Archive through February 25, 2006

Janny Wurts Chat Area: Poetry Corner: Poems: Archive through February 25, 2006
   By Chris on Monday, November 01, 2004 - 09:38 am: Edit Post


Waking to find you're Jack again,
with the same old missing hours of sleep and
disjointed gaps in-
The crashing procession of a train in the distance,
cigarette smoke hanging in tired morning wreaths,
and drawers lined with coffee stained newspapers from 1971.
Leaning out the window to shout at the ten o'clock sun
Buying a loaf of bread to match the milk on the doorstep-
wait, how-
and drinking in some pub in Spencer Street, tasting blood
staggering backwards from a unionist with broken teeth
red-armed junkies lying in pools of fluroescence-
dropping the knife in a laneway
following a madman's path of broken streetlamps
laughing or sobbing, too tired to tell
stumbing on a staircase with threadbare carpet,
beer-bottle vision clouded by blackness that flows
from the inside out-
Waking to find you're Jack again,
with the same old missing hours of sleep and
disjointed gaps in-

   By ishmael smith on Tuesday, November 09, 2004 - 01:58 pm: Edit Post

The sound of silence
thunders over
the edge
of my mind

   By Róisín on Friday, November 12, 2004 - 09:17 am: Edit Post



Apologies to Ishmael! Nice poem.

   By Ellydee on Monday, November 15, 2004 - 04:49 pm: Edit Post

Written after a very frustrating day in class:

Untitled (For Now):

You with your piano
and I with my pen
grope at our Muse's chamber door,
scrabbling, searching for
the seam between door and frame,
our only company a shattered mirror
with a hundred faces,
all obscured by the fog of autumn.
We beat against the door,
cry for her to bless us with a phrase,
a hummed tone.
She does not answer.

In class, flagellating the page
with a deluge of endless meanings for why
Aphrodite holds her shield just so -
the Muse whispers in my ear,
telling of a child discovering eternal roses,
or silver thread spun into rust.
My chest is hollow, my backbone lead
for the faces, the phrases who
will never be born on the page,
voices lost forever in a void from which
I can never recover their lives.
An artistic miscarriage.
And only you, yearning for empty sheet music,
grasping for what is gone,

Please give me feedback :-) I would really appreciate any criticism that could help improve the quality - thanks!!

   By Joshua on Thursday, November 18, 2004 - 06:40 am: Edit Post

You should post your poems on
Rather then just here. A lot more people would read them then.

   By Ellydee on Thursday, November 18, 2004 - 06:52 pm: Edit Post

Thanks, Joshua!
I've been looking for a site like this! :-)

   By HJ on Monday, March 21, 2005 - 07:02 pm: Edit Post

Can anyone tell me anything about copyright? I have no knowledge whatsoever on this subject, but would like to learn. For example, if I posted a poem on this site, could anyone in the world reproduce it with no comeback?

Please help...


   By HJ on Monday, March 21, 2005 - 07:39 pm: Edit Post

I'm going to post some of my husbands poems, because I love them and so does all our family. He worries that they're not very good, but I think he has a unique and precious talent. Oooh, which ones to pick...

It's quite nice to hear poems without too much angst sometimes, isn't it?

Just A Minute

A moment of your precious time to sit
Upon this comfy IT chair a bit
And “point and click”, to “self-experiment”.
Please “surf” the Internet to your content.
Glide your mouse around its mat and press
That button. Watch the blue progress
Across the bar, below the screen’s delights.
The “Slowness bar” that soaks up all your sight’s
Expensive time and mesmerises hand and mind
With Microsoft’s dull grey till you are blind
To hype like “World Wide Web – It’s Great!”.
Instead of “World Wide Web”, read “World Wide Wait!”.


We watch our window watching starlight
In sighing skies whose breath is ours.
These recent, warm, long-loving hours
Cocoon, intense and soft with farsight.

We lie entwined and sound will never reach us,
Nor light, nor time. We both have set
Our love as deep and hard as jet
And songs of mingling spirits gently teach us

And There, In Sun Reflected

No thoughts in words collected.
No new ideas showed.
No gentle pencil scratchings

Each empty hour depleted
his mind of intertwined
and inter-linking thinkings

No subjects stayed selected.
No words fresh-formed remained.
His sheet, no graphite etchings,

Dejected, near defeated,
The postman, without fail,
Delivered him the morning

And there, in sun reflected,
Her rounded writing rolled
With ‘G for Gorgeous’ glinting

What d'ya think?

