Imaginations - A Writer's Friend

Imagination

Sometimes, as my body becomes aware of life, for which I am ever thankful,

My bleary eyes, my deadened brain hears the chattering die away.

Characters of the night all start to scatter, leaping from the bed, a rabble.

Those that do not run, find places in my imagination, and there they stay.

Settled, hiding until some word, some sight, something brings them to spy.

They do not haunt me, for they know my mood of the mornings;

They know I can be bright, they know me foreboding like a stormy sky;

They know I need their company, and are kind to me and fear the warnings.

Slowly I come to grips with rising, my bones creaking in protest,

Eyelids demanding to be shut, closed to the day, just a little longer.

Then one of my head riding mates speaks of things for me to investigate;

A challenge is laid, and I have to rise to meet it, to prove me stronger.

They will not let me rest if things have to be spoken, words written,

And they know my slowness, my weary head, and they take over.

Mechanical fingers hit the keys, letters appear, the bug has bitten.

Off we go, my characters of the night and me, more to discover.

Wonderful gifts us humans are blessed with, imagination, though folly-

Is more than an escape, it refreshes the brain, enlivens the mind;

Stirs the soul, solves problems that may exist, creates friends to love,

And shifts enemies to another place where once gone, you will never find.

Somewhere, whilst ever I remain on this mortal coil, this house of humans

I will find a great love, I will sense that I have been given a chance.

My imagination leads me to believe that there is some kindred spirit

That I may yet still hold in a loving, thought sharing, comforting dance.

Somewhere in this physical place there must be a life I could share,

To relegate the people of the night, my imaginations, to some other place

And a new, exciting game would begin, discoveries and moods to scale.

A different person, a woman of vast patience, able to love, a kissable face.

Maybe not, and I hear my mind folk cheer, they are my friends, they say.

These ones that I have made, these ones that are of my very fibre of life

They do take a toll for their existence, for they control the night until I wake.

Tell them to leave, to break the chain of memories, is not what I would really like.

Where else could I call upon such a rag-tag team of humoursome personalities?

Why would one not have friends that could make you laugh, tho' suffering pain?

Where would you find folk to come at your bidding, always ready to serve your needs?

For me, no other place but in my imagination, waiting release from the works of my brain.

For those that know the feeling

Steve and Lindy from the novel 'The Outback Story - The Loves and Adventures of 'Tiger' Williams'

On love

There is no greater gift than the one that freely comes

To give your love, and receive in return the same

To feel the warmth and comfort of your companion

The melding of heart and body, the exquisite pain

The joy of knowing the thrill of finding the magic

Soft caresses, the gentle touch, the passionate kiss

Neither man nor woman should pass this life alone

No soul on earth should be deprived of this

The early rush, the heady lust, the excitement

The subtle change where words are not needed

Feeling a oneness, a fulfilment of bonding hearts

Where the casual eye, the gentle touch is now heeded

A look that others see and they smile knowingly

Holding hands on a long and happy walk in the rain

Laughing together at things you once never saw

Not feeling, weariness or at times, any pain

This joyful love conquers the ills of the world

It causes differences to fade, selfishness die

It changes the very meaning of your life's existence

It brightly colours things that we see with the inner eye

Once you have felt this love it never goes away

Although partnerships dissolves for whatever reason

One strong, passionate love is always in your mind to recall

Your personal shield against a bitter lonely season

Can't We All

Don't We All ... Can't We All

I was at the barrel bottom, it was either swim or drown,

Down an out, no job, no food, no hope and a stranger in the town.

I had made my bed of thorns, I blame no one for my distress,

And in my poor and stupid attitude I reckoned that no one could care less.

I sat dejected, down hearted, angry, feeling sorrow for my life's fate,

And through the depth of my moroseness, my sad and sorry state,

I heard the voice of someone close, a man I did not know who said:

“What's your trouble son? What are your needs?” as if my mind he'd read.

“I need help”, and I looked to see who had joined me on my misery seat.

I saw an older man and I heard the words that from his lips did speak.

I could see that he had been a worker, I could see he once stood tall,

And I felt the sound of his sorrow as he said “Mate, don't we all.”

