Tag Archives: poetry

CHRISTMAS PAST & PRESENT by Jenny Falcon

Posted on by

 

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

 

 

Parkinson’s, Poetry And Song. Bring it on by Ross Mabey

Posted on by

(Australian pictures  by Brent Miller)

pic a Ross MabyIMGRoss Mabey is a poet and lyricist and was living in London when he was diagnosed with Parkinson’s Disease (PD) in November 2005. He returned to Australia in June 2014 with his wife Linda. Their son Jonathon 28 years old, had returned to Australia in 2012.

pic 1.Devils Marbles. NT Australia.

Ross told Frost Magazine:

My love of poetry dates back to my school days in Australia. In the late 1940’s and early 1950’s, the names of Australian poets were familiar in nearly every Australian household. Poets such as, Mary Gilmore, Adam Lindsay Gordon, Henry Kendall, Henry Lawson. These poets helped capture and shape the unique character of Australians of that time. Never underestimate the deep love of poetry in the Australian psyche.

!Job: 111180, Layout: 1!

In particular, poets were inspired by this light filled spacious country, and the unique characters that lived here. The wonderful Dorethea Mackellar expressed such a sentiment in “My Country”: “I love a sunburnt country, a land of sweeping plains. Of ragged mountain ranges, of droughts and flooding rains.” Andrew Barton (Banjo) Paterson in his poem “The Man From Snowy River”, speaks of a fearless character and his horse who without hesitation pursued wild horses down a steep mountainside, to finally round them up.

ic 3 BARRIER REEF

My love of poetry was rekindled in 1970’s when I joined a religious teaching, with a focus on creative/imaginative techniques to help individuals to understand life. However, it wasn’t until a few months after I had been diagnosed with Parkinson’s Disease (PD) in November 2005 at the age of 63 that I had a strong desire to write poetry and lyrics for songs.

!Job: 163006, Layout: 1!

Was it the shock of diagnosis, or the medication? Whatever it was, it wasn’t the moment to sit back and feel sorry for myself. I knew that if I wanted the rest of my life to be an interesting and productive experience, I must start creating the life that I wanted. I knew that part of the answer for me was to write lyrics for country songs, but how would I do that? And why country songs ? They were my favourite song genre, but I felt they needed a fresh approach.

Not being a musician and having little idea of how to write or structure these lyrics, I started to search the Internet looking for the answers. Eventually I emailed Jeffrey Ullsperger from Wisconsin in the US. He had experience in editing and co-writing country song lyrics. He also had a couple of songs published. Jeffrey agreed to mentor me in how to “craft” the lyrics for these songs.

pic 5. ARNHEMLAND

So 2006 brought a co-writing partnership. To date we have over 40 song “demos” produced and co-written the lyrics to other songs as well. The genre’s we write in now include Contemporary Country, Folk, Pop and the Blues. Several of our songs were entered in the UK Songwriting Contest over several years, and were rated  in the “Semi-finalist” category.

So how did this experience benefit me with regards to life in general and the PD symptoms that I have?

Without a creative interest of some kind, words like isolation, frustration and loneliness come to mind. Words like interaction, satisfaction, confidence and fulfilment were outcomes that were more appealing to me.

I am very grateful to Australia, for its beauty, co-writer Jeffrey Ullsperger for his patience, tolerance, kindness and help in this endeavour while suffering from his own health problems. Also, my gratitude goes to my wife, son, other family members, friends and many others for their love, understanding and support.

We will be featuring two poems by Ross Mabey soon. 

 

 

Margaret River’s Readers’ and Writers’ Festival Poetry Competition Results

Posted on by

Margaret River’s Readers’ and Writers’ Festival poetry competition results1

Frost Magazine and Margaret River’s (WA) Readers’ and Writers’ Festival Poetry Competition, Seasons, has been an absolute pleasure to judge. There has been a plethora of entries of extraordinarily high standard. Our decision, though, was unanimous and we are delighted to announce that Melanie O’Nions is the winner with Magic Winter.

Melanie O’Nions graduated from the University of Sydney in 2009 with a double degree in Education and Arts, before returning to complete a Master of Educational Management. She is a full time English teacher in a Catholic Secondary school in regional New South Wales, and lives with her husband and six young children. She writes often as a way of finding peace and sanctity in everyday life and to be a positive role model to the students that she teaches.

Margaret River’s Readers’ and Writers’ Festival poetry competition resultsmp1

Magic Winter

Even now, after age has gnarled my veins and they have grown knotted,

As my eyes have grown heavy with cataracts and my hair looks like spun grey fairy-floss,

And I can barely remember the great love stories of my past, I can still recall that magic winter.

