

Memories from yesteryear I treasure on reflection,
Memories, a little boy, recalled from times secure.
Memories of cuddles in the ***** of my Grandma
And the scent of plum tobacco giving Grandpa’s pipe allure.

Perhaps a trick of memory, perhaps my passing fancy
But I clearly recall a sign above the kitchen door,
A simple sign of welcome with a sense of real belonging
In the gentle name of “Sunrise” to warm the heart galore.


Marshalg
In memory of my dear Nan and Pop Cummings @ Mordialloc by the bay.
23 April 2013

When at night green seas touch the moon
pulling toward the shore, shiny creatures crawl the sands
in shells of watery homes, soon to drift away
swaying seaweed clings to metal rings of wooden boats and oars
Moon tides, ever pushing, pulling
transient sandy shores, and sings the light to follow
worlds emerge from dark of night, water filling up
the hollows