Features

Sonnet no. 5

Why

New morning sun brings forth her warming rays
while dying leaves drift gently to the ground.
Approaching winter soon will dampen days,
when ice will hang from barren trees abound.
Korea’s changing beauty I have seen,
penned every scene for all the world to read.
I miss so much your sparkling eyes of green,
while for your love, my heart again will bleed.
The freezing snow will cover all that lives
I hope I will survive this daily fight.
A priest once said that Jesus Christ forgives,
though what I do, he could not see as right.
My helmet sits upon my weary head ─
My rifle, now replaces pencil lead.

David J Delaney
27/12/2009 ©

For my Uncle, Lawrence George Delaney, 1st Battalion RAR, who served in Korea.

In the Shadow of Ghosts

To all and sundry I hereby attest
when writing stories, I will pen my best
to literary heights I will aspire
and write like poets, those that I admire.

To stroll with Lawson under silver moon
and sit with Dennis in the early noon
ride with Morant along the Condamine
inspired by Parkes, my rhyme I will refine.

Then walk with Kendall, hear the bell birds song
stand with Ogilvie, view the rushing throng
watch Evans write his women of the west
read Boake, great poet and one of our best.

There’s Esson’s tribute to the shearer’s wife.
the convicts who sang their rum song of life
then Song of Australia was Carleton’s view
I hear Paterson, and that Geebung crew.

Verse caught the time, the man rode Snowys side
viewed Sydney town when ships moved with the tide
rode Cobb and Co. along a dusty track
traveled the bush, where some never came back.

All master poets, experts in this craft
read so many, I smiled, I cried, I laughed
published in many a books well read pages
their words are still resounding through the ages.

I’ll keep on writing well into the night
knowing one day, I’ll pen the metre right
the flow of my rhythm will be like a song
the beat will sound its perfect soft and strong.

With help from writers, present or the past
my writings' true perfection, I will grasp
when all’s left are my poems and my rhyme
I would love them remembered for all time.

By Wendy Strain

The sun spreads rosy light throughout the land
Creeping over dull gray concrete roads
Reaching out with bright determined hand
To wake the sleepers from cold abodes

The light grows stronger each passing hour
Insists sleeping eyes open to day
To see the beauty of field and flower
Before progress takes it all away

The cars are started in the early light
The workers progress to buildings dim
They lock themselves away from daytime’s sight
And feel they’re safe from warnings of the sin

Of warming gases and resources lost
They never see the fallout