Haunting echoes of past lives,
Weighed down by the soil they fought to save.
The mists of war hover,
Silhouetting each grave,
Tombstones tell their story, of bravery and death.
A shivering handshake “Well done young man”
You lived to serve, you died in service.
Rows of soldiers, straight and tall,
Now, having reached their sanctuary,
They rest, they sleep, forevermore.
HEAVENS GAIN, OUR LOSS
WORDS TO MAKE THE WORLD BELIEVE
FOR FIFTY YEARS YOU WERE IN MY LIFE,
THEN YOU WERE’NT
YOU TRIED TO MAKE ME LISTEN,
YOUR HEART LOVED ME,
THEN IT DIDN’T
YOU WANTED TO STAY,
YOU DIED AND LEFT US,
I WISH YOU HADN’T
I WANT TO FORGET THE EMPTINESS,
BUT I MUST’NT.
This poem is written in reference to a little garden in the middle of Sydney. This garden was planted from scratch by a woman called Wendy Whitely. Her husband was Australian artist Brett Whitely, who was a wonderful and talented artist. He tragically passed away at the age of 53. Their daughter Arkie, an Australian actress, passed away at the age of 37. Wendy planted this garden in their remembrance, scattering her loved ones ashes within this garden. She has generously opened it to the public to wander, sit and ponder and enjoy the beauty of an area she has poured so much love into.
A SECRET GARDEN HIDDEN AMONGST THE LOST,
SACRED TO THOSE THAT KNOW, A MYSTERY TO THOSE THAT DON’T.
SOWN BY A BEAUTIFUL CREATURES HAND,
NATURE BLENDED WITH PAST MEMORIES,
A PATH TO LOVELINESS AS THE FLOWERS SING TO THE BIRDS,
AND THE BEES HOVER AND INHALE BEFORE POLLINATING,
PEOPLE SIT AND FEEL THE SERENITY,
THE GHOSTLY ZEPHYRS WHISPERING TO THOSE THAT CHOOSE TO LISTEN,
A SOFT SEDATION NUMBING THEM TO REALITY,
THE BLOOMING OF INTERTWINED LOVE,
TRANSFORMING THE GHOSTS OF GRIEF INTO A TREASURE FOREVER.
THE WAY YOU WIGGLE IS SUCH FUN
IT MAKES ME SMILE
TO SEE YOU JIVE
IN THE MORNING SUN
LOOKING AT LIFE THROUGH A STAINED GLASS WINDOW,
AT A RIPPLED STRANGE UNIVERSE,
SOMETIMES THIS IS HOW I SEE THE WORLD,
OUT OF CONTEXT, BARELY LUCID,
CONTORTED FORMS INTERCEPTING MY THOUGHTS,
ALTERNATING RED AND GREEN FIGURES,
CONFUSING MY MIND FLOW,
THE BEAUTY OF THIS STRANGENESS,
CATCHING ME OFF GUARD,
WHISPERING COLOURS INTO MY SOUL,
AN ENIGMATIC DYNANISM TRAPPING ME,
SEEING LIFE THROUGH A STAINED GLASS WINDOW.
COTTON CANDY IN MY SIGHT,
AS I WATCH THE PURITY OF WHITE,
DANCING DAINTILY THROUGH THE SKY.
THE SKY IS A CANVAS CREATING ART,
A HEART SHAPED CLOUD WE VIEW ON THE GROUND,
PREGNANT WITH RAIN,
BEAUTIFUL, GLORIOUS RAIN,
CLOUDS, THE CATALYST TO SUSTENANCE,
INSPIRING A NUDIE RUN THROUGH THE WARM SHOWERS,
AND THE SIMPLE JOY OF RAIN ON A TIN ROOF,
THE SYNCHRONICITY OF CLOUDS AND RAIN,
BEATING WITH A SINGLE HEARTBEAT.
WATCHING THE WAY A CLOUD EVOLVES,
WAITING FOR THE RIGHT MOMENT TO SHARE ITSELF.