The frost dripped lazily each morning off the leaves of the fir-trees which lined the streets and our

Breaths smoked O-Rings of inquisitiveness in front of us as we walked to school, our mother’s Hand-Woven gloves soon discarded to eat pungent toffee apples and share a suck of lemon.

It was the winter of my first love, and I can still close my eyes and see him, clear as day

Waiting for me at the mailbox of his gate for me to walk past in the morning and the anticipation

In his eyes as he hungered, not for the tuck-shop sweets, but for me.

Of course it didn’t last. They never do. By the time that Spring was in the air, and the newborn foals

Frolicked by the fields once again, he had forgotten me. The bark we had studiously carved our names into grew over, and the burst of new life meant the death of our love.

Magic Winter stood out from all the wonderful poetry that Frost Magazine and the Margaret River Arts Festival received during the course of its competition.

This evocation of lost love, which warmed a winter many years ago – a magic winter – weaves subtle imagery, gentle pacing and empathetic imagining to create a particular season of youth. One which voyages through winter’s cold, never to be forgotten, though the bark ‘grew over, and the burst of new life meant the death of our love’.

It has such heart, such carefully worked rhythms, and worked at many levels to amply fulfil the brief of ‘Seasons’

Melanie will be sent free tickets for the Festival. Festival director, Helen Allan is looking forward to meeting her.

Margaret River’s Readers’ and Writers’ Festival poetry competition resultsmr2

SEASONS is the theme for the seventh annual Readers and Writers Festival to be held in the beautiful Margaret River wine region in Western Australia over the May long weekend 29-31

Festival director Helen Allan said the annual festival has a huge line-up of famous authors to excite readers of all genres.

“We focus on the environment, nature and the seasons of our lives – the theme `Seasons’ encapsulates all of those things, and Autumn is such a beautiful time in Margaret River, we should celebrate that – when Keats wrote that Autumn was the ‘season of mists and mellow fruitfulness’ it almost seems like he wrote it for our region.”

Mrs Allan said the festival committee had lined up around 20 authors and the festival would, once again run over three days.

“From Tomorrow When The War Began author John Marsdon to science fiction author Isobelle Carmody, comedian and authors Sami Shah, Justin Heazelwood and Luke Ryan to romance author Fiona Palmer, Michelle de Kretser and food/nature author Sophie Zalokar, we have something for everyone,” she said.

www.wapoets.net.au/

Facebook : www.facebook.com/pages/Margaret-River-Readers-Writers-Festival/531293773636991

Web : www.artsmargaretriver.com

Tel: 08 97 587316 (Mondays and Fridays)

www.frostmagazine.com

 

 

Easter by Gem Blaney | Poetry Corner

Posted on by

easterbunnyphotocredit-wikipediaEaster, by Gem Blaney: Gem is a talented young poet from the West Country. Frost asked her to write about Easter especially for us. Here it is:

A man rises;
not from slumber,
but from days of death
behind two stones.

His human body was no longer
still, on a bed of concrete
skin tinted blue,
lips with no breath to pass through.

See modern world
dressed up as a hare
hiding shells of chocolate
for children to find.

Voices squealing, bellies aching,
church bells ringing
forcing the past
back onto the present.

Unintentionally, but successfully
with each generation,
the fascination with egg shaped sweets
overcomes the past.

Bank holiday Monday,
adults sighing and bank accounts stretching
hot cross buns, chocolate and animal shaped snacks
because it’s easter easter easter.

A Christian holiday
for those who believe
in the dead man who rose
and shifted two stones

For children today it’s another
‘off school’ to celebrate.
It is not their fault,
they don’t understand it’s about a profound mystery.

Not a day as grandiose as Christmas
(a man’s birth)
this is a man dead and reborn–
Surely more earth moving than chocolate eggs

Don’t you think?

The Flower Poem by Krystal Volney

Posted on by

flowerpoempicture1

Flower so bright,
Flower so new.
Why does the humming bother you?
Spending your time, wishing you knew.
Speak with honour.
Stand with dignity.

Suppose the humming stopped humming,
what say you?
Trees look down on you and say nothing.
Let your nectar stay sweet and let the sun delight in your fashion.
The wind blows alone but it feels your presence.
Its spirit feels the fluster of your petals.
Trying to grasp onto one. Just one.
Till it realizes that you stand firm.

flowerpoempicture2 flowerpoempicture3 flowerpoempicture4

Your leaves whisper sweet nothings,
proclaiming your fun and varying colour.
Pretty with no inside jollifies the leaves when falling down.
Don’t let whispers tell your time for they too want to see you fall.
The branches watch everything with intentions of mocking you.
They too want to see everything falling, leaves and all.
They see it fit to stand out in front of everything.
When the rain falls, they laugh to see you drained.
They dry faster more than anything.
But don’t wilt flower.
Flowers are meant to stay beautiful.

