The old man sat, his legs crossed,
opposite the young boy, in the dirt.
"See dat fella?" he said pointing at a tree,
"Dat fella's yer brother, yer big brother."
The boy turned and looked at the tree.
"He's a livin' fella just like you are,
I remember when he was a little fella,
just like you're a little fella now."
The old man smiled, "He's a good fella."
he continued "he'll give ya his bark,
fer yer to make shelter and his branches,
fer yer to make fire when it's cold."

"Dat one dare! Can ya see da bush?"
he asked "Dat bush, dat one your aunty,
when you're hungry she will give ya berries.
See dem little ones?" pointing at the flowers,
"Dem ones they are ya sisters." He announced,
"Dem one's bring you beauty and brightness,
dem ones are de girls dat make us all happy."
The old man laughed showing the gaps in his teeth.
Pointing up he said "Look at dat fella up dare!
Dat fella he carries the sun around ter keep us warm,
an' when dat fella cries he fills our water holes,
dat fella he's our friend he lights candles at night,
so us fellas can find our way back to our womin."

"And what about you grandfather? What are you?"
The boy asked as he looked up at the old man.
"Me!" replied the grandfather "I guess I am da bringer.
I'm dat fella that brings these stories to yer,
so yer can understand that the country is our family,
it is alive like we are and that joins us together."
The old man tapped a twig, he was holding, on his foot.
"When the wind has blown my skin off and I am,
only a white stick laying in the desert sand,
yer will be the one who will look after dis family."
he said. "Then yer will become da bringer."

(c) 31/03/2010

Hey you! Yes you!
You with the pen in your hand.
You, who has always been so kind,
Yes, you with the poem in your mind!

Thank you for your passion,
the loving friendship you give,
for the ways you've supported me,
without it, I don't know where I'd be.

Hey you! Yes you,
You have enriched my life,
You there struggling to find a rhymn,
Thank you for sharing your life with mine.


(c) 24th September 2010

See him on the street,
in his ragged garb,
His state of hygene.
suggesting life is hard.

He screams abuse,
at no one you can see,
he hears voices inside him,
from which he can never flee.

Looking lost and lonely,
cast out into despair.
watch as they ignore him,
as if he wasn't there.

See him shuffle off,
down some shabby lane,
hunted by those voices,
sending him insane.

Where is our humanity,
we treat him like a ***,
this mentally ill man,
who is someone else's son.

(c) 10th May 2010

Holly lived in darkness,
Holly lived in pain,
Holly heard the voices,
from deep inside her brain.

The voice that called her useless,
The voice that told her "Cut".
The voice that called her bad,
the one that declared her "****".

Holly told the doctors,
about these things inside her head,
They said she'd grow out of it,
as they sent her home to bed.

There beneath the donner,
she stayed huddled up for years,
The voices ever getting louder,
they kept adding to her fears.

To day a mother lost her daughter,
they never got to say good-bye.
All the time the voices watched,
they watched Holly die.

(c)  10/May /2010

The old man sat on the Stone of Knowledge,
He called the boy to him for the last time.
As the lad approached him he saw a tear drop,
flowing down the old mans cheek.
“Why do you cry?” the boy asked his master.
“I cry for you,” said the man “for you are a poet.
Your richness will be your description of poverty.
Your banquet will be the bread of the begger.
Your tears will flow with the blood of innocents.
You are like the windmill dredging words of hope
for the deaf ears of greed and the souls of despair.
This is why I cry.  Sit with me before I leave.”

The old man stroked the boys hand and spoke,
“You will need to become the petal of a sun flower,
the scent of a rose and the strength of a tree.
Dream the fall of a raindrop, the drop of a snowflake,
climb mountains and slide down rainbows,
Swim with the shy platypus and the playful dolfin.
You will not see my face again, except in your dreams,
But you will always hear me whispering in the breeze,
be still and listen and you will hear me.” He finished.

“But,” cried the boy, “where are you going?”
“All these things I have asked you to do,
I have done, and more, my time is over,
I must go now to the Land of All Knowing,
There I will hammer my fist upon the gate
and a voice shall call out ‘Who begs entry?’
I shall reply in my proudest voice,
I AM THE POET!"

21/02/2010

Your soft words reach me
through the misty blue,
like the gentlest rain,
they quench the thirst
of my arid soul,
and bring to life
an aging poet's heart,
as he looks over the horizon,
for a new beginning.

(c) 28/10/2009