Frank Halliwell
Frank Halliwell Poems
I've drifted for these sixty years,
And never really known,
Where life would lead eventually,
Ere the bird of time had flown.
...
Hail, poets! Raise your glasses
For I'd like to make a toast
To thoughts that dissipated
With the sunrise, like a ghost.
...
No, not for me; the plastic verse,
The lines of fractured prose.
Give me instead the singing rhyme
That each true poet knows.
...
Far down below the sunlit waves
Stresses accumulate,
And thousands up above shall know
The fickle hand of fate!
...
If the world should lose its savour
And I cease to feel a thrill
At the lorikeet's bold beauty
Or the magpie's liquid trill...
...
It seems a year or two at most that Luke has been around,
But nine have passed since first I spied him at the Brisbane pound.
He stood in dogdom's big house, all ears and tongue and smile,
The model of a friendly dog, without a trace of guile.
...
The herald of the dawn glows faintly in the eastern sky
A lonely Loon is softly calling me.
From far out on the sleeping lake, I hear the haunting cry,
And hear the echoes race from tree to tree.
...
My cat has gone where all cats go
When mice get fast and cats get slow.
For sixteen years she ruled the place
As terror of the rodent race.
...
The rigging sings the north wind's song,
Through all the sheets it's sighing.
The pirate crew atoning now
In time that flight is buying.
...
At dawn you hear the crackle
As the sap in frozen trees
Splits the tree trunks like a gunshot
Down below fifty degrees.
...
Past the endless chain of beaches,
Past the surf and golden sand.
In the outback of Australia;
...In the Never-never land.
...
In the fading days of summer; in the early afternoon,
We climbed the path that winds to Dorry's Ridge..
Where the crispness of the autumn air fortold a snowfall soon
On the rolling hills beyond the Springtown Bridge.
...
They congregate at break of day,
when night is almost done,
for a joyous benediction
to the rising of the sun.
...
Dorry's Ridge
Frank Halliwell
In the fading days of summer; in the early afternoon,
...
The coffee's packed, and sugar too....
(I DID forget the cup!)
It looks like that should be the lot...
I'm off before sunup!
...
Beware my friend they're watching you
They record every fact
No overt trick escapes concern
They know your every act! alliwell
...
Frank Halliwell
Jimboomba, Qld.Oz.
Around me spin the galaxies which I have helped to chart
...
This ancient leafy giant
that's endured three hundred years
Seems to tremble as the chainsaw..
through it's heartwood rips and tears.
...
The Best Poem Of Frank Halliwell
Words
I've drifted for these sixty years,
And never really known,
Where life would lead eventually,
Ere the bird of time had flown.
I've always envied those around,
Who've found some means to sway.
The thoughts and views of others,
To change the world some way.
For there's no doubt it needs changing,
It's apparent everywhere,
That half the world is hungry,
And the other half don't care.
But what to do, to make one's mark,
This emptiness to fill,
Inspired things on canvas
May require certain skill.
And so I'll take the easy path,
And be a poet choose...
For the poet's work is said to be
Inspired by the Muse....
The artist and the poet
Are really much the same
They work and struggle for the heart,
And not for wealth or fame.
They use their art to illustrate
Those things they've seen and heard.
One toils with strokes of coloured paint,
The other paints with words.
In just a week or two at most,
It's all come very plain,
That poetry and I are one,
As flowers need the rain.
It seems the Muse has been nearby,
As life has moved along.
For I have oft been deeply moved
By the poet's siren song.
To take a quivering, naked thought,
When it has but been born,
To nurse it, clothe it, flesh it out,
To give it shape and form.
To polish, and to change it,
Into something it was not,
To transmute the ordinary,
To the pinnacle of thought!
It's funny now to contemplate
What one incident has wrought.
A disagreement with a vendor
Wherein I justice sought.
So when, in desperation,
One brought verse into the fray.
The Muse appeared, unbidden,
And changed, without delay....
A lover of the natural world
And friend of wild, free birds,
To the stumbling composer
Of a symphony of words.
Mad, rhyming words that ebb and surge,
Like flotsam in my head.
Frustrating sleep and causing me
To rise up from my bed...
To write them down, lest I forget,
And cause them to go free...
For in their restless ebb and flow,
The words, they nurture me.
An amalgam of well chosen words,
To make the spirit soar.
From the miracle of childbirth,
To heroic deeds in war.
Sad words that speak of tragedy
Bring moisture to the eye,
And wonder, at the faith some have
In guidance from on high.
The tap, tap, on the podium,
Calls for quiet in the hall.
With baton raised, the poet
Plays his symphony, for all.
A vagrant breeze just stirs the leaves,
In pianissimo.
A crescendo builds up, layer on layer,
To shake the earth below.
The Muse intrudes into my dream,
Though I've not been long abed,
I wipe the sand from weary eyes,
'The time is nigh', she said.
'For you must rise and start anew,
Your night's sleep surely ends!
For the words have all come back again,
And brought along their friends! '
o0o
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4/19/2024 6:15:00 PM # 1.0.0.1119
none the rain in spain falls mostly down