On Existence

Ever get the feeling that time flies?

That we are all just butterflies,

Each with his moment in the sun

To hover, flit, spread wings, have fun.

 

That life is far too short we read,

Although we learn ‘more haste, less speed’

We do not register time passing

All too busy - multi-tasking!

 

We blink, and youthful days go by

To carefree mode we say goodbye;

Excitement as we earn our crust,

Responsibilities – a must.

 

Commitments often come too soon

Some may spin their own cocoon;

We pass on knowledge, hone our craft

While juggling hefty overdraft.

 

Each soul – a splendid butterfly

That briefly charms each passer-by …

We make our mark - but it is brief

In the Book of Life – one leaf …

(c) Poet in the woods 2024

Voting for the Commune!

The hoardings were not taken down

Because we have another round

Of posters – in assorted colours

Amalgamated groups – and others!

 

This time, against October hues

We queue again to give our views

In terms of Province and Commune

In the same venue as June!

 

The local school* just down my street

Is open now for vote discreet

We need to show our I.D. card;

A quick check – it isn’t hard …

 

We place our plastic card in slot

Make our language choice, then stop

As lengthy lists appear on screen

With many names I’ve never seen …

 

No matter - I must now decide;

Perhaps a party I’ve not tried?

I press a button – and ‘tis done;

Tonight, we’ll all be told who’s won!

(c) Poet in the woods 2024

* Ecole de la Sapinière, Watermael-Boitsfort

The Magic Gene!

A commemoration wall with plaque:

St. John’s quaint brick-built church stands back

From winding road in leafy glade

Not far from sun-filled Adelaide.

 

It’s here we laid dear Dad to rest

His ashes strewn where plaques attest

The many souls who’ve passed away;

Where Isabella stands today…

 

Though six, born far too late to know

Her Granddad, who’d have loved to show

In long bush walks, his knowledge vast

A nature lover to the last …

 

But born far back - 1918,

With generation span extreme,

That vital link could not be made …

Though memory reels are often played …

 

Her Auntie has one fervent wish

Concerning Granddad – it is this:

Dad was a poet, as am I;

Will Isabella one day try …

 

To express her thoughts in rhyme?

She can write, so it is time

To see if down our family tree

This talent she will share with me!

(c) Poet in the woods 2024

St. John's Anglican Church - in the Adelaide Hills

 

An October Tapestry

October - tenth month - glows in sun

Misty mornings – summer’s done …

A chilly start to each new day

Where trees sport every shade but grey!

 

Nature’s cloak of many colours

(Remember Jacob and his brothers?)

Beats any catwalk fashion show

In terms of subtle shades and glow.

 

I do not mean to denigrate

Modern stylists who are great

But wonder if they’ve honed their craft

From Nature’s palette, which is vast …

 

The play of sun on burnished leaves

Provides a sheen on Autumn’s sleeves

And moonlight dances on the lake

A ballgown only God can make …

 

The rich brocade of golden grasses,

Kingfisher blue which briefly passes;

A living tapestry goes by

Captured by this poet’s eye!

(c) poet in the woods 2024

One-Handed Thoughts

With one hand, one can’t do much

So many objects one can’t clutch:

Cutting meat, opening a jar

And Heavens, you can’t drive your car!

 

To wash one’s hair, one needs a friend,

Cooking with one hand? New trend!

For bandaged arm needs must stay dry

And most household tasks defy.

 

But I am lucky as I’ve found

A young lass to clean around

Those nooks and crannies I can’t reach…

How accidents new lessons teach!

 

Right-handed, I can still pen rhymes

And meditate on troubled times:

Rare visit by the Pope today

Though many faithful stayed away…

 

The Church in Belgium has mixed press

With women’s rights – the acid test;

Attendance at Mass has declined

Post-COVID, many changed their mind.

 

Religion, free speech, politics

Have always been a heady mix;

Pope Francis, as his name attests

Is modest and leaves with regrets … 

(c) Poet in the Woods 2024

R.I.P. Dame Maggie Smith (1934-2024)

Minerva McGonagall is no more!

On Violet Crawley we can’t call

Though Grantham’s pile remains on view

With dialogues which still ring true!

 

Our Maggie sparkled from young age

In no time made her mark on stage

This star was born with humour sharp

Her sense of timing a fine art!

 

Acting royalty – whose roles

Thrilled indeed, so many souls;

Proving when you have a gift

Who cares if your name is Smith!

 

Miss Jean Brodie’s strident tones

As she Spain's Civil War condones

Brought her an Oscar and film fame;

Then a second Oscar* she could claim!

 

Top of the tree, her name in lights

For countless years she us delights;

Now, though I hear she’s passed away

Her spirit soars through wreathes of grey…

(c)  Poet in the woods  2024 

Died on 27th September, 2024, aged 89.    

* For California Suite (1979)

Powder Keg Politics

Revenge is such an ugly word,

Vendetta, feud, so sad, absurd

As life is tough at best of times,

Just look at history for signs…

 

Our planet is all we have got

Why must we its edges rock?

Why can’t people pull together?

Conflict starts at end of tether…

 

A case in point: the Middle East

Always jeopardising Peace;

A powder keg with a short fuse

Whose politics makes headline news…

 

On the sidelines, we observe

The creation of huge curve,

Which could, if feelings run too high,

Overwhelm, so more souls die…

 

Why do we choose to live this way?

Allies form, then slip away

Our chessboard plays resentful pawns

And today this poem spawns!

(c) Poet in the woods 2024