Tag Archives: Jenny Falcon

Moment of Despair by Jenny Falcon

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Moment of Despair by Jenny FalconpoemI know nothing of their lives

They know nothing of mine

I can try to imagine

They cannot even begin……

Big, beautiful beseeching eyes

Searching for comfort

Yearning without knowing it

For a life they will never have

Not without the love of parents,

Struggling to keep them alive

Beyond indignation, too tired

To question their destiny

Too hot, too cold, too hungry

No strength to play, to laugh

Just misery is the norm

How can this be? – what shame

Completely helpless I observe

Desperate to end their pain

Knowing with grim certainty

It would take a miracle

As Western life envelops

I know it can’t be right

The help that is in place

Will never ever be enough

I want to see them smile

Not in a newsreel pose

But with the joy of a child

Carefree, hopeful, cherished

I want them all to know

They have done nothing wrong

The world does not condemn

Their fragile innocence

CHRISTMAS PAST & PRESENT by Jenny Falcon

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The lights garnishing the tree twinkle

Peeping out from amongst the shiny baubles

Dotted between the dark green pine branches

The sparkling ornaments, the foil wrapped chocolates

 

The olive trees stand still, silent, protective

Lit by the myriad stars, one shining extra brightly

The leaves gently flutter, quietly applauding

Sensing their privileged position by the stable

 

The street is full of noise and colour

Crowds bustling in and out of bulging shops

Carols playing, children squeaking with excitement

Preparations reaching a festive crescendo

 

Inside the stable, it is peaceful

The donkey, a little restless, hooves muffled by the straw

Knows this day he’s carried a special load

His big brown eyes watch in awe

 

Supermarket tills are working to exhaustion

Trolleys groan under the weight of Christmas fare

Pyramids of goods, demolished in seasonal frenzy

Unbelievable quantities, gratuitous excess

 

The inn keeper offers some bread and gruel

He has little to spare, the inn is full

He promises a lad will milk the cow

To give to the young mother, cradling the infant

 

The smell of roasting turkey, goose or beef

Mixes with the rich wafts of Christmas pudding

Mince pies, crouching in their crisp pastry coats

And spicy cinnamon immersed in the mulled wine.

 

The hay spread thickly on the earthen floor

Smells sweet, though slightly damp

Wood smoke blows through, just gently

As the door to the inn opens and closes

 

Guests arrive, parcels are placed under the tree

Fascinating shapes, brightly wrapped and ribboned

Soon to reveal the secrets within

Leaving forlorn piles of discarded, crumpled paper

 

 

Shepherds shuffle in, sheep trot behind

The Wise Men, majestic, mysterious offer their gifts

The new parents, happy but bewildered, smile their thanks

The baby, focus of all attention, sleeps on

 

 

Ode To Azerbaijan by Jenny Falcon

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Firstly ‘Where? followed swiftly by ‘Why?’
Was how conversations began
When we told our family and friends
We were off to Azerbaijan.

‘Why not?’ we said, ‘it’s different
A World Heritage site indeed
So off we went, an intrepid four
To see what we could see.

Our destination was Baku
A five and a half hour flight
Our boutique hotel in the Old Town
Near all the notable sights.

Azerbaijan-Baku-steps-leading-away-from-Fou ... Square-to-statue-of-Nizami-tweaked-2-BG

The first day, locally we explored
Cobbled streets, lots of steps, lovely sun
A wide promenade by the Caspian Sea
Very old; stunning new; oh what fun.

Second day, off with our guide Yassim
Gloopy mud volcanoes to see
Followed by ancient petroglyphs
From many years B.C.

 

A different guide for our next trip
Fire Mountain and Fire Temple, too
Where flames have burned non-stop
Over 2,000 years, yes it’s true.

Another day walking round Baku
Up close to the Flame Towers so tall
Martyrs Alley, with graves of Azeris
Who when fighting the Russians did fall.

Baku’s a very clean city
Much money is there being spent
Smart shops, parks, hotels and museums
To attract tourists is their intent.

We always enjoy an adventure
New sights, sounds and culture to learn
And this trip was no exception
If asked, we would surely return.

Frost would love to receive more poetry. Contact Margaret: frost@margaret-graham.com

 

 

 

The Journey by Jenny Falcon | Poetry Corner

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The Journey by Jenny Falcon | Poetry CornerJenny Falcon took a bi-lingual French/English secretarial course with the avowed intention of becoming the first U.K. ambassador to France:  sadly, this did not transpire.  She loves travelling to places off the tourist wish list, and has long been a member of Ladies Circle, which has expanded her horizons even further. Jenny considers family and friends crucial to her life.  Happily married for decades with one married daughter, her single best achievement, Jenny is a poet and writer.

The Journey by Jenny Falcon

The dirty mainline station was functioning with its usual, organised frenzy
People criss-crossing the forecourt, focused on their own trajectories
Announcements – almost incomprehensible – feebly fought against the sound
Of multiple movement, competing noises of man and machine

My feet took me hastily through the barrier and along the platform
I stepped with wearisome tread onto the waiting train which crouched
Like an uncomplaining mammal, gently hissing and clicking
I found a seat, tucked at one end of a carriage, and sank into the corner

At the appointed departure time, the train moved off with a gentle tug
It had a heavy load, it was that time of the evening, so many assorted souls
Making their respective homeward journeys, some pale and exhausted
Others frenetically tapping at their electronic devices, mesmerised, unaware

But the movement of the lumbering train was beguiling, almost soothing
The enforced closeness of fellow travellers did not feel intrusive
But strangely comforting, locked together in a homeward goal
Leaving behind the tangled thoughts and worries of the day

Dusk was approaching, the occasional light drew attention
The suburban gardens pulled over their shrouds of grey
The fields and parks became secretive, waiting for the moon
The grubbiness of the trackside buildings disappeared in the gloom

No longer could one’s gaze rest on the world passing by
Just a jumble of shapes, confused with the reflections from within;
Eyes closed, listening to the sounds of the train as it sped on
Wishing to arrive, to be transported away to a familiar shelter

Finally, the sounds changed, the regular beat slowed, people shuffled,
Roused themselves to face again the world outside the large cocoon
The train gently stopped and at once, the relative calm was broken
As those within, hurried away without a backward glance.

The end of the line, so I paused – waited until all had gone
Viewed the empty cartons, crumpled papers, dirty tissues
Detritus of a daily, uneventful, homeward journey, one of so many
And then, stepped off the train myself and followed the crowd