The Small Boy © Kerry Gittins 2022. All Rights Reserved.
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The Spell © Kerry Gittins 2022. All Rights Reserved.
Autumn Leaves © Kerry Gittins 2022. All Rights Reserved.
Seven Small Letters © Kerry Gittins 2022. All Rights Reserved.
One partridge in a pear tree is a lonesome sight to see,
and though the bird can fly away he sits and stares at me. He watches as I sing about the twelve fine days to come but as the song continues, the sadder he becomes. He twists his head from side to side, blinking small black eyes. Then he chirps, ‘Don’t sing that song. Please don’t make me cry!’ He ruffles bright red feathers from his head down to his toes, pruning each one carefully, tweeting as he goes. Once he’s done he stands up straight and sighs a mournful sigh. His beak begins to quiver and a tear forms in his eye. He starts to tell a tale that’s full of misery and woe, of sorrow and of heartbreak, as he paces to and fro. ‘You’ve no idea how hard it is to see the doves and hens all kissing and canoodling. It seems to never end! Then there are the calling birds, the geese and all the swans! They prance and swim and lay their eggs and proudly sing that song. And do not get me started on the lords and maids and ladies The pipers and the drummers wake up all the sleeping babies!’ I listen as he tells me of his wish for just one thing - to find another partridge who will make his sad heart sing. I ask him to come closer, wipe away his tear and say, ‘No need to be alone for look who flew in yesterday!’ He turns his head to where I point, his eyes full of surprise. His little heart now bursts with hope and to her side he flies. He hops a little closer, pecks her gently with his beak. She fluffs her wings and then she lays her head upon his cheek. Together with their heads entwined, the future’s bright and fair. No longer lonely but instead a perfect partridge pair! A Perfect Pair © Kerry Gittins 2022. All Rights Reserved.
In response to the Australian Children's Poetry picture prompt #4
Words © Kerry Gittins 2022. All Rights Reserved.
Whilst on a recent holiday to Con Son island off the southern coast of Vietnam, I was struck not just by the remote beauty of the place, but also by it's history. The white sandy beaches and clear waters belie it's cruel past. It was used as one of the most feared places of incarceration in the region by the French from the 1800's, and also by the Americans during the Vietnam War. The aptly named 'tiger cages' are still there, and for many Vietnamese, these prisons are places for sombre remembrance and full of ghosts. . .
Island of Ghosts: The Tiger Cages of Con Son Prison © Kerry Gittins 2020. All Rights Reserved.
I’m stuck
Not because I don’t have anything to think about But because my head is full And I don’t know which idea to choose To focus on. To tease out. Make bigger Into what, I haven’t yet figured out Tired. And stuck Thoughts about ghosts both past and present Thoughts about the planet and how much I want to see a future Thoughts about my family and how much I miss them and can’t wait to see them Sad. And stuck There it is again. That word. Some days are blue sky days where ideas and feelings soar and my hands fly across the keyboard Some days are black cloud days where my ideas and feelings lay in a dark sticky tar My hands hover for hours waiting to pluck the ideas from the mire I know I have to experience both to realise what the other is But on black cloud days it’s hard to create honey from tar I look out of the window in my apartment on a world that seems so busy and noisy As I observe that world my mind starts to quiet Thoughts slowly begin to unravel Jumbled scenes become a recognizable thread Tar is not honey. Not yet. But there is something. A beginning. Not so stuck anymore. Stuck.© Kerry Gittins 2020. All Rights Reserved.
Clouds roll in from the south.
Dragon shapes, bear shapes. White oxen, reaching far up into the sky Building steadily, grander, higher So many of them. Shapes casually merging into a great stretch of darkening grey Wind blows gentle at first. Then stronger, harder, pushing faster. It moans through the metal door frames Thunder rumbles far away But not for long Here it comes, closer. Sonorous and full. Vivid flashes of lightning illuminate the sky Scattered. Crooked. Crackling. Sharp. Then the first droplets. Spit. Spat. Until there's too many to count Falling harder, faster. Pinging off the metal balcony railings. Clouds, wind, thunder, lighting, rain - the sky as one. A discordant symphony of sound and light. Exhilarating. Fierce, Life-giving. Monsoon. Monsoon © Kerry Gittins 2020. All Rights Reserved. A couple of new poems that I submitted to the Australian Writer's Center competition today. They had to be based on the image you see - hence the post title! Oh and they had to be no more than 23 words. . .
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