A LONELY CHRISTMAS

original (c) The Guardian

A LONELY CHRISTMAS

Two little faces pressed against the window pane

Eyes so wide, hopes so high, for all that they could see

Their weary mother, misty eyed, quietly sighed, again.

She hugged the children gently and bade them hold her hand

They slowly walked beside her, lost in a world of dreams

No words at all were spoken, they were too young to understand.

Their Daddy wasn't coming home, he was too far away

But a mother's love and hope would give her strength

To make them smile on this lonely Christmas Day.

Warm baths and lots of cuddles, then the children were in bed

She carefully wrapped two little gifts and wiped away a tear

At least they were together and she knew they would be fed.

Little rest for her that evening and soon the day did dawn

The children came to hug her, rubbing weary eyes

Then yelled with great excitement as they looked out at the lawn.

A bright and shiny cubby house was there for all to see

There was laughter as they ran out outside, their mother was amazed

In the middle of the garden was a sign "From you and me".

It was then that they all saw him, their Daddy had come back

He'd somehow found a job again and saved so very hard

And a mate with ute had helped him bring the cubby down the track.

The family was complete again, for he was home to stay

The little tree did look so different, the stars were shiny bright

The house was full of hope once more on this special Christmas Day.

(c) Crissouli Dec 2014

MISTS OF COUNTY CLARE

Image Credit: Unknown

MISTS OF COUNTY CLARE

How can you miss what you have yet to know...

How can you long for the fields of green

or the mists that spray upon the Cliffs of Moher..

Do you long for the majesty of the River Shannon

that wends it's way to the might

and sometimes fury, of the North Atlantic?

Not even the years of famine that wrenched at the very heart of Clare

could break the bonds that tie the people to the land.

So many left in wooden ships to build a life anew

knowing not what lay ahead

but longing for all they left behind.

From these broken hearts, came determination..

and courage and persistence.

The Irish spirit survived, as did the very essence of Clare

and back they came - to the land of their forefathers

to revitalise and build again.

The heart of Clare remains within the heart of all who long for her

those who returned, those who visit to walk the paths of their ancestors

those who cry out to know from whence they came.

As the mists of Clare roll over the Burren

so do the heart connections waft through the mists of time.

© Crissouli 2013

FOREVER FRIENDS

(c) unspecified

FOREVER FRIENDS

 When you and I are old and grey

There'll still be times for us to play

times to chat and times to sit

times to laugh, or cry a bit...

Still we'll be forever friends

for love and caring never ends...

(c) Crissouli 29 November, 2014

RECOLLECTIONS

RECOLLECTIONS

The rhythm was even, and gentle,

to and fro, to and fro…

For so many years he dreamed,

whiling away the hours

as he rocked the memories

gently in his mind.

It was all so quiet now,

not like before, so many years ago.

Then, he'd often thought

that the noise was making tunnels in his mind.

It was then that he'd wished

for silence. Not now.

He was at peace with himself

and with the world

but still, he couldn't help recalling

the sounds of times gone past.

At one time, his verandah

reverberated with the hoops

of fierce Red Indians

fighting for their lives. 

Wild battles with Custer's men

threatened to rock the very foundations

of his existence..

but gentle little nurses waited nearby.

Nothing was left unnoticed,

or unloved. The pots of palms

became jungles, hiding wild animals..

A discarded light shade

shielded a great white hunter

from the steamy glare

of the jungles of imagination.

Such times they were!

Only the cream of local society

was invited to the tea parties.

Gingerbread men, wearing garbs

of peppermint icing, nestled cosily

alongside pink frosted patty cakes,

proudly crowned with a glistening red cherry.

Tiny white china cups held promises

of cool, sticky lemonade.

To and fro, to and fro, he rocked..

crumbs of memories

scattered in his dreams.

The gate squeaked, a whoop, a cry!

A laughing cluster of children

tumbled up the path.

"Grandad, it's us..

we've come to stay!"

Crissouli (c) 2011


image from the British Library collection
no known copyright

SING TO ME, MOTHER...

SING TO ME, MOTHER...

Sing to me, Mother, just one more time

Sing to me of the gentle breezes

That dance among the eucalypts

Sing to me of shivery grasses - waving in the sun

I long for the smell of the bush

And clear blue skies over hot, golden sands..

How I miss the trill of magpies

The laugh of the kookaburras

Even the dust storms, blowing in from the west.

Sing to me, Mother, of the gentle rains

The smell of new mown grass.

I need your gentle voice to warm me

For I am cold, and shaking

I can't get warm, I need your arms around me..

I lay here on a beach of stone

While all around me, young men fall.

It's dark still, but dawn is coming

Though not for me.

Take me home, dear Mother

I'm coming home.

(c) Crissouli April 2014

not limited by licence

ANZAC DAY

April 25, 1915

BRING ME NOT FLOWERS...

BRING ME NOT FLOWERS...

.....when I am gone,

for I will not know their fragrance..

Weep not at my grave

for I can not wipe away your tears.

Say no kind words for I will not hear.

Come now, hold my hand,

let me see your smile..

hear your voice and share your laughter,

for still I breathe, still I'm here.

Be not afraid of my passing,

it's just another journey

I'll not go alone

for your love will be with me

and I will be in the arms of all who have gone before.

 (c) Crissouli Feb 2013

THOSE WITH NO TOMORROWS

Frank Hurley

29 Oct 1917 copyright expired

THOSE WITH NO TOMORROWS

Can you hear the footsteps

of all those weary souls

traipsing over sodden fields

with worn boots and socks with holes...

Can you feel their heartache

so far from hearth and home

many looking for adventure

as foreign lands they were to roam.

One by one, they ventured forth

at first, their heads held high.

One by one, their mates did fall

they knew their time was nigh.

On and on, they fought so brave

for freedom was their goal.

Those with no tomorrows

did give their very soul.

(c) Crissouli 2013

LEST WE FORGET

I'M ONE !

I'M ONE !

I'm one, I'm one, 

I'm really one

The days just rush on by

I have to write, I really do

Sometimes I wonder why...

There are things to do

And places to go

And dreams as yet unfolded

With so much that still awaits

I sometimes feel unmolded!

The words do come, 

The dreams do stay

The sun is ever rising

Please come on by 

And share with me

It really is surprising!

(c) Crissouli