The Sun’s Rays.

A poem.

 

the sun’s rays filter through the windows,

warm and golden

like tea and honey,

sure of the love they receive

blessed by their unending

reach.

 

and when the rays slowly die

and the night comes

people still remember

the way the warmth spread

from their head

to their toes.

 

they forget the cold

and the darkness around them

because they know

another day awaits

and another day promises

the rays of the sun will return.

 

but you see, in my world,

you are the sun’s rays.

and the darkness is simply life

but you keep me here

desperate for the warmth

i know you give.

 

and when all is said and done

nothing can take that away

and no matter the darkness

or the cold,

the sun is only one rotation away

and is always there to greet me.

Hoping & Choking.

A poem.

 

love is a strange thing,

keeping us hopeless humans hoping

and choking on our words.

and they say love takes many forms

but they don’t tell you

 

that love can take things from you too.

The In-Between.

A poem.

 

my car sits in the car-park

atop this darkened hill,

i drove winding roads to get here

hoping my mind might untangle,

but now i’m here, i’m empty

stuck in the in-between.

 

the seat next to me is vacant,

this car seems too big.

the cold bites hard on my fingers.

it reminds me i’m alive

and that this pain is all too real

closing in on everything.

 

things aren’t always black and white

sometimes they’re grayer than the sky,

and it’s hard for me

to spend time with you

when i know

there are things i can’t share with you.

 

the wind whips my windows

as the darkness pushes in

and i realize i’m lost,

even though you said i’m not –

because i don’t know what i want

 

if it’s not you.

 

 

 

Where The Water Meets The Sand.

A poem.

 

every now and then

i wonder

how many of these words

do you read

and realise

they were meant for you?

 

time is a funny thing,

you see,

and one moment

we’re ebbing closer

and the next –

the tide takes you away.

 

and so i wait on the shore,

where the water meets the sand

and i pray

that one day

you are brought back to me

in one piece.

 

perhaps it’s wishful thinking

to wait for something

that isn’t promised

but the heart wants what it wants

so patiently

i watch you drift away.

 

i’ve thought of confessing my love

in a bottle

thrown into the sea,

but instead i write these poems

and i wait

for you to see.

For The Fallen – Laurence Binyon

A poem.

 

On this ANZAC Day, I would like to share a poem that is not my own, but is deeply moving. This poem was written by Robert Laurence Binyon and first published in London in 1914 in the ‘Winnowing Fan; Poems of the Great War’.

The Ode which is used in remembrance ceremonies on ANZAC Day and Remembrance Day comes from this particular poem.

 

 

With proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children

England mourns for her dead across the sea,

Flesh of her flesh they were, spirit of her spirit,

Fallen in the cause of the free.

 

Solemn the drums thrill: Death august and royal

Sings sorrow up into immortal spheres,

There is music in the midst of desolation

And glory that shines upon our tears.

 

They went with songs to the battle, they were young,

Straight of limb, true of eyes, steady and aglow,

They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted,

The fell with their faces to the foe.

 

They shall not grow old, as we that are left grow old:

Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn

At the going down of the sun and in the morning

We will remember them.

 

They mingle not with their laughing comrades again,

They sit no more at familiar tables of home,

They have no lot in our labour of the daytime,

They sleep beyond England’s foam.

 

But where our desires and hopes profound,

Felt as a well-spring that is hidden from sight,

To the innermost heart of their own land they are known

As the stars are known to the night.

 

As the stars shall be bright when we are dust,

Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain,

As the stars that are starry in the time of our darkness,

To the end, to the end, they remain.

 

– Robert Laurence Binyon (1869-1943)