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Frank Halliwell's Poetry Pages.




Welcome!



I bid you welcome, traveller! I'm glad you could drop in -

To check out my new home page and the words that live within.

Stand your surfboard in the corner and pull up a chair a while,

And rest your weary bones a spell at my Web domicile.



You can find most anything here if you have a bit of time,

And it won't be hard to understand because it's all in rhyme -

...Ancient alien life-forms that arrived from outer space.

And a foolhardy young diver that has vanished without trace,



The joys of country living and the terrors of the deep,

And scaly creepy crawly things to help you get to sleep,

And a bit about square dancing, a delight with no letup -

Guaranteed to be the most fun you can have while standing up!



There's birds and dogs and donkeys here, a veritable zoo -

And monsters, and philosophy, and feats of derring-do -

And I hope that some may touch you - and that others make you smile,

And when it's time to go, that you'll be glad you stayed

awhile!




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Frank Halliwell's Rhyme & Meter Poetry Pg 1
Frank Halliwell's Poetry


Frank Halliwell's Poetry - Page 1









PAGE -1- ][
Welcome ][
Vital Signs ][
The Game ][
The Bottle ][
Courage ][
The Soil Expert ][
Luke ][
The Lifer ][
Windsong ][
The Kookaburra ][
Words ][
The Tree ][
Wonder ][
Resolution ][
The Visitor ][
Blossom ][
Lunch ][
Spooky ][
PAGE -2- ][
The Monster ][
Bushfire ][
Magic Squares ][
Not for me ][
Extinction ][
The Crow ][
Dorry's Ridge ][
Leviathan ][
Flight of Fancy ][
Calabogie Lake ][
Apocalypse ][
Reflections ][
The Gift ][
The Beaten Track ][
Stealth ][
Fragrance ][
Modern Gadgets ][
Swan Song ][
Confession ][
Stamina ][
Daybreak ][
Choices ][
Bulkmailers ][
PAGE -3- ][
Immortal ][
Citizenship ][
The Mechanic ][
The Prognosis ][
The Hiker ][
Ho, ho, ho! ][
The Customer ][
Ambush ][
Drought's End ][
Cloning ][
Triumph ][
Special Occasions ][
I've Lost it! ][
JJ and the Dragon ][
HELP WANTED ][
Fate ][
The Virus ][
The Quest ][
Yesterday ][
Short-Changed ][
Judgement Day ][
The Race ][
Gene ][
Kosovo ][
Sabre Jet ][
To a Newborn Child ][
PAGE- 4 - ][
Cholesterol ][
Suspicions ][
The Evil Net ][
The Spirit of the Lake ][
Steadfast ][
Brethren ][
Frustration ][
more to come! ]









Welcome!



I bid you welcome, traveller! I'm glad you could drop in -

To check out my new home page and the words that live within.

Stand your surfboard in the corner and pull up a chair a while,

And rest your weary bones a spell at my Web domicile.



You can find most anything here if you have a bit of time,

And it won't be hard to understand because it's all in rhyme -

...Ancient alien life-forms that arrived from outer space.

And a foolhardy young diver that has vanished without trace,



The joys of country living and the terrors of the deep,

And scaly creepy crawly things to help you get to sleep,

And a bit about square dancing, a delight with no letup -

Guaranteed to be the most fun you can have while standing up!



There's birds and dogs and donkeys here, a veritable zoo -

And monsters, and philosophy, and feats of derring-do -

And I hope that some may touch you - and that others make you smile,

And when it's time to go, that you'll be glad you stayed

awhile!





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Return to Frank's verse index
















The Game



by Frank Halliwell


Jimboomba, Australia









The dealer sits in shadow as he shuffles out the cards


And he deals around a new hand for the game,


And the random distribution on the table disregards


Your wealth or social standing or your name.





For there'll be tears down through the years before the game is done


And most will find that they'll have losses too.


For some the game is nonstop fun, for them, a lucky run...


But for others, Lady Luck will be untrue!





