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Les Pick Poem
The Voice Within.
Somewhere in the depths of me, in a place I cannot find.
There lies the seed of longing, for that to which I’m blind.
I feel it dwells within me and every now and then,
Nudges my sensitivities and bids me, seek again.
It comes not from the body not a feeling or desire,
Nor a mood or temperament, but it consumes like fire.
It’s power, soft and subtle engulfs me as a mist,
Demanding my attention as would a maidens kiss.
After a while the attack is gone, though still I’m not at peace,
For somewhere in the depths of me that longing still exists.
For many years it has been so I’ve always had the choice,
To disregard material desires and seek that gentle voice.
Is it the voice of wisdom, am I not to understand.
Or the dreams from eons ago of prehistoric man?
Or does the yearning come to mock me, staying out of reach.
Should I surrender all and allow solitude to teach?
It bids me. “Change your ways, find a quiet and peaceful place.
Cast aside the wasteful doubt that keeps you in the race.
For time is long and life is short when they are side by side,
To live a lie will come to nought at the turning of the tide”.
But deep within I do perceive that the answer lay,
Not within the books I read or dreamings in the day.
It’s here within the eternal soul that joins us all as one,
Without whose love that boundless void would not be overcome.
Still the fire is there, the feeling of something missed.
'Tis a flame that can’t be smothered, while ever I exist.
It dwells and glows inside of me, though just a gentle flame.
And waits until my searching brings on an attack again.
And I cannot help but search for there is barely an interlude,
Between the whispers of that voice, “You’ll find me in solitude.”
My ignorance sustains me the battle won through lack of courage,
I stay here in my comfort zone and search the books for knowledge.
Days to weeks and weeks to months the months turn into years,
and still I read and procrastinate, and wrap myself in fears.
The day will come my life will end, and the other side,
The answer I’ll find and then I’ll know we should trust our guide.
______________________________
Copyright © Les Pick | Year Posted 2022
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Les Pick Poem
THE SHED
Down there in the shed I know,
There is something that I need.
I haven’t seen it now for ages,
But I know it’ll do the deed.
Whether it's a bit of steel that’s,
Sort of, shaped like this.
Or a little plastic fitting
That’s easy for me to miss.
Each time I clean the shed up,
And put my things away.
I know where I put them,
But this is another day.
My wife, she offers to help
Me to do a decent job.
Make it nice and clean she says,
But that would make me sob.
The things she’d want to throw away.
It’s all good handy stuff.
It’ll be of use one day, but still
She’d try to call my bluff.
No, It’s ok now my dear,
I’ll clean up by myself.
I’ll just put these things over here.
I’ll have to build another shelf.
The trick you see, is to sweep the floor,
And move things round a bit.
Just so you can reach the door,
Without a claustrophobic fit.
The working space is the size I need
Cause that’s all the room I got.
If it was any bigger,
I’d probably lose the bloody lot.
I’ve cupboards full of bits and pieces
And a heap of electric tools.
It’s enough to write a thesis,
On how to make shed owners drool.
But you see it doesn’t really matter,
If the shed is clean or not.
The main thing is you’re happy
In your private little spot.
Cause when you’re in your shed
The world can pass you by.
I hope that when I’m dead,
There’s a shed up in the sky.
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Copyright © Les Pick | Year Posted 2022
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Les Pick Poem
The Calendar
A calendar hangs on the wall.
A clock beside the bed.
Another day is about to dawn,
But all my world feels dead.
With pen in hand I cross the date,
We’re one day closer now.
I check the clock lest I be late.
‘Tis the working hour.
These two things now govern my life.
Inanimate objects though they be.
They keep me from my loving wife,
But slowly set me free.
Copyright © Les Pick | Year Posted 2022
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Les Pick Poem
Lightly may the raindrops fall,
And when there be enough.
Brings life and hope and food for all
And fills our pleasure cup.
As the rain comes gently down,
‘Twill wash and cleanse the land.
Then run into the creeks and down
The rivers to the sand.
