Higher Ground

I packed my bags, said my goodbyes

And struggled up to higher ground,

Praying that in the clear mountain air

Truth and clarity could be found;

Reasoned that although the way was weary

And each ridge a struggle to attain,

Without the effort and the work

There never could be truth to gain.

So when I gained the summit’s height

And with eagle eye looked way down

On a little world of pettiness and strife

I felt disdain for those on lower ground.

Then I knew the truth that the blight of pride

Can in those heights with great ease reside.

The Hornet’s Nest.

I plunged my stick into the hornet’s nest

And then was surprised to see

That they with great anger emerged

And some of them actually stung me.

Then some of them stung my friends

And some of them my neighbour too;

Then they proceeded to sting my family

And of my enemies quite a few.

And though I might be slow of wit

And prone to many foolish acts

I decided that to meddle and interfere

Can be both painful and incredibly rash.

It’s like grabbing an angry dog by both ears,

You must eventually let the beast go

And the consequences can be nasty indeed

And tear at much more than just ego.

So by my swollen eyes and throbbing nose

I solemnly declare not to interfere

And where hornets and sticks are concerned

I resolve to stay a long way clear.

For hornets are nasty stinging things

And can distribute pain all around;

Sticks are not for wielding or poking

And are harmless when left on the ground.

Joy

In memory of Joy Bevan.

Her eyes were large and grey,

Her voice was soft and low,

Her mind entirely beautiful,

With a gentle inner glow.

Some celebrate great beauty,

Great power, wealth or fame;

I sing for her who had none of these

But was Joy in more than name.

Great were the gifts she gave

And received most gratefully,

More especially now that hindsight

Has given me eyes that can see.

She was my leader and my guide

Through wonderful realms of gold,

And with a kindly, skilful hand

She let those treasures unfold.

She helped me to love the realm itself,

It was so rich with jewels,

And so the journey and not its end

Became my lifelong rule.

The journey on which she set me

Was beyond all place and time,

Deep, powerful, beautiful and sad,

The complex journey of the mind.

So now for one who seemed to live

A life of quiet dedication,

I raise my voice of praise

In sad, posthumous recognition.

And thank her for her example,

Those values deep and fine,

That showed the prize is in the running

And not the finishing line.

Life is a Breath, a Vapour

Life is a breath, a vapour

A dew drop before the rising sun,

A fleeting appearing of the mist,

Disappearing before it has hardly begun.

For a moment in the shining sun

The refracting light will sparkle and dance;

Then before the rising heat

It disappears into the sky’s expanse.

So delicate, so transient, so brief,

So miraculous is this moment of life,

But so wasted, so undervalued, so spoilt

By division, argument, war and strife.

O seek God with all your heart and mind,

You momentarily living legions of men,

For He has the desire and the great power

From death to make you rise again.

Not to this life of struggle and pain

Powered by mere transient breath,

But to a life filled with the spirit of God,

Set free from the cruel hand of Death.

For God will wipe all tears from eyes,

And make sorrow and sighing flee away;

When in His love and in His power

The resurrected blessed will forever stay.

Is this not worth a moment’s thought

As we hurry through this fleeting day,

That we could dwell on this fair earth

Through eternity’s changed and endless day.

A Warp in Time

For Diana.

Your head is on my shoulder.

Your leg crosses mine.

Our quiet and gentle breathing

Is in synchronous time.

The scent of your hair is in my head,

Your satin skin is soft and smooth,

Your arm lies lightly across my chest

And in this warm cocoon we neither move.

Outside the hushed, cold world is transforming.

The first faint rays of morning light

Come grey and dim through the gum trees.

The first magpie warbles the passing of night.

Soon winter light will struggle feebly across the sky,

The busy, hectic world of work will start

And separately rising to our tasks

We sadly must of necessity part.

But now it is this moment of ours

Where we in deep contentment lie,

In dim, half conscious dreaming state

Where the world unnoticed passes by.

That each day can begin with such peace,

Such happiness, is bliss, is joy divine,

A warp in time where you lie close

And your quiet breathing matches mine.

Dark Fruits

Too much ease and too much shelter

Encourages thick weeds to grow,

And the grassy fertile glade

Can make thinking dull and slow.

Then comfort, working like a drug,

Entraps and enslaves the mind,

Whispering those sweet and easy lies

That we are not the slaves of time.

Too much struggle and too much pain

Can strip the spirit bare

And the wind, precipice and sliding rock

Engender hopeless despair.

Then bitterness, that destructive blight,

Makes imagination dark and sour

And a mind stripped of joy and hope

Is bereft of all its healing power.

But struggle, difficulty and pain

Can also be our closest friends,

Directing both mind and character

Towards a most desired end.

It is through these dark fruits

We the seeds of compassion sow

And in ways mysterious and strange

Empathy and love germinate and grow.

I am amongst the richest of men

Tim, Cathy, Dan and Ben- all Ebenezer Public School students, 1986

For my children –Daniel, Catherine, Benjamin and Timothy- and for my wife, Diana, the source of all my wealth.

There once was a time when I was poor,

When my house was dim and empty,

When wind rattled through my empty vaults

With a bleak insistent constancy.

But I am amongst the richest of men,

My vault has wealth untold,

My treasury is full of sparkling things

And I dwell in a palace of gold.

My wealth is based on four unique pillars,

From one quarry cut but standing discretely,

And now I declare that I love each one

Completely, fervently and equally.

Did I once fear that this wealth must leave

And the cold, empty wind could blow again?

No! Time has wrought the hoped-for change;

This wealth -my children-  have become my friends.

For my wealth is not in things that rust,

Or moth can corrupt, or thief can steal,

For I am rich in care, hope and love,

In all the deep things the heart can feel.

So I care little for success or fame,

Or for any trinkets for which men lust.

Compared to the things in which I am rich

They are not much more than worthless dust.

So I am amongst the richest of men,

My vault has wealth untold,

My treasury is full of sparkling things

And I dwell in a palace of gold.

Ben, Cathy, Dan and Tim, I think around 2000