No agenda and no friends

Sometimes life does not work out as we plan, and rather than dwell we write. Humour can often soften the blow.

I had no intention of coming

There were things to do
Holiday packing
A winter escape
A reef to explore

Don’s email arrived
Could I help?

Duty called.

At my age
Nature most often calls.

I welcomed the change

The keys,
I forgot the keys

“We will leave it open.”
The Director says
and they did

The best laid plans

A well-meaning Samaritan
security conscious
made sure
all was well

The door
does not budge

The temperature
drops

My friends due to arrive
any minute
will expect
a warm reception

Phone a friend

Sympathetic,
but unable to help
having done all she could
and all she promised

Phone home.

“Use the library,” she says
Borders has coffee
I counter

It’s not yet winter
but who can tell?

Canberra nights
do not make good bedfellows
however,
they do encourage you
to look for one

I huddle in wait
knowing coffee
will ease the burdens
of a writer’s group
minus an agenda

We could not visit humour
yet humour visits me
sheltered
in a darkened doorway

Six thirty comes
I order coffee
for one

I never intended to be here

Duty done
Nature calls


BJR

Desolation

To be, and to be seen
as unique
special in the eyes of love
not one of many
fitted
as hands to a glove

To be felt there
love
within this heart to touch
a life spent hoping
expecting
could it be too much?

Doubt,
sow the needless seeds
no sleight of hand exists
I am the one,
not seen
through a world of mists

Crushed
repeatedly
self-respect slain
the battler
now too weary
craves freedom from the pain

How builds the teary glaze
that befalls
the long lost bard
imposters reign, the mighty fall
age weary,
is a new dawn too hard?

Courage
for one last effort
to seek the final treasure
to feel complete, special, wanted
giving,
so others reap the pleasure

Friendships are hard to find
don’t waste them
this commodity is rare
these words reflecting my soul,
my deepest thoughts,
are not written for flare

One last try
win or fail
happiness, my mind screams
respect, regard, craved a lifetime
trust and love
life’s ultimate dreams.


© Bernard J Rossi

Transparent beauty

Often our poems tell stories that lie deep within our own thoughts, other times we describe the vision that greets our eyes. We combine two images into one and dream of the illusion it creates. These poems can give rise to vigorous discussions when a poet hits the right note between the obvious and the underlying.

Transparent Visions

The rising sun transforms the veil
Sheer and free flowing
Accentuating the magnificence
Painted on a mountainous background
Familiar silhouettes reach out
Giving hope and promise
They will penetrate the winter mist
Loosely covering the tantalizing ranges
Proud and unimposing
Ravenous they beguile
Gliding down the undulation
No attempt to hide the seduction
Underbrush, wild in nature
Trimmed to perfect shapes
Hidden only from the blind
Behind no more than nylon and lace
Rivers run freely
Driven by nature’s urge
Calling to the animal
Wild and optimistic
That sight will transform
Beckoned to be touched
Until mind and picture embrace
Merging their treasures into one

© Bernard J Rossi

Sirens

This is one I would like to recite to you, but alas ...

Sirens

Sirens scream
Off in the distance.
Are they coming for me?

Trapped

Plotting paths
Seeking me out
Are they coming for me?

Helpless

Blue, red
Visions in my head.
Are they coming for me?

Unyielding

Dancing lights
Relentless in their warning
Are they coming for me?

Numb

Fear attacks
Rises up in my throat,
Are they coming for me?

Fading

Crumbled wreckage
Surrounds my body
Are they coming for me?

Hurry



© Bernard J Rossi

The poetry workshop is under way

The first in a series of very interesting workshops has begun today at http://newauthorworkshop.blogspot.com/ and it just so happens it is a poetry workshop

These workshops are being run jointly between myself and The New Author Website and they will span a wide range areas over the next few months. I encourage all poets to take a look, participate in as many as you can , learn as much as you from the group and from any guest presenters we hope to have from time to time, and enjoy the experience.

