Poetry

“The arts are not a way to make a living. They are a very human way of making life more bearable. Practicing an art, no matter how well or how badly, is a way to make your soul grow, for heaven’s sake. Sing in the shower. Dance to the radio. Tell stories. Write a poem to a friend, even a lousy poem. Do it as well as you possibly can. You will get an enormous reward. You will have created something.” From : “A man without a country” by Kurt Vonnegut.

April 2011, my son, Kesley marries Sepideh Tarar. I wrote this poem and read during the marriage ceremony:

Two Small Waves

In two corners of the world
- Africa and Atherton -
two small waves rippled,
and grew,
raced over the Ocean of Existence
to their destined agreement.

Drawn in by their
fierce collision,
WE unfurl in awe
looking up at this grand love
anticipating the new,
amazing sea spread forth.

We declare our love and unity.
Our children, our family, our joy.
- Kelsey and Sepideh .

November 2010 I am being further attracted to the works of the Persian Sufi Poet, Rumi. I find a poem called, “Grapes of My Body”. What a wonderfully enlightened insight. Here is my meagre response.

TO GRAPES
The grape is not a food,
or a juice.
It is an envelope protecting
the sweet sweet soul
growing in the most rich soils,
waiting on the vine of life
to be singled out
by the Winemaker
who will crush it into
a chalice of Grace.

In October 2010, thinking about what a Baha’i Discourse might mean, I returned to the last book Baha’u'llah wrote, ‘Epistle to the Son of the Wolf’ which might be considered an overview of what it means to be a Baha’i in society. So I wrote a poem based on these writings with a little reference to a theme from Abdu’l-Baha’s “secret of Divine Civilisation’. I titled the poem ‘Discourse of the Heart‘.

On 19th March 2009, as I was saying the long obligatory prayer during the Fast. I can remember the prayer by heart but tend to keep the book open in case I stumble. I often do stumble, perhaps becasue, with the book nearby, I become lazy with my attention. So a number of thoughts began to stir up about what a prayer is and the way we read prayer as a set of words written on a page, with all the formatting that creates, and whether that format influences how we think of prayer itself. I put them down here.

Lines are for Scholars

The man asked, “what is line 5 on the 3rd page of the long prayer?”
and the ghost of Charles Dickens rose with this tale:
‘Gradgrind asked the girl who lived with horses,
“give me your definition of a horse.”
She could not.
While Bitzer, pale from a scholars pen,
replied, “Quadruped, graminovorous, 40 teeth etc etc.”
“Now, girl”, said Gradgrind, “you know what a horse is.”
“and”, said Mr M’Choakumchild, “you must never draw a horse on a wall
or a flower on the floor,
because that is not logical.” ‘

The traveller, stumped, thought about the long prayer,
about the darkest night illuminated only by the flicker of a candle
and yearning for the fullness of the moon
or the spreading of the dawn.
He thought about the search for truth
in the chattering jungles,
about fleeting days and eternal life,
about love in crashing tides,
about the only refuge on a stormy mountain,
about treasure hunting on the reefs
of glittering baubles,
about crying from the exhaustion of
banging on the walls of the prison of self,
about finding strength in forgiveness,
about training the bird of the heart
to fly to the high prison  window
and look upon the gates of paradise,
about seeing the gate from afar
and all existence pouring forth,
about rattling the cage and crying for help,
about declaring fealty
while imploring bounty,
about being, without question.

The traveller looked back at the man
as he walked out into the day
“I don’t remember any lines or pages
in the long prayer”, he said.
and flung himself into the Sea.

Having a discussion with some friends online about education, one of the comments drew forth this thought that seemed easiest as a poem Education

I wrote this poem on the last night of the 9th National Rural Health Conference 2007 Albury Australia. It really is a performance piece so here is the video rendition. The poem with performance notes can be downloaded here.

The National Rural Health Conference

Tully Poetry Week – Ripple Theme

I am fortunate to have been asked to hold workshops for 9year old children in Tully, during poetry week in 2007. I put my lesson plan to the test for myself and came up with this poem.

POETS ARE PEBBLES

I picked myself out of bed

like a pebble from the shore,

put on the coffee

drank it down

and shot the pebble

out the door,

skimming touh, touh, touh,

splashing into Tully,

throwing poets

to the world.

 

A bit corny but an honest sentiment:

 

Poem for Nathan and Danielle on their wedding night 27th December 2008

 

 

20 winters have come and gone,

Since Nathan was born.

Now he’s wed Danielle,

I wish them only

Spring and Summer,

For a life, joyful and long.

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2006, I sustained a detached retina. I had many visits to the opthamologist. The following is a satirical poem about that experience. Note the voice of yoda. The Light Hurts