ABPA - Australian Bush Poets Association

BROKEN


There are broken seashells in the wood – left there so long ago,
now nightingales and robins sing – their music ebbs and flows.
Small fish swim in a secret pond ‘neath lily pads and ferns
and I with empty promises sit waiting your return.

Remember catching elephants? I do . We had such fun.
And our secret society. Members? Well there were none
except you and I. How old were we? Not much older than eight
in a world brutally simplistic then – before we learned to hate.

You were always pushing your luck – a rebel, a daredevil,
tree climbing, hunting, scrumping apples – scruffy and dishevelled.
But now we’ve only memories and old photographs to tell
of who you were. The child, the boy, the man I loved so well.

Someone like you goes forth each day, courageous in command
leading your men, through desert sands, as your rank does demand.
There are broken seashells in the wood left there so long ago.
There are broken hearts, lost dreams as well. And birdsongs ebb and flow.

Maureen Clifford © 03/11

lovely.

h

Oh to have the simplistic, care free life of a child again hey Maureen. Lovely poem.

Heather

I think you've done a good job of writing Maureen, the repeat at the end gives the flashback and is the right touch what you have depicted here, I reckon. I'm not sure what brutally simplistic means ?

The simple things in life are free

Well written
Maureen


Cheers Bob

thank you folks, your kind comments are appreciated

Neville perhaps brutally simplistic wasn't quite the right wording but I was trying to define a time before all the savagery of technology arose as we have now where our methods of waging war are now so technological that the bloke firing the missile doesn't even see the target..the computer does..He may be kilometres away, the missile finds its target by heat sensitivity. Any ideas???

Cheers

Maureen