Composed upon a hill

Breathing out my thoughts,

words formed upon Queenstown Hill;

“I am. I am here”.

Diagonal steps

long before the beginning

my road keeps growing.

Moments, I can

say goodbye to past me

just remember to breath.

Benches are made for rest

as I ascend the valley

dodging the boulders.

An iron gate creaks open

I follow ancient steps

in the winter chill.

The road changes

from forest to jagged rocks

the mountains are my compass.

The sun will keep time moving

but forever will wait

it’s just another moment

it’s just another story

it’s just my journey.

 

 

Advertisements

Fopdoodle Snuffbumble

Along my interweb adventures I came across a video that contained an interesting tale of the English language. Some bizarre and rather brilliant words have popped up over the years and some have fallen behind in mainstream language. Today,  I randomly selected two of these words and created some insignificant nonsense…

Fopdoodle Snuffbumble

Blessed are the children with the sight

to see the magic in the night

open theatre of shadows

moonlight sparkling over the snows

little girls keep secret wishes

singing clocks and dancing dishes

happy endings in the twilight

warm the heart with greatest delight

hopes and dreams always follow

simply believe and they will know.

1 Day 1 World Project: 10pm

Inspired by Northwest Frame of Mind 1 Day 1 World Project: 10pm and the well-known game ‘If I go to sleep now… that’s 8 hours sleep’…

 

20140714-220247-79367320.jpg

“Time is an illusion”

It’s 10pm on a Monday

eyes closing; must be time to sleep

dreams of finding time – someday

there will be logic in our weeks.

Weighed and measured all my lifetime

into hours, days, months and years

conditioned by the hands that chime

transient moments – deepest fears.

It’s time to set the alarm clock

It’s time to turn down the warm bed

It’s time to pull on the wooly socks

It’s time to farewell today – she’s dead.

Time is humanity’s greatest curse

inured to the great grand design

trapped inside from birth to hearse

will we ever find the time?

It’s 10pm on a Monday

and it’s almost time for bed

tomorrow will be another day

tick tock goes the clock, she said.

When I was a little girl…

When I was a little girl I would wander

through ancient woods and historic villages

admiration, reverence, longing to know

wishing, praying I could travel through time

with a yearning of how we got here.

Now, I flick through records and photographs

curious wonderment in my brown eyes

watching the branches stretch into history

stories of miners and farm labourers.

It really was another world.

If I was born in Victorian England

I might be a maid in the houses of Chelsea

or a farmers daughter without a trade

trying my hardest to simply exist.

Just another face in the crowd.

As the lines falter through time’s trees

mysteries remain; never to be resolved.

Ancestors circling around the globe

India, Australia, Wales and home

bequeathing a nomadic legend.

Inspired by one of my favourite television shows Who Do You Think You Are? and my passion for researching my ancestry.

Farewell, Postman Pat

It’s time to hang your hat, sir.
Your work has come to an end.

IMG_6293

Harry S Alford My Grandfather the Postman

I’ll miss the hand waves and the bells
of a much beloved friend.
Seeing you early each morning
counting out the coloured cards
placing them through each letterbox
with a smile, wink and kind regards.
Rain or shine, you were always there
the glue that held the villages
together with paper and ink
and postcards of flowery bridges.
But, the wheels of time push progress
and you have been found wanting.
Time, she has made you redundant
and so Death has begun knocking.
It’s time to hang up your hat, sir.
Your work has come to an end.
We’ll remember you in our scrapbooks
and label you, a long lost friend.
 
Poem was inspired by an article in The Age: Are you ready to abandon snail mail
 

OneDayOneWorld – Hour One – 12pm

Ever wondered what everyone else is up to at any given time on any given day? The following was written for / inspired by the 1 Day 1 World Project running from May to October (24 weeks) where each week will unveil a particular hour around the world.

Sunday 12pm

20140504-143051.jpg

Bound inside my suburban walls

like the spider caught in the drain

watching as the dark shadows fall

under the loud thundery rain.

Nestled in my big blue armchair

I read my book and drink my tea

the smell of pizza fills the air

with my warm fuzzy boots and me.