Where it once again will be lifted high
From the blue green sea
And travel o’er the lonely sky,
‘Till it gently rains on me.
So now I shower my love on you
And know that as with rain
It’ll be returned clear and pure
To love you again and again.
Copyright © Les Pick | Year Posted 2022
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Les Pick Poem
The Old Coaster
I got meself a coaster bus,
To make a motorhome.
I checked it out for any rust,
In it we’re gonna roam.
We’ll check out all the freebie sites,
And camps along the Murray.
We’ll get a coupla lectric bikes,
And take our time we’re in no hurry.
We’ll work our way around the place,
Travellin this great wide land.
Out at St George pickin grapes,
Or packin fruit by hand.
We’ll do some fossickin at Rubyvale,
And we‘ll search for nuggets of gold.
The kids are gone the house is for sale,
Lets do it before we get old.
The Coaster’s looking pretty good,
With most the things we need.
A shower ‘n‘ bed ’n’ cupboards for food,
And a stove, to cook ourselves a feed.
There’s a wardrobe for clothes, a TV too.
And a sink to wash the dishes,
A fridge to keep the tucker cool,
Fully screened to stop the midges.
We’ve got maps and books and mobile phones,
We gave away the goldfish.
Henry the cat has a brand new home,
But it’s our friends we’ll miss.
Turn off the lights and shut the door,
We’re packed and ready to leave.
It’s “AKEBIA” you’ll be looking for,
And our friendship you’ll receive.
__________________
Copyright © Les Pick | Year Posted 2022
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Les Pick Poem
From the mothers womb a child is born.
In the wee small hours of the early morn.
Thus touches a heel upon this Earthen lot.
Of one to leave a footprint like it or not.
Newly arrived on this world to learn,
That love conquers all, before you return.
Your life is unique, however you choose.
Being blessed with wisdom, you cannot lose.
Know this life is, but a stepping stone,
To higher dimensions, 'ere you go home.
Let not you ever be lacking in love,
Know that your life, is blessed from above.
May your footprint be firm, balanced, and true,
May your stumbles be, far-spaced and few.
And the answers you seek as you find your way,
Bring satisfaction at the end of your day.
Copyright © Les Pick | Year Posted 2022
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Les Pick Poem
< Awaiting The Rains
Sitting in this sweltering heat
in the shade of a leafless tree.
The clear blue sky, a continuous sheet
that covers the world, and me.
Oh for a mouthful of water,
To shrink this swollen tongue.
And cease this senseless slaughter,
That, from our ignorance begun.
I remember the call of the Curloo.
The twitter of the Finch and the Wren.
Those sounds are now very few,
Will any ever hear them again?
Dark rain clouds are no more.
Nor does spring produce the flowers.
Climate change will affect us all,
Even them in Ivory towers.
Though I pray to God in heaven,
Still the rain it never comes.
Just the shadows of the ravens,
Waiting to pick my bones.>
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Copyright © Les Pick | Year Posted 2022
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Les Pick Poem
The Letter
A young man strolled along the waterfront,
His mind and heart at ease.
Said an old man, sitting on an upturned punt,
Gazing out towards the sea.
“Come sit by me and lend your ear,
For I’ve a tale to tell.
My days are numbered now I fear,
As I do not feel so well.”
The young man took the proffered seat
And gazed at the old mans face.
The lines and creases in that midday heat
Were like the knit of a delicate lace.
“When first the plough shears tilled this earth,
With the hope of a hearty crop.
A young boys’ school was a hard days work,
Where he’d learn to tend the flock.
With an axe in hand he’d fell a tree
Then strip it of it’s bark.
He’d ride a horse to track a beast
And not be home by dark.
I stood there in my fathers stead,
At the age of just twelve years.
My father, from the war lay dead,
He and his many peers.
Driving bullock teams was the only way
I knew to earn an honest quid.
I‘d swear and cuss and walk all day
To passers by I’d tip me lid.