Poetry is not something we choose, it chooses us, but it is something we can master..

Good luck and great writing.

BJR

Introspection

To write well we need to know ourselves better than mere mortals know themselves, and then we need to be able take that knowledge and paint a picture with the words it creates.

Introspection

To know myself
what I am capable of
I must look inside my soul,
my mind,
my heart.
What lays in wait below the surface,
beyond the facade?
What rules me,
good, evil,
both?
Which thoughts can I bring to life?
What am I strong enough to suppress?
What truth drives me?
What animal lurks within?
How great can I be?
Will history recall?

© Bernard J Rossi

Pirates 2009

The shoulder parrot
and the wooden leg
are gone
No more dangling earrings
or swashbuckling swords
hanging from belts hoisting
tattered old shorts

Bare chests are still in vogue
however, eye patches
are all but forgotten

The Jolly Roger has gone
There are no tall ships
made of timber
and driven by enormous sails
filled with air,
or terror
depending on your view

Pirates sail little dinghies
and carry big guns

They call for ransoms
rather than scuttle
the ships of the scurvy dogs

The pirates of 2009
are big business,
charging millions
for a single transaction
however,
they never see it that way
preferring to cling to a romantic idea
an excuse
for their behaviour

Not much has changed
but everything has

Calico Jack, Anne Bonny and Mary Read
went down in history
however, who hijacked
the Maersk Alabama?

Jack would not have lost the ship
then fled
shadowed by warships
hiding in a life boat
that looked more
like a death boat
as each hour passed

Imminent danger
snipers on the Bainbridge
all over in seconds

Captain Richard Phillips
survived the hero
though calling himself
‘The by-line’

The pirates
dead
we will forget
There will be
no history books for them

No romantic memory
or campfire story

Easter Sunday
the pirates chose death
over justice

The hunter must become
the hunted
the seas once again
a battlefield
for justice

© Bernard J Rossi

A dust storm of optimism

In the dust of a creative storm
an idea
swirling around with many friends
It was hard to recognize
One minute it was there
the next whirling among the crowd
They all looked the same
yet I knew I had to have the idea
Nothing else would do
I clutched at it blindly
hoping it might find me
as I searched for it
lost in my own crowd
my own dust storm of optimism
a million story tellers deep

In the dust of a creative storm
an idea
If I could separate it from the cloud
it would be the one for me
I did not realise at the time however
that in the idea
lay a story
the story
Everybody was reaching for it
My hands bounced off theirs
theirs off mine
The hands that were competing
could not write the idea the way I would
How could they?
They had not lived the story the way I had

The idea was unique
It had to be lived before a poet could write it
No author had this in his head
It was an idea
on the wind
an idea in a dust storm
and many chose the easy path
looking for a needle in a haystack

I followed the dust storm
and here I am
tired and dirty
with a pocket full of ideas
hoping one of them is the one

© Bernard J Rossi

Poetry workshop

Good morning all and welcome.

In the last few days I have been talking to Brian from The New Author about a number of projects, and one we would like to run in the next week or two is a poetry workshop where we will give you an image and ask you to write a poem about that image. I have done these exercises before and they are very useful in getting the imagination flowing but we would like to do more than that with this one so we will be asking you to concentrate on certain things within your poem as well. Not the creative stuff, but the mechanics of what makes a good poem.

If this sounds like something you might be interested in doing please let either myself or Brian (http://the-new-author.blogspot.com/) know of your interest so we know how many we have. I plan to be available throughout the entire workshop at any time (unless asleep) to help along the way but the extent of that might depend on the numbers.

This exercise will be lots of fun and we will all learn quite a lot from the exercise if past experience is any guide.

Have a nice weekend and I look forward to posting the outline and the aim of the workshop next week.

Drop by and have a look at Brian's site (http://the-new-author.blogspot.com/)while your going if you have not visited it yet, its a great site with tremendous posts on writing.