KrystalVolney_photoTalking about the poem: (The explanation & extended thought)
It refers metaphorically to individuals (both women and men) that are seen as the flower (with radiant petals and nectar).

The green leaves are filled with chlorophyll(that illustrate envy) and are split typically into two halves on the leaf & as well as the back and front of the leaf meaning two-​faced people with lines on them relating to compliments (envious persons).™ Green in this scenario demonstrates envy although the colour green in other cases symbolizes learning, growth and harmony.

“Pretty with no inside” can be elucidated through comprehending that each society has a different view of what is “pretty” poetically such as the Padaung Hill Tribe (women) or fitness (men) because there are multifarious species of flower on the earth. Without an inside representing nectar after the hummingbird has taken away the nectar or tried to sabotage the flower, the leaves become jollified as the seasons change.

The green leaves are jollified when the flower has no inside which displays the change from green to red & yellow colour in autumn at the time of leaf fall, emblematic for happiness, power and enlightenment.™ The branches deal with those who are rough in mentality & ruthless who are not blown away by beauty, (often attracting & entertaining friends such as snakes that coil and wrap around them). The trees express older and more ‘mature’ individuals who have been existent for centuries( stressing on the maturity and experience) or in decades (human life expectancy with experience at hand). The ‘humming’ refers to the sounds of the humming bird which is metaphorical IN POETRY & in this particular situation for people who are ‘haters’ connoting that the flower has both outward beauty & sweet nectar (sweet interior representative in the world for flair, talent, great personality or just in general something good about them based on perception); there will be envy expected, fuss and gossip as well in society because of its reputation. The drama!!! The humming bird goes by most flowers as most have nectar. The wind deals with the cold-​hearted and lonely people in the world that desire to feel the energy of the petals. The flower is often mocked by the branches because flowers are present everywhere around the planet. The leaves are always whispering and hoping that the flower will fall as well.

However, in the end it ought not fall apart. The sun is the star of the solar system delighting in the fashion of the flower and its poise in Spring.

(This was the first poem written in the year 2010).

© 2010 Krystal Volney

 

 

Mother’s Day Poem | Close Encounter by Angela Taplin

Posted on by

angela taplinAngela Taplin, scribbler of fiction, poetry and (sometime) Deep Meaningful Reflections on Life. She’s a member of Chesham Writers and Scribblers and prefers lad docle vita to Ryvita any day.  She is a mother and a new, doting, grandmother.

 

Close Encounter by Angela Taplin

stork

‘Hi,’ she whispers soft

Her face alight with smile.

‘How are you doing?’

‘Look at you – aren’t you just perfect?’

Her eyes drink in every detail of him

From top to toe.

She leans in for a kiss,

Just brushing her lips across his skin.

He lets her,

His eyes fixed on her.

Accepting.

Calm.

footprints

Greedy, she gathers him to herself,

Breathing in the heady scent of him.

She’s waited so long for this moment.

The anticipation has been – almost –

Overwhelming.

‘I can’t believe you’re here.’

Kiss

‘I can’t believe you’re mine.’

Kiss

‘I’ll never let you go.’

Kiss

‘I love you.’

Kiss. Kiss.

‘Welcome to the world, my precious one.’

Angela Taplin March 2015

 

 

Ode To Azerbaijan by Jenny Falcon

Posted on by

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

 

 

 

A 70’s Valentine By Wendy Breckon

Posted on by

Wendy Breckon is a writer and occasional story teller, who scribbles near the sea, in the middle of a wood or wherever the fancy takes her. She loves life and the people walking past the window, especially if they wave! One day, she hopes to flog that ‘sitcom’ sitting in the drawer. In the meantime, her love for coffee, almond croissants, comedy, and a good film, keep those words flowing …

wendythomas

A 70’s VALENTINE
RED is the rose you left upon the chair
RED is the hair slide you placed back in my hair
RED the stain of Mateus Rose on the collar of my dress
RED is the colour of flushed cheek bones the evening I said yes
RED is the sunset above a leather seat
RED is for the old Austin and our engineering feat
RED is for nostalgia and the sweet smell of YOUTH DEW
RED is for the moment I said I love you too
X