Another poem by CP
The greater picture.
When you seek the greater picture
You get a bigger view,
Discovering all these mysteries
Of things you never knew.
So keep an open mind,
Be open to what you’ll find.
Don’t let this deep state of ignorance
Be your guiding light.
It’s time to make a stand
Dream big and make things right.
How alien all this seems
Till learning what things mean.
Messages from above
Don’t come any clearer,
Expressions of love,
A peaceful future is nearer.
The voices of eternity
Are whispering to me.
And I listen.
Their song is a symphony
Vibrating through my heart.
How do I express that?
Through poetry or in art?
Would carefree dance
My life enhance?
Or nature’s beauty capture
My soul’s enrapture?
The voices of the Universe
Are whispering to me.
And I heed.
A poem by CPP.
I’m standing in my driveway
At the breaking of day.
To remember soldiers fallen
In conditions most appallin’
Having lost their sanity
To War’s Glory and Vanity
Memories never forgotten
Of bodies broken and rotten.
The never ending yearning
For those never returning.
For me this day was not sad
As I whisper “Happy birthday Dad,”
Anzac biscuits from the oven
And a family most lovin’
So, I say No more of War
No more Violence in the home,
No more Rages on the road,
No more Anger in the street.
This ANZAC Day
Love is the way
So I pay respect,
All forms of War I reject.
PHRYNE FISHER
There was a lady detective called Phryne
Who drove a Hispano Suiza, bright red and shiny.
The Honourable Miss Phryne Fisher
Was as delightful and delectable as you could wish her.
An occupation as a lady detective,
At catching criminals she is very effective.
Hair, jet black, eyes, jade green,
The most seductive smile that you’ve ever seen.
Her excellent taste in fashion
Was only matched by her passion.
Beautiful young men fall at her knees
Then up to her bedroom for Phryne to please.
A relaxing, soapy scented bath,
Waited on by an attentive staff.
Sumptuous meals on which to dine
Accompanied by a restorative wine.
The ability to act smartly off the cuff
All very necessary detective stuff.
Her trusty Beretta hidden in a purse,
Safeguards against blackguards doing their worse.
Against madmen cutting up rough
All twitching muscle and acting tough.
Along with an excellent competent troop,
She was a very successful snoop.
Bert, Cec, Dot and Hugh.
Mr and Mrs Butler too.
Detective Robinson, trusted and true,
Call me Jack, all my friends do.
So beware those considering a crime
She’ll catch them every single time.
Will that lady detective called Phyrne.
Published with the permission of the author, CPP, 2020
His stomach started to rumble.
To groan and grumble.
He couldn’t sleep
He tried counting sheep.
But don’t let him pull the wool over your eyes.
He’s a big bad wolf in disguise.
He’ll fleece you galore.
He’s the wolf at the door.
He features in many a fairytale.
Ones that make you quail.
Now he’s gone on the prowl
With a blood chilling howl.
He is the stealthy grey ghost
Invisible to most.
In the swirling mist
He is easily missed.
He visited Bear cottage
And ate their pottage.
But he didn’t sit in their chairs
Or sleep with the bears.
He snared three little pigs
In their digs.
Then ate thick slices of ham
With cranberry jam.
He headed into the wood
And wolfed down Red Riding Hood.
The cape didn’t fit.
He did try it on for a bit.
He flung Hansel and Gretel
Into a great kettle.
Where he boiled them in a stew
To be easily chewed.
He considered following Jack by any means
For he fancied a meal of steak and beans.
He stole the goose that laid gold eggs,
It had an orange beak and orange legs.
Little Bo Peep lost her sheep.
When the wolf grabbed a heap
To count in his sleep.
(One for the pot. One for me).
He gobbled Bo Peep too
Well, what’s a hungry wolf supposed to do?
He headed to the wharves
To ambush the dwarves.
He ate all seven
He’s in sated heaven.
By the light of the silvery moon.
It’s not to soon.
To make one more call
As the wolf at the door.
He ends his roam
And heads for home.
He slinks to Grandma’s house
As quite as a mouse.
And scratches at the door.
He’s been here before.
She opens it with a great cry.
Oh my, Oh my.
Such joy, such joy!
To see my precious boy.
Come on in by the fire
Where it’s much drier.
You’ll be wanting to be fed
Before you go to bed.
Just a cup of chamomile
He said with a smile.
I’ve brought you a leg of ham.
It goes well with jam.
And look what I found in the wood.
A red cape with a hood.
She said You’re such a good man
To remember your Gran.