BJR

Reflections of you

Reflections of you

The joy in your heart brings happiness to mine
The longing you feel I mirror
Any sadness that touches you
Aches within me
These reflections of you,
So wonderful and divine
Two are as one
I move with you in my heart
I survive on the love
That flows between us
When you hurt I hurt,
When you sing I soar
Knowing it will not be forever
That we are apart

Oh how I love these reflections of you


© Bernard J Rossi

The first taste of exploration

On the first read this may seem a simple enough poem with a few mistimed mistakes that take a way from its rhythm. Does it have more to say though? IS everything here thought out and calculated, or is it contrived? What title would you give to this poem if it were yours?

In these examples I may not always give you the name of the poem, lest it rush a journey that should be savoured.


Through life’s rich path I wearily tread
Death and pain, elements I never dread
The road is often rough, seemingly impassable
But I carry on, knowing otherwise to be farcical

The many dangers I have had to face
Leave me without any outward disgrace
But the one fear that haunts my soul
The one enemy that can destroy my goal

You have the power to save me here
Always in reach, remaining forever near
Untouchable maybe, touching me still
Enjoyment, pleasure, more than the thrill

Keeping me sane, not overstepping my bounds
I hear the danger; it’s horrible, vicious hounds
They track me now with insatiable desire
Trying to defeat me, to put out my fire

You are my saviour, my princess in the tower
Giving me strength, allowing me all your power
Without you they win, the hounds will attack
Never again to be seen, never to be back

My one great enemy, over my shoulder does peer
Aware of my panic, undoubtedly smelling my fear
Knowing the time approaches swiftly and anon
Help me fight my adversary, let it eternally be gone

Difficult to conceive, amorphous yet undeniable too
Lurking from my past, close then sad and true
Never again do I wish to come face to face
With this onerous devil, to be lost without trace

The beast frightens me more than death itself
To be left forever a dark void on the shelf
Facing the devil I cannot hope to defeat
Forgive me my weakness as I fall at your feet

I have no right to ask of you these things
Yet to my heart your true alliance brings
All that I crave, to me a comfort so rare
To look back now, as into the mirror I stare.


© Bernard J Rossi

What is hidden underneath the surface?

In poetry there is often more hidden under the surface than you will ever find out in the open, and in fact this is part of what makes great poetry great. The metaphysical poets used this centuries ago when they wrote poems they were sure only others within their group would understand. We read them now and get a lot of what they were saying but we have history and hindsight to assist us.

The metaphysical poets did this as an elitist act but poets like myself are not so ego driven. We do it for the sake of the poem, the poet and the reader, not to mention for the sake of the art itself. Over the next few days I'd like to explore some of this poetry and maybe even look into the spiritual side of my poetry as well. It is always there, underlying the words but oft' times hidden from view. Sometimes we learn more from the search than we do from the words themselves though and this is when we enjoy the poetry to its fullest extent.

The poems will be along soon (they are not hidden, they are just yet to be selected).

BJR

The oculist

I wear glasses, and have for a little while now. This came from Joy sending me three or four words that she found in a poem and wanted me to see if I could write my own poem that included them all. Today I thought felt like a humorous day so I chose this today to share this one with you.

Behind the desk a little balding man,

With horn rimmed spectacles sat

A middle aged midriff some would say

Yet others would simply call him fat

An oculist by trade the shingle said

Hanging above the weathered door

So all who could not read the sign

Could be treated, or so he would implore

A small and facetious man he was

When it came to the topic of sight

He promised much but cared so little

When restoring day from night

Peering over those nose riding glasses

Across an imposing inlaid desk

He would talk to the patient quite inanely

Whilst believing himself to be quite picaresque

Alas no one left feeling saved or safe

But merely airy through pockets lighter

To head home tripping over every crack

Swearing and cursing at the useless blighter

© Bernard J Rossi

When I am old

This one is a question of reflection, and I have matched the picture with a poem I wrote many years ago. This is not my usual way but I do think they fit well together. What do you think? I could write another and we could compare the two approaches. The picture is not one of mine but comes from a great website that shares pictures for use with its members. Let me know if you want their url


