My mother had a well-stocked shelf of volumes of poetry. By the age of 12 I had read - even if I did not understand - all she had. These ranged from Byron through to all well-known early Australians to a handful of small publications created after the Second World War. I particularly recall the cover of "The Fuzzie Wuzzie Angels" describing help given to Australian soldiers in Papua New Guinea.
However, most of the content of those works have either slipped from or never really taken root in my memory.
What I have retained is a sense of rhythm and rhyme. Sometimes the rhyme is abandoned within the rhythm and at other times the rhythm is abandoned in the rhyme. Sometimes they both come together. At all times I find joy in the release of the writing and relief in the expression of joy.
There are some experiences which, I feel, are best - or even only - described in poetry.
My main aim has been to capture common moments to share an experience. Please enjoy.
About the Author
My (Chinese) Motto: There is no disaster so great that a wise man cannot turn it to advantage and no advantage so great that a fool cannot turn it to disaster. No great advantage here but also no great disaster - though that may be disputed by those no longer around me. Have a knack of maintaining a boundary which, when crossed I draw a line in the sand and now stand in glorious isolation. Peace on earth. Getting on in years; should wear my hearing aids and can't wear dentures. Keep on about writing the Big Book and AM actually working on it with the knowledge that the world will not stop turning if I never get it finished.