Reminiscences (1975, Townsville)

Earthen fields, cloudy skies,
a pussy willow dipping in the wind
and a leaf on a stream limping wistfully by.

Starry night, filled with life,
the mystery of the universe;
a revelation now in sight.

Sea spray, lingering on,
while banks of sand rise majestically
whistling with the wind's song.

Quiet water, deep and silent secrets
hide on the aquamarine depths,
understood only by its denizens.

A snowflake tumbling slowly to the ground,
first sign of winter whiteness
which blankets the earth around.

Morning (19.ix.1975, Townsville)

The soft tendrils of morning
reached tenderly
towards the starred sky,
groping through the darkness
the light pushed on silently.

A will-o-wisp fire smoke
danced upon the dawn,
sweet plants opened dewy eyes
amongst a fragrant lawn.

The hushed spirit
soared through the trees
gently whispering and murmuring life
into creation slumbered in sleep.

The bird rose from the grass,
a dove in complexion
with the smoothest whirring flutter of white
announced the new day -
awake, awake,
Abba is here!

From My Window (13.ix.1975, Townsville)

Through the green leaves
tossed with wind
and crossed with light,
red tiles of roof
in a ring of verdant brown
crowned with a cross of white
haloed with light,
beneath which
sombre men in their monastery
pass the hours with an endless Rosary
and prayers to Heaven on their pious breath
with a quiet joy of their risen Saviour,
watching the world go by.

Silent stone,
cold polished floor squeaks with shoes,
everything like a tableau scene from a book;
time gives the intruder an icy stare.

Yet, there is warmth,
warmth and fire in the hearts of men
brimming with kindness
within the walls of lonely silence.

Warmth and fire;
man-made rules have broken them
since they were sanctified to God
as Chosen men.

My Earth (4.ix.1975, Townsville)

My Earth,
how you labour silently,
under blazing sun and silver moon,
straining, toiling,
nourishing your children
who reach towards the sky.

From you we have come,
to you we return,
as a sighing leaf
grows from the earth
and finally flutters to the ground.

When you sing, I am happy,
I find joy in you;
to run among your green pastures
but equally your rocky crags
jagged against the horizon.

Yet when you are sad,
when tears of rain bathe your wounds,
seared into your consciousness
by a self-willed hand,
I understand, my Earth.

Presence d'espirit (28.iv.1975, Townsville)

Mists of time on unknown miles,
silver moon, quintessent dusk,
memories of fruitfulness do not crumble into dust
but live alive to quicken still,
broodingly expectant as I am not alone.

Ever present, I stand in your shadow,
for miles apart can no more tear you from me than can time,
for thou art part of me
and being so can never be taken away
any more than the elusive darkness
can be separated from night
nor light the day.

So let it be
that thou art with me
all the days through trial and peril
and softened sunsets on a peaceful world;
and as the wind bends saplings to make them strong,
be my strength
and guard my days with your fire of life,
a quiet burning within
which seeks not to change
but to reforge the old to make it new.

Even though days may pass in endless succession
rushing blindly into what will come,
taking with them all our insecurities and fears
and knotting then into forebodings and portents,
I will not heed their latent misery,
for more than ever I am free
as within me there is the indestructible,
that which cannot be confined,
either by man's hand or his word,
being part of the infinite.

It is ever restless,
yet a bringer of peace within.
I need never fear the darkness,
for even then you are a candle
with an unquenchable flame
which burns brightly at my side,
impossible to extinguish.

Burn on ever light
so that the void beyond
will touch me not,
and that I may dwell forever
filled with your spirit,
at your side.

Loneliness (15.ii.1975, Townsville)

The blanket of greyened mist
seeps through the ethereal vision of light,
the world is submerged in a sea of darkness,
separate, discorporate from existence.

Humanity is there; living, thriving, breathing,
but in its zest it forgets
those who pass as silent ghosts amongst it.

They hide unto themselves
their cries, their hunger, their pangs,
what they know alone and need alone;
despite the surface gayness and abandonment,
something moves within and desires that which is deeper.

Theirs is not the world of brashness,
for they care for the fragile poetry of the soul,
lifted aloft on gossamer wings
with the silent beauty of the sunrise;
a subtle tangible beauty exists in all that is,
through a creation endowed with the spirit of the universe.

Love of all
and rapturous joy
in sharing with those who know that joy,
yet here the lonely collect their shattered being
and go silently on as shadows
half-defined in the misty quintessence of dusk,
for the facades and restrictions of men
have kept their stony silence,
barren long of emotion.

Hope,
for that ethereal fleeting vision
of a moving closer
despite the ways of men,
and a confirmation of the truth
that joy is sorrow,
love is pain,
truth is beauty,
light is darkness.

In the blinding flash of realisation
the fragility of the soul
becomes the strength and peace of mind;
the seeds of destruction
grown in the shrine of loneliness
and grow into rich and mellowed fruitfulness.