When I am old





















When I am old will I be remembered
For who I was
Who they thought I was
Or who I wished I could be

Will my words have had such power
To have made people smile
Or will they not have been
What I always wanted them to be

Will they recall that I loved life dearly
For all that it is,
That I knew it was continuous
And always there to challenge me

Will my words reflect the depth of my heart
The love that I held
For my family and friends
And all the things that touched me

When I am old will they remember I tried
To always be fair
In all that I said and did
And that I let people live life free

Will my words be known to share my thoughts
On life’s vast richness
And it’s many great joys
That allows us all to remain free

Will I go down as one who made an effort
To enrich the lives
Of all those around me
And to live life as it was meant to be

When I am old will I be remembered
For who I was
Who they thought I was
Or who I wished I could be

© Bernard J Rossi

Tap Dancing on the Roof

With winter about to hit here in Australia, and with Canberra about to rug up and turn the heaters on high regardless of the exorbitant charges of the utilities companies, I thought it might be nice to relive the outbreak of summer. Then I think I might move to a warmer climate, at least for the winter.


Tap Dancing on the Roof


The sounds of summer
hit the country out west
with the painted mountains
blue in the background
summer brings with it the beating sun
we crave so much, and yet hide from
as we watch each dance of nature
and listen to its every sound

The steamy heat torches the village
a hundred tin roofs crackle
restless dogs howl
in the middle of the night
we lay on top of sheets
wearing nothing but sweat,
thinking of the beauty
held in every summer sight

The sun rises early
the birds squawk and squeal
and cockatoos screech
as they pull bark from huge trees
that creak and threaten
to send mammoth branches
crashing to the ground
like elephants to their knees

Smaller feathered friends
twitter and tap dance
across a flat tin roof
that has seen better days
waking all who sleep below
to a brand new dawn
surrounded on all sides
by that familiar summer haze

Lawn mowers roar to life
breaking nature’s tranquility
whipper snippers chime in
to sing the chorus
sprinklers and hand held hoses
shower the garden before the heat arrives
and while the ground remains
at least a little porous

Backyard swimming pools
spring to a childish life
in areas left with enough water
to keep them viable
and the cricket commentary
fills the airwaves and the kitchens
as cold drinks of all sorts and strengths
keep us cool and pliable

The heat in the middle of the day
sees an eerie quiet descend
While nature takes a well earned break
hidden from the unrelenting sun
then evening comes
without taking away the light
just turning it pink
until once more the day is done


© Bernard J Rossi

Alone in the crowd

Welcome to my newest poetry genre. In line with wanting to put a lot of variety onto my blog I have ventured into the world of picture poetry and I will be posting one or two of these a week. These are pictures I have taken but if anyone out there wants to send me a photo they would like me to put poetry to I would be thrilled to do that and post it here. You can send photos to me through my website, bernardjrossi.com or email to bernardjrossi@gmail.com.

Now for today's offering, which I have called Alone it the crowd. You can click on the photo to get a larger view (I think!)




Sometimes I feel alone
One of a kind
A different species to everyone else around me
And I am in danger of being engulfed
By early morning mists
While others watch on unconcerned
I remain barely above the water
Hoping to stay dry
At least until it is time to eat
Afraid to put my toe in the water
In case the others see my weakness
My mouth seems to hang down
Resting on my chest
Particularly on my worst days
Yet somehow I remain afloat
Something keeps me just above the surface
Holding me out of harms way
Allowing me to rest until I am ready
Until I can take off once more

I know I can fly
Some days the mist keeps me grounded though
As I wait for another like me
To stand beside me
And make this picture perfect

© Bernard J Rossi

Lost

So far I have not had any comments on the poems chosen for this week but I will continue on with the darker theme a little with this one. Perhaps that is a little indulgent, but this is my blog after all is said and done. Well it is yours as well of course as it it only exists here for your enjoyment...


