By the left….

  

By the left…..

The sharp crack
of leather soles
on pavement.
One hundred and twenty
beats per minute.
Eyes left past
the cenotaph.
Sharp cracks,
reverberating
off of the buildings
lining the route
of the march.
Each crack
firing off memories,
old and new,
camaraderie amidst chaos.
Each crack
and explosive drum beat
combined to honour
those who serve
and those that died.

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 shall remember them.

Lest we Forget

100 years of ANZAC tradition as we celebrate the memories of all those who have paid the ultimate sacrifice for their country and comrades. Wherever you are, honour their memory on this special ANZAC day.

Silence

Silent monkey photo by Thousan on Flickr

Silence…. a theme that keeps popping up in my mind, how many times have you asked for shhhhhh, thought about the silent gaps in time, watched and thought about the application of silence as a tool….. thought about the process of Monkey Mind and it’s constant chatter, chased silence, endured silence, loved silence, avoided silence… then this question always emerges.

Silence

Why are you afraid
of the gentle caressing
sound of pure silence ?

Watching, one year on

Today marks one year from the day that I had to perform the saddest duty of life I have spent many hours sitting, standing and watching at Samuel’s graveside, thinking about how much I miss my little man and continuing to learn about grief. The words of this poem reflect the feelings of observing his grave and my thoughts for one whole year.

Samuel’s Graveside

The earth has settled,
grass gently grows,
while the solitary
sentinel tree
stands watch.
Time worn mottled skin,
rustling leaves,
a canopy filled with birdsong
carried on an ever-changing breeze.
Embraced by shifting
big sky horizons.
A seasonal kaleidoscope
of colour,
from a palette of sunshine,
rainbows, clouds and storms.

Watching currawong
and grass parrots fly,
Your beautiful face shines
from your plaque
As it is lovingly stroked
and gently polished
Cold to the touch,
yet warming to my heart.

Sitting with you,
silence is comforting.
Words are meaningless.
as the tidal swell of emotion
ebbs and flows
And often
silently.
solemnly,
I cry.

 

© Michael Morris (themickmorris) 2015 all rights reserved.