But don’t be taken in
By his charming grin.
There’s blood on his chin.
You’d best be wise.
He’s a wolf in disguise.
I went to the town named Orange.
I asked, Where’s Pink?
They said, She doesn’t come here.
This town’s isn’t her colour.
And you won’t find the Brown Brothers or the Blues Brothers. Not even the Men in Black.
This town is Orange, named after the Duke of Orange.
And there’s no changing that.
Thought I’d write a rhyming poem.
I wanted to use the word ‘purple’.
But nothing rhymes with ‘purple’.
I chose ‘mauve’ instead.
‘Cos stove rhymes with mauve.
I wrote,
“The stove is mauve”
My sister raised her eyebrows.
I couldn’t interpret that reaction.
I added a pink saucepan.
I looked behind to see her grin..
Emboldened,
I added a sky blue kettle.
I heard her chuckle.
I was on the right track.
So I included a lime green frypan.
Which dissolved her into fits of laughter.
Knowing I’d got it right
I finished the ensemble with a florescent red wok.
And served up my poem.
Guess what? The plates were purple!
She’s gripping her sides and is hungry for more.
I gave her a knife and fork.
Storm tossed seas
Bring me to my knees.
I cannot complain
Millions ride these waves with me.
I’m on an uneven keel
I don’t know how to feel.
There is no normalcy
No internal navigation.
What do we steer by?
I see no stars in the sky.
I look to the people around me
For support, to ease the fear.
But they cry, No, don’t come near!
Maybe, I’ll scream and cry,
Maybe, I’ll just curl up and die.
But I know there is a safe harbour
That we’ll sail these unfamiliar oceans to the shore.
And I know I’ll be stronger
Having weathered my journey alone.
For I’ve discovered who I am.
I’ve discovered that I can.
And I’m proud of my fellow man
Facing their fears whilst lending a hand.
Through feeling loss
We discover what we have.
Through feeling emptiness
We discover we are full.
Through feeling isolated
We discover the friends we have.
Through feeling fear
We discover what is real.
Through feeling all
We discover the power of love.
For only love is real.
I was asked to write a poem so I’ll try.
For he’s turning sixty, our little Billie Pye.
It was sixty years ago, on a misty August morn.
That a sweet baby boy was born.
He was his brothers’ pride and joy
So much better than any toy.
They would race his pram up and down the drive,
So good to be alive.
No wonder then that he learnt the art
Of making a Billie cart.
Going really fast he could almost make it fly.
But pushing his sisters was no fun for our Billie Pye.
When he got his adult bike
He added bells and horns and the like.
It had mirrors and longhorn handle bars
From there he proceeded to drawing cars.
They were always so precise
With racing flames up the sides
So when he got the real thing
His heart did sing.
For he imagined driving girls in his cars
With great big tits and a tight round arse.
When he got older
He became much bolder
For he had met a lovely lady named Jacqueline
Whom he thought I’ll make her mine.
They have three beautiful kids
That he wouldn’t trade for quids.
He has trained as an electrician
And is a very skilled technician.
But after working so hard
He’s not content to stay in his backyard
For he likes to travel for his holidays
And probably will till the end of his days.
My haven’t the years flown
And all his children have grown.
He has had a very good life
Supported by a loving wife.
So now we are here to celebrate
Here’s cheers!
For our Billie Pye
Has reached sixty years.
Though I wonder if he’ll ever teach Jacquie the art
Of making a racy Billie cart?
Awe, is what I feel.
This man I love, loves me.
My hand reaches out to caress his cheek,
Down to his lips,
I long to kiss.
I fit against his side like a jigsaw piece.
We are linked together beyond words and passion.
I’ve followed love’s thread,
To this man I’ll wed.
Joining together on this path forever.
I look into his eyes,
And I see the sun rise,
On our lives together,
And the storms we’ll weather.
I breathe in, he exhales.
He breathes in, I exhale.
We breathe in, we exhale.
Our rhythm we’ve found.
Our hearts beat as one.
Behold, enfold. Caress, bless.
As husband and wife,
We will share this life.
For Emily and Luca. May your lives be blessed with happiness.
From auntie Liz.
Remember Love
When I forget I love you
When I’m looking for someone to blame.
When I feel I’ve been betrayed.
When I’ve hurt you, to my shame.
Then I’ll remember our wedding day
And the vows that we made.
And if those vows meant everything,
If I was honest and true.
Then I’ll choose love
I choose love, I choose love.
Every day I choose you.
Bee's Knees 