Wandering lost in an urban landscape,
A product of so many wrong turns.
Not sure where I want to head
Or what I will feel when I get there.
Rushing into decisions and directions
That only serve to lead me deeper.
Press on? Or maybe return to where it began?
Lost in a world that should be familiar,
A world where once I was comfortable.
Not wise enough to avoid sinking further
Even as a sense of direction appears
Wondering when will I arrive at my destiny
And when my heart can finally be content


© Bernard J Rossi

One moment in time

Who knows if this one is dark or perhaps a little uplifting. I am keen to hear your thoughts on this one and how you interpret it. I wrote it today so it is hot off the keyboard and might undergo change over the next few weeks but first I would like you to decide what you think.

I remember that moment when I fell in love
I remember you standing there,
Your smile,
Your eyes dancing and full of fun.
I remember that moment in time

This memory, etched into my mind
No matter how far the distance between us,
Your companion,
Or what life has dealt you.
We had that moment in time

I remember that moment as if it were now
The touch of your tenderness
Your perfume
Your breath upon my ear
It was our moment in time

I long to touch this memory again
To experience this unique and wonderful feeling
Your memory
One moment in all of time.
It was just one moment in time

A moment that never leaves my head
Reviving recollections of you
Your beauty
Caressing me with every memory
Wanting one more moment in time

One moment when I look into your eyes,
And every wonderful moment we ever shared
Your life,
Comes flooding back to me.
Touched again by that moment in time

A moment I would die to relive
The moment before you left so suddenly
Your destiny
To leave our lives unfulfilled
Lost to one moment in time

I remember that moment when I fell in love
I remember you standing there,
Your smile,
Your eyes dancing and full of fun.
I still live in that moment in time


© Bernard J Rossi

No Fear of Death

Most of my poems that I have shared so far are positive and uplifting or talk of the beauty that life presents us with everyday. That is the world I like to live in but there is another reality that reaches out to touch us from time to time as well and I have written many darker poems in this hours when things were less than ideal. This one is very old and was written at a time of great difficulty for me. I am not sure if anyone will find it to their liking but for some reason I felt the need to share a few darker poems this. I promise to get back to my usual headspace next week!

He calls for me, the time is nigh
A strange thought this last breath
Will I float or will I fly
Afraid to pass from life to death
No need it would seem to I

Above my loin dropped four
Over all of them I’m freed
Enjoy life now I have gone before
New generations to seed
And I, a spectator forever more

Should it be my place to worry?
Capable? I am sure they are
He calls yet I am in no hurry
Eternal light through a door ajar
Into its healing power should I scurry?

Face my fate and accept the call
Leave behind this world, this Maya
My only fear that I might fall
A reflection warranted prior
Pray for a moment, one chance to stall

Only until I have time to explain
My past was not always dedication
To my caller, though not for my gain
For pleasure now not fear, just trepidation
That I may have earned his great disdain

Afraid of my fate? No I am not
Here in this world at least
Never wanting to experience hot
The uncaring world of the beast
But to live forever where pain cannot


© Bernard J Rossi

Magic

I have called this poem Magic, but it could just as easily be titled 'The Journey'.

In the coming weeks I am going to put up some photos or pictures/paintings and write small verses to them. This is an exercise I have done before and it is not only amazingly enjoyable but it also combines the visual beauty of the pictures with the magic of poetry. I would be happy for any of you poetry fans out there to send me a picture you would like to see put to poems and I'll interpret them as I see them.

In the interim take a short journey with me, it should prove to be magic.

Life used to be about the magic

Life was once about the wonder
We ruled the earth
Nothing could stop us
Our oyster awaited

Life then became about surviving

Life developed into making it
Work ruled our existence
Our freedom usurped
Old age awaited

Life used to be about surviving

Life is now about enjoyment
Magic rules our world
Life is full of wonder
Our dreams await

Life endures because of the magic


© Bernard J Rossi

Come Join Me

I was walking along a stretch of beach in Far North Queensland a few years ago when I saw an older man looking out across the water. He seemed to be looking for something and I immediately thought he looked like someone waiting for a long lost friend or lover. I went home and wrote this poem so I would never forget that look in the man's eyes.