Who knows what fate may lie in wait, beyond the shrouded veil


Of the dim and hazy distance just ahead?


And of the hidden twists and turns on life's secluded trail


That fill our future dreams with fear and dread...





So if you want to win the game, there's really just one way:


...To live life to the fullest, and to savour each new day,


...To make the most of what you have, before the daylight fades,


For somewhere in that dwindling deck is still,..the Ace of Spades!





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THE BOTTLE





by Frank Halliwell


Jimboomba, Australia









Aunt Prudence wasn't ugly, but she certainly was plain,

And beaux had never lined up for her hand.

She lived her life in fantasy that some dark handsome swain

Would someday take her to her promised land.



She'd have a crystal castle high above a turquoise sea

On a verdant land beneath a gentle sky.

And she'd listen to soft music while she sipped her morning tea

While soft breezes through the frangipanis sigh.



She often-times confided in Sir Lancelot; her cat,

How her prince would someday wander by her side...

And carry her; compliant; to her cosy castle flat,

And there she would become his blushing bride.



The small beach was deserted where she strolled with her black cat

And he looked around with baleful yellow eyes.

In the surf was a small bottle, very close to where she sat,

And she picked it it up amid the seagulls' cries..



It was old, and stoppered tightly shut, and badly battered too,

And had floated in the sea for many years.

She struggled with the stopper that seemed held in place by glue,

When released the giant filled her heart with fears...



It was, of course, a Genie, as is known around the world

That appeared within a cloud of crimson smoke.

"Three wishes ma'am, is all you get, for getting me unfurled,

So make it quick, this isn't any joke!"



She told him shyly of her dream of love and wealth and lust,

On an island floating in a limpid sea,

And of the handsome prince in whom she could place all her trust,

"And he will worship no one else but me!"



The Genie looked for objects to complete the task at hand,

..A nearby rock became the verdant isle.

Some driftwood formed the castle, high above the golden sand,

The cat became a prince in regal style.



..And so they came to keep their tryst above the azure sea,

He gazed into her eyes and held her near..

Her loving eyes said "take me now", a soft unspoken plea..

But glinting in his eye; a single tear...



He gazed upon her slender form, with tender love undying,

"I'll do my best", he said, "but I'm afraid...

That life would be so happy, and a lot more satisfying

If just last year, you hadn't had me spayed...



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Courage



by Frank Halliwell


Jimboomba, Australia







I heard the cries of torment from


the bottom of the stair!


The fateful time approaching


as I came to join them there!



There was no joy, no happiness,


the place was filled with gloom.


Resigned to fate, with haunted eyes,


we all await our doom!



It comes at last to everyone,


at early time or late,


Not fame, nor wealth, nor regal rank


shall save them from their fate!



The grown men sigh, the children cry,


their countenances pale...


They sob and beg and stamp their feet,


but all to no avail.



Seen clearly through the half-closed door;


bathed in an eerie glow...


The instruments of torture wait,


compounding victims' woe!



The summons comes: I stand and smile,


and bravely heed the call!


No faint heart, I ! The chamber waits,


my grit will show them all!



No moan or groan shall pass my lips,


no tears form in my eye!


I shall not shirk or hesitate


nor ask the reason why!



A friendly and disarming smile


belies his chilling trade.


It takes but a few moments now


until the mould is made



With the impression finished then,


I rise and leave the room,


And I'll pick up my brand new teeth


on friday afternoon."





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The Soil Expert



by Frank Halliwell


Jimboomba, Australia







She strides across the paddock,


steely purpose in her eyes,


Surveying likely spots


with the detachment of the wise.


The coming decision will surely be


the most vital of the day,


No mundane things will be allowed


to stand in nature's way.





She approaches her task as one possessed


with total dedication,


Aware of responsibility


for the future of the nation.


There can be nothing casual


In this meticulous inspection,


To gather relevant data


for the soil content correction.





"This seems the correct size and shape,


and texture, scent and feel.


I'll give this bit a little nudge,


to make sure that it's real.