   By Leonie on Monday, March 21, 2005 - 08:56 pm: Edit Post

I liked them!! Nicely evocative.


   By Leonie on Monday, March 21, 2005 - 09:00 pm: Edit Post

And here's one I wrote last year. A friend of ours died during a flash flood while assisting in a cliff rescue, just on twelve months ago. (My husband and I were part of the team until we left the area 2 years ago.) I wrote this shortly afterwards.



Angled arms pull on the orange overalls,
Glow strips framing legs and backs,
Booted feet hurtle through the loading,
And the vehicles hit the dusty road to beauty and risk.

The spinifex heads nod in the warm breeze,
Along the corrugated roadsides,
Snappy gums and termite nests
Sentinels against the lowering sun.

The ranger waits at the gorge’s edge,
Slouch hat outlined against the sunset,
Ambos are down, he says near Junction pool,
Fell off the Miracle Mile.

Team Leader heads for the edge,
Gear dump time,
And the orange suited rescuers start the hard slog
Hours they know will pass.

Adrenalin spikes the blood,
Focus is everything
Time may be short.
And the sun sinks below the horizon

Small pools of light illuminate racing hands,
Spinifex, mulga and old sweat sting the air
With the smell of rescues past
To push the pace.

Lowering into darkness
A glowing orange figure
Yellow stretcher clasped in strong gloved hands,
Feet outstretched against the banded iron wall.

Falling rocks spark against the face,
Crescendos of sound echoing amongst the rocks
Most below the volunteer,
Some bouncing above and around the stretcher.

Stretcher on the ground,
Casualty gently moved with caring hands,
Escort reassures, adjusts the rig
Secure balance comforts pain.

Above the mule team strains,
Gloved hands grasping lines
Boots grinding against the red dirt
Legs impaled by spiky spinifex

Slow, stop, raise commands ring out
Each orange figure’s focus taut
As delicately now the stretcher rises
Escort’s legs braced against the face.

Sweat, effort, lines tensioned,
Ears alert for any call
Re-set now, feet fly the Gibbs up the line
And the haul continues

Legs straining and arms quivering
Stretcher manouvred around obstacles
Trickles of rocks struck from the face
Sparking into the gorge below.

A careful heaving lift
And the stretcher crests the overhanging edge
Escort levering smoothly to cushion
As mule team slows

Stretcher crew lifts
Synchronised to carry smoothly
Waiting ambulance and pain relief ahead
Through spinifex dotted ground.

Spaghetti loops of kernmantle strew the ground
Metres to bag and hank
Hardware to dismantle
Within the quiet darkness

Moonlight strikes reflective strips aglow
As trip by trip the bags and bits are carried
Debris removed
By tired orange figures

Vehicles slowly roll
Down the dusty road to home
Newman heading east and Tom Price west
Until again a call for help is sounded

And yet again the orange overalls
With red dust stains and wear
Will tread the dusty paths and hard rock faces
We will remember Jim

   By Auna on Monday, March 28, 2005 - 04:40 pm: Edit Post

Just a Minute gave me a good laugh :-)

Good stuff.

Oh, and I had to look up spinifex so thought I'd save anyone else the trouble:

Spinifex - Any of several Australian grasses of the genus Tricuspis, which often form dense, almost impassable growth, their leaves being stiff and sharp-pointed.

   By Leonie on Wednesday, March 30, 2005 - 02:39 am: Edit Post

Nicely prickly stuff spinifex, but rather beautiful - looks like a nice cushion right up to the point that you attempt to sit on it..... :-) There is one variety that isn't sharp, but you don't find that many places! Generally you get spiked and then the tips break off, leaving the points in you.


   By Laurence Jeffrey Johnson on Monday, April 18, 2005 - 06:49 pm: Edit Post


In mankinds greed and haste
We rape the earth and leave it waste,
Now's the time to mend our ways
Learn to love nature listen to all she says.

For she is a loving mother
Who provides for us well,
But we are greedy children
Who are making this planet HELL.

   By Chris on Tuesday, April 19, 2005 - 09:00 am: Edit Post


Looking for beauty, you travelled to the coast -
where from an overcast sky a cold wind lashed the beach,
and opaque water was churned into a brown lather where it slapped the shore.
A stinking glut of seaweed sprawled along the tideline,
hiding decay and corruption in chipped grey shells.
Pursued by the caustic shrieks of dead-eyed seagulls,
you hurried back to the car, disappointed.