Come join me
Walk in my circles
Be by my side

No pain
No fear
Nothing to hide

Come join me
Let your heart lead
Find happiness here

My friend
My lover
The time is near

Come join me
Together to flourish
With decisions made

Paths cross
Two connect
Never to fade

Come join me
Live life so fine
Set yourself free

Slow dancing
Eyes closed
Come join me

© Bernard J Rossi

Colour scheme

After feedback from visitors to this site I have changed the colour scheme, but as I am not strong in this area I would appreciate anybodies thoughts on the current scheme and other combinations I might try.

Thanks

BJR

A New World

A barren world, alone and dark
Suddenly comes to life
An unexpected contact injects a spark
And extremes discussed and planned
Lead to fun without the strife

An exciting world, the future bright
Slowly begins to unfold
Compatibility now seems so right
No adventure to be unexplored
No pleasures considered too bold

Luck or fate? Deserved and fair
For two the search may end
Each for the other so deeply care
And become the most important thing
Shoulder, ear, lover and friend.


© Bernard J Rossi

The Black Dress

Crumpled,
It lies on the floor.
Discarded.
Black and lifeless.
A reminder of passions lost

Empty,
Devoid of life.
Taunting,
Beckoning my gaze.
A shrine of sorts

Memories,
Rise from the pile
Fabric,
Soft and fragrant.
A memento to a perfect night

Experience,
The first kiss.
Games,
Nothing serious.
Unexpected, feelings and thoughts

Striking,
Out of the blue.
Unrequited.
One night, one love.
Sorrow donated to unwanted charities

Created,
As one night, one stand.
Dreams,
Extravagant and unseen.
Crumpled, they lay on the floor

Shattered,
I lie on the floor.
Acerbic
Dawn responses,
And a naked exodus.

Memoirs,
Carved into every stitch.
Wrinkled,
The unrelenting chronicler,
Left abandoned, its story repeating


Crumpled,
It lies on the floor.
Redundant,
This keepsake.
A reminder of passions lost


© Bernard J Rossi

The World Stopped

The world stopped

Before this day
We had met
But my eyes had not seen
And my heart had not felt

She had stood
In front of me
My ears had not listened
I had not been ready

The world stopped

On this day
Inside the Harp
My eyes saw her true beauty
My heart rose from my chest

She stood
In front of me
My ears heard angel’s music
I was ready

The world has begun
My world has begun

© Bernard J Rossi

Tales of a Camper

I met a man named Didge one afternoon in a National Park. He talked, he listened, he took an interest in my poetry and he inspired this little musing. Until we meet again mate, take care. Bernie and Joy

As worlds collide, and so they must
Amid a turmoil of earthly dust
Covered completely in camping dust
In the elements and God we trust

To meet like us, a weary soul
Striving for that same great goal
A rare plant on a scrubby knoll
A mighty fish patrolling a shoal

The traveller’s tales, wild and grand
From snowy peaks to ocean sand
From foreign shores to our home land
He sailed a yacht with a single hand

Adventures, he had seem them all
Never stepping backward lest he fall
With his campfire flames burning tall
As his adventurous tales enthrall

Food from the can was the bushman’s fare
Burnt in a fry pan in the cool night air
Never stopping once to catch our stare
But into the flames, he trained his glare

There was nowhere he had not been
Nothing in the world he had not seen
Everywhere he went he’d created a scene
I recall one time in front of the Queen

A nice bloke we were proud to meet
Clever in wit, and fast on his feet
Every tale regaled as a wonderful treat
Our mate Didge, one of the elite


© Bernard J Rossi

Just a thought

What causes a woman to ruminate
When by all accounts she is content?
Should he assume her mind is pure
And with all her wishes consent?

In all his writings should he rubricate
If that were the object of her pleasure?
How does he know of her happiness
And what would he use for a measure?