I'd say it needs a trifle more,


just up there to the right,


And maybe to the east a bit,


but I'll do that to-night".





The barren soil awaits renewal,


quiet, unafraid.


At last, she takes three steps ahead


with the decision made,


And with her tail held high and straight,


in somber salutation,


she makes todays deposit


to the rebirth of the nation.





And then, and only then,


her patriotic duty done.


She returns to join the other donkeys,


grazing in the sun.





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LUKE



by Frank Halliwell


Jimboomba, Australia







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.





"Please, that one in the second cage, with the german shepherd look!"


The attendant riffled pages, and he found him in his book.


"It says that he's half kelpie and he called Carina home,


And that his name is Luke, and that he sometimes likes to roam."





"Here, boy!" I called, and here he came, and without hesitation


His tail a hairy question mark; would he improve his station ?


I hope I did, in our short time, improve his life as he has mine.


I've seldom known so loyal a friend, nor dreamed of how soon it would end.





He's sure done all those doggy things that dogs are famous for.


He's barked at all & sundry and shed hair on every floor.


He's barked at trucks with flapping tarps and kids on minibikes.


and howled in unison with Spook to tell of their dislikes...





Of the sirens of the ambulance or wailing police cars


In hot pursuit of motorists caught in covert radars.


Now suddenly I come aware that he's well past his prime.


The years have all been stolen by the furtive thief of time.





At first it's hardly noticed, no real drama at first sight,


Just a restless movement in the dark, a whimper in the night...


He thinks that I'm all knowing, he believes that I'm all wise,


And he thinks that I can fix it; I can see it in his eyes.





But now it looks like it's the end, it seems no cure is known.


A defect in the hip socket to which his breed is prone.


The computer screen is shimmering, like looking through a fog,


As I write to tell the story of my lovely long-eared dog.





I lift him up into the car, his leap has long since gone,


Would he be quite so happy, if he knew the road we're on?


I'm waiting for the vet to open, crying like a child.


"Would you come this way to see the vet?" The lady in white smiled.





The leg is shaved and sterilized, one might well wonder why!


The syringe at last is empty, and I bid my friend goodbye.


I hold him tight and talk to him, "sleep now, my dear old friend".


And cradled in my arms he sleeps; and we have reached the end.





And still, down by the fence he sleeps, beneath the shady trees.


Where the wild birds chatter from the branches, swaying in the breeze.


And high above him, after dark, the southern cross burns bright,


And there'll be no more pain or hurt... No whimper in the night.



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Vital Signs



by Frank Halliwell


Jimboomba, Australia







The climb is long and tortuous, the path with boulders strewn...


The morning covers half of life before we come to noon.


The sun reaches its zenith long before we've reached our prime,


And falters not, after its long and logarithmic climb...





But flashes swiftly overhead; its energy now spent,


And races west, horizon bound, where all its fellows went.


The morning now is memories of dim and hazy days,


As afternoon is waning in the parabolic phase.





The piercing rays have vanished as the sun is getting low,


But vision is much clearer in the golden afterglow.


The things we value in our youth and pursue with a lust,


Are seen to be as meaningful as drifting motes of dust.





If we could but see, early on, what is apparent now,


The wisdom that is gained with age, might us in youth endow:


That morning passes slowly, but the evening rushes by,


And while we well may learn the how, we'll never know the why!





The drapes at last are drawn aside, the waiting sun leaps through,


The lawn's a sheen of silver, with the early morning dew,


And in the wings, the spectre waits, don't view him with dismay...


You never know how few are left, reach out... and seize today!





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THE LIFER



by Frank Halliwell


Jimboomba, Australia





The accused stands, impassive,


just staring past the bars,


at dark blue sky, and fluffy clouds,


and the first faint evening stars.





Kookaburras chuckle softly,


from an old and gnarled ghost gum,


tuning up, in preparation


for the bedlam, soon to come !





Swift shadows in the deepening dusk


as flying foxes fill the air,


a squabble or two and they're off again,


they come from whence, and go to where ?





