martin challis

martin challis Mar 2018

Had I been kinder

She thought of her love

Long passed

In the fading light of

Our last circadian rhythm

An epitaph might ask

Had we all

Martinos @ 2018

martin challis Feb 2018

To the End

she said
of his passing

'You know
nothing is seen to change
and yet,

everything does’

Later at the window

She spoke with the wind

Sharing her invisible

Sweetly to the end

Martinos @ 2018

martin challis Jan 2018

At Evening’s Fall

Our words were mesmerised, unable at
each attempt to describe the end of day
the sun took its story - the spectacle of hues and ribbons between gold fire and greyblack crimsons - beyond Wolumbin - reclining grandmother - crag head facing skyward - omniscient - pausing inbreath grandeur

Taking our gaze, the cloud hummers went westerly - tribal souls migrating in unison -
their mentor and guide a following breeze
and curiously the stars appeared above them
as if flying in formation against the trend
missiles or satellites - not afraid - in awe - we saluted the spectacle - swaying in silence and wonder
Martinos @ 2018

Wolumbin is the indigenous name of Mt Warning - an ancient mountain that was once an active volcano

Jan 2018

Rob Rutledge

Clear Skies Are Often Coldest

Clear skies are often coldest,
Tempests' temper seems subdued.
Sunlight skims the tiles of rooftops,
Stops.
Savours,
Admires the view.

The sky was never blue.
Obsidian haze and gunmetal days
Light the life we choose.
Blackened,
Slightly bruised.
Broken yet not dismayed.
Too long we have been walking,
Proud in our shroud of the grey.

My brother, my teacher,
My foe and my friend.
Our ghosts shall speak
Once more at the end.

martin challis Jan 2018

On Funiular Stairs

I climbed down through coastal scrub
Sandstone nub and turkey scratch,
Purposefully counted into the hundreds
And then became distracted for caution
And for possible misstep. On safe arrival
The foreshore held its mysteries
Within the wash and cliff and ancient sands
I did not inquire or pause to study, yet committed and turned again to climb knowing afore each rise I would descend

Martinos @ 2018

Jan 2018

ryn

Waylaid Hearts

Come as the silence of night,
to soothe waylaid hearts.

Let them hear...
The rhythm of
their own pounding.

Cradle them...
And carry them
through every deep breath...
And every heavy sigh.

Assure them that the lull
between such forlorn beats
will never be prolonged
as long as there is a want,
and need
to hear and feel the next.

#hellopoetry107 #waylaidhearts

martin challis Jan 2018

Mother’s Stories

Rarely as I recall, in truth,
Did she speak expansively of herself
Or tell us stories of her young adventure
She reserved the detail and the admiration for others,
others who were remote to me, in interest and in caring,
I never knew, and always assumed she thought them more compelling or entertaining or greater than herself

And now I wish I’d asked her
And told her that this was for me
Furthest from the truth

Martinos @ 2018