“I want to see you, but please be late”
She utters with enormous sincerity
“Or better still, don’t come at all”
She proffers with great celerity

Suddenly it is he who is left to cogitate
And think through a maze with no escape
Might the only solution to the quandary be
To create a visual image of her inscape

Or perhaps just a simple tête-à-tête
Would see the resolution of the dilemma
Neither confrontations nor battles of wills
Nothing to make his poor knees tremor

Perhaps now its time that she reiterate
Is a woman ruled by heart or mind?
‘Cos in my experience it is the former
As it is with men I think you’ll find


© Bernard J Rossi

Nature's Memories

A stream trickles where a river once raged,
Majestic trees and little shrubs watch time pass.
Cliffs surround the scene in towering glory
Hard and cold yet somehow comforting.
Birds chatter and flit about inquisitively
Watching insects float on still lagoons.
On a single rock amid this tranquil scene
Nature unfurls its most amazing wings
Then as cooling waters shared so deeply,
Wash over the tingling aftermath
Unspoken promises that life composes
Are etched in that stone forever more

© Bernard J Rossi

The Best Job in the World

This is not a poetry post and I promise non poetry posts will not happen often.

I applied for this job and now I need your help. You may wonder why when there is only a little over 30,000 applicants last I looked, so why wouldn’t they pick me? I like a challenge. Anyway, there are two ways to get into the last eleven applicants. The first is through the natural selection process of the video and other information you can provide on the first go round (very scant but I am ingenious) and the second is through a popularity poll, and that’s where you come in.

For those who are happy to help, go to this link, http://www.islandreefjob.com/#/applicants/watch/drBJmKIVGSI and watch the video then rate it high, very high. It may take a while to load. You can also try this button below

Pass on to your friends if you are happy to.

Thanks to all

BJR

The Reef

Good morning all, I thought I'd start the week by posting (one of) my newest poem. This is something I wrote on the weekend to go with my application for the best job in the world. If you haven't heard about that yet, become a following of this blog and you'll lots more about it in the next few weeks! This is still in work and the version that went with my video application for the job is very different, but I thought we could go with the long version on a Monday.

Let me know what you think of this, and all my poetry. If you want to read more of my poetry visit me at www.bernardjrossi.com

The Reef

Come to me when you need me
When life is tired and bland
Allow my sun to heal your wounds
Then take your lover’s hand

Let my water splash upon your feet
Bury your toes in my golden sand
Throw your heart upon my breeze
Then take your lover’s hand

Consider all I have to offer
I give it to you on command
Feast on all your hungry desire
Then take your lover’s hand

Let your hair fall down your back
Naked, oiled and tanned
Lay upon a secluded beach
And take your lover’s hand

Swim in my sparkling waters
Dance upon my wicked land
Listen to the poet’s wind
Caressed by your lover’s hand

Forget about a life back home
And the work you had planned
Leave uniforms and stress behind
And take your lover’s hand

Play in a million oceans
Be indulged by nature grand
Give in to life’s great sins
When you take your lover’s hand

Love here is not an added option,
It grab’s you without demand
Relax as it embraces your soul
Then take your lover’s hand

Take your lover’s hand
Take your lover’s hand
I am Australia’s mighty reef
Come, and take your lover’s hand


© Bernard J Rossi

Fireworks from the hill

Fireworks from the hill

Pop, pop,
Distant, ever distant
Colours fantastic, glittering, shimmering
The sound arrives late

Silent beauty
Distant, ever distant
Low lights, high lights, fountains of fire
Bursts of colour raining

Bright lights, paparazzi
Cameras flashing
Fountains of gold flowing
Distant, ever distant

Light green, bright green, golden flash
Vibrant reds highlight
Images of people smiling
Distant, ever distant

Bright white flashes
Gun smoke drifting, silent
Distant, ever distant
The sound arrives late

Sweet bitterness
Watching beauty, alone
Distant, ever distant
Thinking of you

Distant, ever distant

© Bernard J Rossi