The turnkey sweeps into the room


and snuffs out the last light.


The bars dissolve into the gloom


of an arbitrary night.





A raucous screeching high above.


Flashes of rose in the morning sun,


as a hundred galahs dive and wheel


and start off on a long days fun !





The prisoner stares out through the bars.


The sentence, in full measure:


"Life in solitary, with no parole!"


At grandma and grandpa's pleasure.





The lifer contemplates his sins


and his most heinous crime,


He paused to rest in the wrong place,


and stayed too long a time!





The other crime was being


a pleasure to the eyes,


of wearing a fine coloured coat


with luminescent dyes.





The lifer stares out through the bars,


he may not go where we go.


A loss of kith, and kin, and kind,


to satisfy an ego.





The lifer stands, impassive,


just staring past the bars.


At dark blue sky and fluffy clouds,


and the first faint evening stars.





The jailer swept into the room,


covered the cage and said,


"Now, cocky..,pretty cockatoo...


It's time to go to bed!



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Windsong



by Frank Halliwell


Jimboomba, Australia







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.


The holds are filled with plundered store:


The sheets can not be coaxed for more:


We'll all hang high, the captain swore.


For our sins, we'll be dying.





The frigate flies before the wind..


Her every fibre straining.


The quarry can't escape them now,


In what sea room's remaining.


"Put one round close across her bow!

The boarding party ready now!..


She'll strike her colours soon, I vow!


Or blood, her decks be staining!"





To starboard: land, and land ahead...


To port, the frigate: gaining!


They curse the hand of destiny,


And know their fortunes waning.


The waters shift from blue to green


As heaven lights the depths unseen.


The surf roars out its endless paean


To join the north wind's keening.





A shadow sweeps beneath her keel,


The coral pink and bright,


And rips apart her stout oak heart


And chills her crew with fright.


The waves rush in to seal their fate.


The women and the children wait...


The lamps burn and the slow bell tolls,


Long into the night.





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The Kookaburra



by Frank Halliwell


Jimboomba, Australia







They congregate at break of day,


when night is almost done,


for a joyous benediction


to the rising of the sun.





And once again come evening,


when the western sky so bright,


surrenders all it's duties


to the velvet cloak of night.





I'd like someone to explain to me,


before I turn to clay,


'cause I've never heard that cackle


in the middle of the day.





Why they sometimes start at 4 AM


and wake me with a fright,


to join with them, to celebrate


the middle of the night!



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Words



by Frank Halliwell


Jimboomba, Australia







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 !"




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The Tree



by Frank Halliwell


Jimboomba, Australia







This ancient leafy giant


that's endured three hundred years


Seems to tremble as the chainsaw..


through it's heartwood rips and tears.





It stood tall when the "Endeavour"


plied these golden coasts of old,


And gazed down as Bourke and Wills passed by


on expeditions bold.





But now it lies, a shattered thing,


among the forest litter.


A sacrifice to ancient lust for


things that gleam and glitter.





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Wonder



by Frank Halliwell


Jimboomba, Australia





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...





And I stand no more in awe to watch


The lightning's blinding light


As the fury of the elements


Illuminate the night...





And I ponder not the universe


Beyond the track of Mars


To the wonder of the endless


Empty void between the stars...





Then draw the green sod o'er me


And perhaps shed one small tear,


For if I've ceased to wonder,


There's no point in being here!







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Resolution



by Frank Halliwell


Jimboomba, Australia





I've reached realization that without some perspiration,


My public veneration is unlikely to transpire,


And in my consternation at my lack of motivation


Came a sudden revelation that I needed to aquire...





A sense of dedication and a little stimulation,


And a bit less hesitation when I face the job at hand...


And I'll win the admiration of the folks around the nation


And I'll be by acclamation, foremost poet in the land!





So there's been a revolution and I've made a resolution


that I'm going to write a little something every single day,


Because fame, in my conclusion will remain just an illusion


Unless I get my finger out and start without delay.






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