" How're ya goin', old mate? " says he
as he drew on a pipe so foul
"Tell me about your aches and pains "
with that he tried hard to scowl.

"Well, it's this way, mate " said the lanky one
"the aches and pains are there..
I amble a bit and lope to one side..
but I've still got most of my hair..
and I bought my teeth, and my glasses, of course
and the hip is a work of art..
I'm feelin' quite fine, for a fella my age
so long as I don't fall apart!"

(c) Crissouli

People Holding Hands Around The World Clip Art

(image courtesy of Kara78)


Sober men in sober suits
standing in long grey rows of seriousness..
bearded bikies brandishing bravery
as much a uniform as their brothers..
chanting parades of protesters
waving banners, wildly..
or a mother and child
blowing dandelions in the breeze..
who's to decide whose need
for peace is greater?

Me, you, or all ..
linking hands of friendship
across the world..

(c) Crissouli


Plastic, vinyl

imitation life
scattered impressions
false images
artificial flowers
with artificial promises
of false scents
of reality
of perfume..
It must be


(c) Crissouli



Once again
the greyness of approaching rain
casting it's oppression
as some huge, grey net
ready to encompass the earth.
Brave, bright flowers,
the flagships of nature,
stand defiant..
daring the heavens
to drench them once more
that yet again
they will store
throughout the heaviest bombardment
for they have a tryst
with springtime
and glory in the promise
of brilliance
yet to come.

© Crissouli

(c) Crissouli


The quiet stillness of the morn
envelops me
wrapped in a cocoon of peace
and solitude.
I, at first, feel tense
so much to do
yet, too early for most.

Time to relax, yet I shower, 
not willing to let the first
rays of sunlight elude me.
In the distance,
a bird calls to it's mate
welcoming a new dawning.

Time to sit and think
and write
to welcome God's gift
Of a brand new day.
Too late, the haunting bark 
of the alsatian next door
shatters the stillness of the dawn.

Then, once again, peace
and quiet. 
A steaming cup of coffee
my only companion.
Thank you, Lord,
for these Blessed moments
and, more importantly,
a time of renewal.

© Crissouli

copyright expired


They sit by the river bank
lost in the dreamtime
of modern man
amber glass reflecting
faded hopes and dreams.
One day rolls into another
and another
and another -
their sombulance disturbed
only with the coming 
of the dole cheque.
The cycle begins
We took them 
from their nomadic life
'saved' them
from themselves
and gave the 'gift'
of civilisation.
"Forget your past
your culture
your dreams -
come… live...
our way."
We took their very soul
and let them watch - 
from a distance.
Today, they sit
by the river bank. 
We frown
and pass on by. 

© Crissouli 


Silently, she sat, and all around was still
Just a bird trilled now and then, softly first, then shrill.
She pondered for just a while, about her family and friends
Unaware, she turned her rings, and mused, that’s how a courtship ends.

It changes, without a fanfare, to a marriage, sound and strong,
To a wonderful companionship, that lasts a whole life long.
She needed time to tell him how much she loved him so, 
To thank him, for all the years, of caring; he had to know.

For life was always changing, sometimes bad, but mostly good.
She needed him and cared for him, as only a woman could.
Though routine becomes boring and somehow gets you down
When love’s beside you, smiling, how could you wear a frown?

Silently, she sat, and thanked the Lord above
She’d found the elusive happiness, she’d found a husband’s love.

(c) Crissouli


Peer as I might, I cannot see

I cannot enter that distant world

There are glimpses now and then

That beckon me

They come to tease me

They taunt and pester.
"I am not gone
I am not going
I am here. 
Do I not look the same
Am I not talking to you
Sitting with you
Can I not ask you questions?"
And then you do, again and again
Wanting answers, not hearing
Not accepting, ask again.
I mourn, I curse the silent thief
That takes you day by day
But, not yet, you still are mine.
I'm outside, but I'm looking in.

© Crissouli 2013


Can you hear me, are you listening?

I know I'm still the same inside
I get muddled and confused 
and I know I remember everything
sometimes, on some days, somehow…
So, I don't know whether I've taken my tablet,
nor can I remember having breakfast
but I remember the soft, still light of dawn.. 
I remember greeting you for the first time
holding you in my arms, it was you, wasn't it
born on a still autumn morn, 
dark haired and with the tiniest fingers..
It was you, your mother cradling you in her arms
looking even more beautiful than ever..
and crying, I remember the tears, 
her tears, for her own mother would never hold you, 
never share her dreams for you.

I'm sorry I asked you that same thing so many times
but I can't remember your answer 
for more than a moment, maybe two
… will you be home for dinner? 
What time did you say, when… when will you be home?
Have I taken my tablet? I can't remember…
But I do remember your mother's beautiful voice
as she sang an Irish Lullaby
was that to you or one of the others…
maybe to all of you, each of you, others.
What will I cook for dinner, when will you be home?
Please don't get angry, I can't remember
When will you be home?

What's for dinner? Is it ready, am I cooking?
Who cooked dinner, when will you be home…
I can hear my voice, I know I can't remember
but I haven't forgotten the laughter
that wonderful, gentle laughter that ended in a burst of sound, 
then tears rolling down her cheeks when she couldn't stop.
Where's your mother, I can't find her
Please bring her home, where's your mother now?
I need to talk to her, where is she? 
tell her I'm waiting for her… will she be back soon?
I need her… 
is anybody listening?

© Crissouli 2013

(c) Steven Pearce 


Uluru will woo you
Or so the Aussies say
It will haunt you and beguile you
and make you want to stay.
It's mystical and eerie
and different night and day
and majestic during sunset
enchanting on a rainy day.
It's important in the Dreamtime
created by a battle that was grand
between Liru and Kunia 
both from the southern land..
then there were Metalungana and Linga
they were not to be outdone, 
for they made the largest part in the southern sun.
Mala, Tjinderi-tjinderiba, Yulanya and Kulpunya
they created most of the north
then along with Kandju, the western part came forth…
many more spirits from the Dreamtime
all helped to make this monolith so grand
magical, majestic, Uluru of the Southern Land.

© Crissouli

*  Pauleen Cass for the inspirational title…

 and for the most amazing photo of Uluru
my thanks go to Steven Pearce of Steven Pearce Photography 
who kindly allowed me to share his wonderful photo.
Do have a look at Steve's work as on his website 

Make sure to visit his blog
which you will find via the above link

Full details are on his contact page.

Steven Pearce Photography
Ph:   0447 690 263


  1. You are such a brilliant poet Chris, I don't know how you do it. There's something in each of them that speaks to me. I especially like the rain and "a moment or two" but "the gift" is of course very pertinent here in the NT. A vexed, complex and challenging question of how this will ever reach a resolution.

  2. Thank you, Pauleen... I love to write, and find that verse, in all manner of styles, seems often to say what I want to in the simplest way. As for The Gift, I grew up in a small country town, and even as a child, I could never work out why we couldn't help as needed, not as decided to fit ' the rules'.
    I believe that we should celebrate differences where possible, not strive to have all 'conform'.

  3. I loved them all, particularly
    ‘The gift’ so poignant, and ‘Preservatives added’. So sad what we have done. Also the Uluru one is beautifully formed, as it is itself.

  4. Thank you .. I'm so glad you liked them. If you look in the side column, you will see a list of my other blogs. The Back Fence of Genealogy has quite a few poems also. Thank you for commenting.


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