Drought and flood, bush fires and rain,
The years they passed me by.
Then in the little town of Mayne,
A fair hair’d lady caught me eye.
From Scotland she came with accent broad.
She was new to this promised land.
Out on a station, teaching kids for board,
Her life was not as she’d planned”.
The young man muttered ”Sir I beg your leave.”
And stood, as if to go.
An old hand lifted and caught his sleeve,
With a movement feeble and slow.
“Please my lad this wont take long,
Would you humour a dying man.
My body is weak but my mind is strong.
Wont you bear as much as you can.”
The young man took his seat once more
And listened in earnest now.
This old man needs me here he thought
All else will wait somehow.
“Where was I now, Oh yeah that’s right
She was such a sweet young thing.
Her smile, forever shining bright
With a voice, that taught the birds to sing.
Our hearts were melted and moulded,
As one they will forever be.
Each others troubles we shouldered,
And our happiness kept us free.
But the good Lord took her from me.
Her and our unborn child.
I joined the navy, the world to see
And sailed the oceans wild.
To a hungry shark I lost me leg,
When our freighter hit some rocks.
Since those days I’ve had this peg,
But I get twice the wear from me socks”.
The young man couldn’t help but grin
At the humour in the old mans voice.
Earlier, he had to sit with him,
Now he would do so by choice.
“Life is full of twists and turns.” he said.
“Flat roads and deep crevasses.
One day you think you're here to learn.
The next, you don't know where your ass is.
My mates had ladies in every port
For that's what sailors do.
Drink the ale in a wharfies pub
And call a girlfriend or two.
But those doings were not my scene.
I met a lady in Sydney town,
Now, I regret what might have been.
For my seafaring ways let her down.
That must be nigh on twenty years,
My letters have all been returned.
I suspect I caused her many tears
And this, loneliness I've earned.
They say when I left, she was with child.
And that's when she moved away.
Maybe that's true or maybe they lied.
But there's not much else to say.”
The old man looked out across the bay
And gestured with his bony hand.
At a new freighter leaving the slipway.
To the music of a big brass band.
“As that ship leaves, to start it's new life,
I fear mine has come to an end.
This final letter I wrote last night,
To my love, I did want to send.
Please pass it on, but write deceased.
Before you place it in the mail.
It's been in my pocket so it's creased,
Now my ship is about to sail.”
The young man took the crumpled letter,
As the old man closed his eyes.
He had to squint to see it better,
The name and address that brought no replies.
The reason fate brought him here today,
For this alone, there was no other.
To listen to what this old man had to say,
And deliver this letter to his Mother.
________
Copyright © Les Pick | Year Posted 2022
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Les Pick Poem
PACHAMAMA by Les Pick (Apuchin)
We thank the Maestro gratefully and willing drink his vile brew,
We enter the sixth dimension and learn things we never knew.
There's Pachamama and Otorongo and the stars of the world above,
The great condor passes messages, life is about unconditional love.
The Maestro conducts the energies which guide us to that place.
There are countless forms and visions. Where is Pachamamas' face?
Her golden yellow gown is flowing as she enters into me,
My humbleness is growing and her presence sets me free.
With emotions flowing freely, I recall the way she felt,
Her strong, soft, gentle energy, the sweetest thing I ever smelt.
We all need our Mother Earth, mankind must join as one.
The damage that we've caused her must now be undone.
What we have done to Pachamama we have done to every living soul
But we would rather blame another than to see how deep our hole.
Corporations make decisions in their bright palatial rooms,
Their greed has made us wealthy while we dig ourselves a tomb.
We profess to love humanity, but hate and killing still goes on.
Our words are but profanities from a sharp and thoughtless tongue.
The Maestro sends us visions with his songs and masterful presence
He's in touch with every one of us, in our purging we have lessons.
Pachamama does not need us she'd be better on her own.
If we prove ourselves unworthy we could disappear like foam.
It's time to speak with voices loud, the path we chose is wrong.
We can't stand tall and proud lest we know where we belong.