I felt the need to let him speak for my cares seemed less somehow.

He told of the things that he'd lost, how fortune had often laid him low;

Of how he'd nursed and cared for his one true love, his own 'darlin' wife',

But she had gone, and she cried for leaving him alone in his remaining life.

And as he spoke he pointed to a woman passing by, a child in a pram,

“Look there my son, her babe is ill, and that poor lady, she has no man,”

He raised his hand in salute, and the woman returned his friendly call.

“This lad needs help” he told her and in answer she replied “Don't we all.”

“I see you have no boots, and I reckon you feel you are at life's dregs,

But have you thought of those out there, the ones that have no legs?”

I knew his words were true, I knew I'd turned the lamp out on myself,

And here I was a'wailing, a man still strong in perfect working health.

I rose from the seat of misery and I shook the man's rough hand,

And I started on the work to get myself back on to some dry land.

I knew it was in me, and feeling sorry was just a place for me to fall.

Yes, I had found some help this day, and really ... can't we all?

Note: A poem on an old adage theme.

On Love

Old Pete has been in love once, a long time ago now, but it was good, it was nice, it was warm and something good to remember now that it is gone.

this is how I felt at that time:

On love

There is no greater gift than the one that freely comes

To give your love, and receive in return the same

To feel the warmth and comfort of your companion.

The melding of heart and body, the exquisite pain.

The joy of knowing the thrill of finding the magic,

Soft caresses, t he gentle touch, the passionate kiss.

Neither man nor woman should pass this life alone.

No soul on earth should be deprived of this.

The early rush, the heady lust, the excitement,

The subtle change where words are not needed.

Feeling a oneness, a fulfilment of bonding hearts

Where the casual eye, the gentle touch is now heeded,

A look that others see and they smile knowingly.

Holding hands on a long and happy walk in the rain,

Laughing together at things you once never saw.

Not feeling, weariness or at times, any pain.

This joyful love conquers the ills of the world.

It causes differences to fade, selfishness die.

It changes the very meaning of your life's existence,

I brightly colours things that we see with the inner eye.

Once you have felt this love it never goes away,

Although partnerships dissolves for whatever reason,

One strong, passionate love is always in your mind to recall

Your personal shield against a bitter lonely season.

  Aw Gee!

A New era in the Campfire

No matter how hard we try to keep a happy face, there comes a time when life gets us down.

When I look at the hate of the world, and the misery that hate brings I become sad, I become angry and I lose my hope of happiness.

This is not a good area to seek, this is not helpful to those that try to cope with all sorts of problems in life.....

But sometimes I feel like this:

Oh bilious body that burns with hate, 

You stand yourself at Hades gate.

No mortal lives that's done no wrong

No life is full of love and song.

Difference abounds in the multitude

And you thrash yourself as you exclude

The rights of others, their right to live

The mixture of all that we wish to give.

Oh! bilious that burns with hate,

You stand forlorn at Hades gate.

The ones you hate do not care,

To them 'tis though you are not there.

Remember that you and you alone

Have made this path you choose to roam.

Oh! bilious body that burns with hate,

You have brought yourself to Hades gate.

Your only joy as you pass through

Is all in there are just like you. 

Dedicated to all the suicide bombers, to the ones that choose to seek revenge where no revenge is warranted, to those that have no love for their fellow man, and in this state of mind, have no love for themselves.

Must Be Dreaming

Dream On

In my dreams I am tall and handsome, Adonis, a fellow dreamer's word

I like who I am, in my dreams, and it does not swell my head.

I am as modest as a perfect man can be, a rooster if I was a bird.

In my dreams I drive a fabulous car, deep throated engine noise, I hear.

White upholstery, forever clean, beckons to maidens on the walkways,

And I give a casual wave, and they swoon seeing me so near.

In my dreams, everyone feels blessed by my presence, I do nothing wrong,

If asked I will recite a Shakesperian verse, do a scene from some film.

Dance like Old Fred, fight a duel for some lady's honour, or sing a love song.

I met a beautiful lady, in my dreams, blonde, blue eyes sent signal beam

For once my heart beat a little faster, could this be true love, I hoped.

“Come walk with me, dear lady,” I spoke “Come walk by yonder stream.”