Looking for beauty, you flicked the car stereo on -
to be assaulted by white noise screaming from second rate speakers,
static and advertising stalked you across channels, til you inevitably tired.
And while you were learning where to buy cheap rugs (are they ever full price?) ,
the colour started to seep out of the world beyond your windscreen.
It disturbed you when you noticed it, but not nearly so much
as when you realised you didn't care.

Looking for beauty, you travelled into the mountains -
Where you saw gaps between hills when you expected sun-dappled valleys,
and where there was a whole bunch of trees where you thought the forest would be.
Had they changed, had they been beautiful before you arrived?
You knew the answer, but you didn't like it.

At the back of your mind, you knew the world had never been beautiful.
But nor was it uglier that any other mirror,
wholly blameless for that which it reflected.
Looking for beauty, you travelled to the coast -
where you filled the ocean with a silent, majestic, dignity
without knowing you were doing it

And still you went home disappointed.

   By Laurence Jeffrey Johnson on Sunday, April 24, 2005 - 05:28 pm: Edit Post


Sweet Suzanne,
A fine and shapely young woman,
Whom I met in the Island of Skye,
She was beautiful to my eyes,
Bright and vibrant she appeared,
We kindled a mutal fire,
Which blazed for years.

By CALDERSGEO, (This is my pen name).

   By HJ on Wednesday, July 20, 2005 - 04:41 pm: Edit Post

A Prayer For my Uncle

How very much I don’t want you to go.
You’ve been a friend to me so very long.
To see you in this way seems very wrong,
Your leaving of this life is cruelly slow.

If anyone out there could hear my plea,
You were judgemental many times in life.
You had ideas that were not always right,
But truth and patience, both you shared with me.

I don’t know how to cope with this again.
I don’t know how to bear this sad farewell.
If you are out there, God, look long and well.
I beg, if you are listening, ease his pain.

Dear Lord, you taught us 'ask and I will give’,
A twelve-year-old believed so much in you.
The chapel knew me well, each cosy pew
Heard prayers to let another uncle live.

But you did not.
A small prayer was said on a small world
But you forgot.

Show mercy to a man who believes he was true.
Admittedly, he isn’t a believer in you
But someone who has followed his principles through.
Give credit to a person when credit is due.

Remember those who labour in integrity,
With strength and love remaining through eternity.
Take pity on those waiting in slow agony
And do not make him suffer to come unto thee.

I wrote this two weeks ago for my uncle. He was very dear to me and this is quite a raw poem. He died last week.

I had and have still so much admiration for him.

Please send him your good thoughts.

Thank you very much.

   By susan stevens on Tuesday, November 15, 2005 - 07:50 am: Edit Post


The black mantle of endless night, embraced a mind drifting,Unmoored,quiet,unbreathing, floating aimlessly, all thought and sensation cancelled, a timeless void of indifferance and unknowing. The only refuge left for a shattered soul.

   By skeoke on Tuesday, November 15, 2005 - 11:57 am: Edit Post


A Monday morning sunrise
I sat and watched the moon
It faded into nothingness
As I would soon
But as the moon finally disappeared
I turned to notice why
A beautiful morning sunrise
Lighting up the sky

   By Michael Gaspersic on Monday, November 28, 2005 - 05:09 pm: Edit Post

Check out, you'll get good feedback to help with your poems.

   By Joshua on Sunday, January 01, 2006 - 12:07 pm: Edit Post

Also try, I really liked it when I posted there a while back (under the name benubird, they probably haven't removed my account yet :-)). Good feedback, if you want heavy criticisms there's a seperate board you can use.


   By Warwick on Sunday, January 15, 2006 - 03:35 am: Edit Post

Was just through my stuff and I found this poem that I wrote in 2004:

I see the light of day and yet I am blind
To the movements of the world and mine
It used to be that I saw the way for me
To walk upon it and so to let my self be
I made my way though I could not see
now I can see though I can not find my way
A change must be made else I will not be today

   By Laurence J Johnson on Saturday, February 25, 2006 - 11:20 am: Edit Post


With love in one’s heart,
Life is fulfilling,
It's absence rips us apart,
So open now, the soul is willing.

By Caldersgeo.

   By Trys on Saturday, February 25, 2006 - 07:05 pm: Edit Post


I've always known that the google search engine was good but I had forgotten that Caldesgeo was your pen name and went to do a search on google for it. It brought up this topic because of the occurance of your pen name upstream. Amazing. :-)