Pachamama dwell within me, let your spirit make me strong.
I ask that you will guide us while you help us heal the wrong.
For without you we would not exist your beauty we'd never know,
Oceans would not wash the shores and the rivers would not flow.
Let this be a prayer to save us the Maestro has done his best.
To guide us to awakening, it is more than just a test.
For our future is in the balance we could easily disappear,
Like the dust before a thunderstorm. We need to shed our fear.
There are sacred temples, where the spirits make their home.
Far from civilisation where their presence can be known.
Without the interference of the bustling daily life.
Away from the pollution from the trouble and the strife.
It's here that we can contact them, it's here that we can feel,
Their great but subtle power and we know that they are real.
When we allow ourselves to be here with a full and open heart,
When in touch with Pachamama we would never want to part.
Pachamama gives me comfort in a way I've never known,
She covers up my weakness, seeds of courage she has sown.
Now she's left it up to us to help that courage grow.
Take it out into the world to let the disbelievers know.
Copyright © Les Pick | Year Posted 2023
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Les Pick Poem
Where is Heaven?
I know you’re looking for heaven my boy.
I know you’re looking for heaven.
You’ve been looking since you were seven my boy.
You’ve been looking since you were seven.
That’s where your mother went my boy.
That’s where your mother went.
The Good Lord took her away my boy.
And that’s where she was sent.
Now the truth may cause you to weep my boy,
the truth may cause you to weep.
For heaven is not where you seek my boy,
no heaven is not where you seek.
For you wont find heaven on earth my boy,
You won’t find heaven on earth.
If heaven is a place with only love and joy,
Then you wont find heaven on earth.
And you wont find heaven on earth my boy,
you wont find heaven on earth.
If in heaven there is only care and trust,
then you wont find heaven on earth.
Now you wont find heaven on earth my boy,
you wont find heaven on earth.
If heaven is a place where we live in peace,
then you wont find heaven on earth.
And you wont find heaven on earth my boy,
no you wont find heaven on earth.
If heaven is a place with no fear or pain,
then you wont find heaven on earth.
I say you wont find heaven on earth my boy,
no you wont find heaven on earth.
If in heaven there is no jealousy or greed,
then you wont find heaven on earth.
Surely you wont find heaven on earth my boy,
You wont find heaven on earth.
If heaven is a place where there is no hate,
Then you wont find heaven on earth.
Now I see I’ve made you cry my boy,
I see I’ve made you cry.
For the fear of never finding her,
And remembering that last good-by.
But we’ll all be together again my boy,
We’ll all be together again.
Though it means we’ll have to wait my boy,
Yes, it means we’ll have to wait.
So live your life, live it well my boy,
Be happy and carefree and honest,
For I’m sure when it ends, you’ll have the joy.
Of the love from the mother you’ve honoured
The young lad grew into a young man and then a family man.
And then one day he approached his father saying.
Remember when you told me father,
There was no Heaven on Earth.
I gave it serious thought then father,
For in your voice there was no mirth.
You said I wouldn't find Heaven father,
If I searched throughout the world.
You said it's not where I looked father,
It'd be easier to find a black pearl.
Your words then caused me to search father,
And that search was continuous and long.
The answer is obvious to me now father,
Though I'm not saying, you're wrong.
It is now so easy for me to see father,
We need only reverse our gaze.
Being distracted by all the hype father,
Will surely keep us in the maze.
Our time has come to evolve father,
It's calling us, begging us to respond,
If we would outgrow our selfish ways father,
Fear and violence would not find a home.
With this I know you'd agree father,
This world I've now come to enjoy.
My sovereignty from the beginning father,
Is what the system has tried to destroy.
We are sparks of light, that is love father,
We were blessed by our creator.
The game is to find our way home father,
We'll all arrive there sooner or later.
There are no more words I can say father,
Great knowledge is not granted to me.
But Heaven resides within father,
Knowing this will set us free.
Copyright © Les Pick | Year Posted 2022
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