“In your dreams, sport,” she said.

The Pioneers

THE PIONEERS

Below the Murray River, in a quiet and shady glen'

There stands a simple tribute to our pioneering kin.

Rusty iron and rotted wood, ruins of a rustic shack

Far from any township, far from any track.

As I stood upon the threshold I felt a warming glow

I felt the spirit of men and women from long, long ago.

I could hear a mother calling and the scurry of children's feet

A meagre meal of gravy mash, this night there is no meat.

The mother gave a heavy sigh, her shoulders slowly drooped

The father, empty handed, cast his shadow as he stooped.

A weary man of thirty years, aged by toil and care

He kissed his wife, a gentle kiss and sat heavily in his chair.

'No luck today, missus, no gold amongst the clay'

No sign of any fortune, but tomorrows another day.

These words were often spoken, they lay sadly in her heart

She knew he tried his best, and knew she must do her part.

'Tomorrow then, my husband, tomorrow is the day

Tomorrow you are sure to find gold amongst the clay.

They sat for the evening meal set on plates of shining tin

Father giving thanks to their Lord, before the meal could begin.

A baby in a rough hewn crib, coughed and cried in pain

It filled the room with sadness, a child may die again.

One more small marker by the creek near the family home

This was the legacy of those that came, pioneers to the bone.

In the flickering light of candle the pair would sit and talk

Summer breeze beckoned them, but they would rather sit than walk.

Mother would dream of England, Somerset in the Spring

Father always pondering on what tomorrow, for them, may bring.

No thought of turning back at all, no fear of giving in

As for the early pioneers to quit would really be a sin.

They struggled on with hope, a future in their mind and soul

Happiness in this new found land was the pioneer's main goal.

I left the shack and wandered, their hardship made me sad

I found the graves of ancestors, four years, the oldest lad.

Three more lay bedside him and in my heart I cried

Dysentery and typhoid was how many people died.

Then through the mist of my reverie, I heard my kinsman shout

I saw the look of wonder as his wife turned about.

With new strength he gathered her, they danced and laughed in glee

For in his hand, yellow gold, it would end their misery.

Gather children, missus, we're off to town this day

I'll hurry over yonder and borrow horse and dray.

Sickly son she bundled, then knelt and prayed aloud

Treated by the doctor, he would grow and make them proud.

As I dreamt of sailing ships and journeys from far off places

I saw the determination on the cavalcade of faces.

I knew the son would live in this land so large and free

I stood, pride showing for how this great Nation came to be.

NOTE: My Great Grandfather arrived in Sydney in 1850. In 1852, after walking to Victoria, he married and began digging for gold at Yackandandah, Osborne Flat and other places in the area.

Home Spun Poetry #3

Tranquillity

Tranquillity and peace

As the breeze gently caresses towering trees

Carpet forming

As leaves fall gracefully to the ground

Music heard

From bubbling brook and when a magpie sings

Comfort felt

As I lose myself to nature all around

Cathedral Sky

Where stars beam the radiance of the night

On Open Plain

Horizons unbroken by any form

How small I feel

Under the velvet canopy, the vast expanse.

Emotions Rising

Pondering why we destroy what nature has born

Smog filled cities

Tearing at the throat, eyes rebel in watery revolt

Cars and mills

Creating clouds, from which, only toxic rain will fall

Chaotic Urgency

To appease the god that demands the might of wealth

No time to see

The beauty of the land, to pause, to dream at all

The Spirit Calls

I return to the forest and the plains with joy

I feel the earth

I walk alone, feet bare, naked as born

Rejuvenating

Once more nature's energy flowing in my veins.

Home spun Poetry #2

I  owned a creamy horse, a creamy horse named Custard.
Now, Custard liked to trot, the trottin' creamy Custard,
Some days he'd buck me off and I'd fall upon the ground.
It made me really sad, but I should've sent him to the pound.
One day, in rainy weather, he rolled in lots of Mud.
The dirty trottin', buckin' muddy custard, it was hard to stay his bud.
Creamy Custard went missing, and now I  know what where,
But I am so pleased that the dirty trottin' buckin, muddy creamy Custard
Never made me swear.