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J Eliza James Poem
FROM A HOSPITAL BED
Wordancer
Even if I’m dizzy with an aching head,
I must not disturb the others in the beds
In this hospital ward where not much is said
For fear of making a fuss.
It’s not much fun with nothing to do
Can’t even get up to go to the Loo
The doctors come, and ask, ‘How are you?’
It’s hard to tell them which is worse
Visiting hours and here’s Dad and Mum
Who immediately asks me why I’m so glum.
I tell them, ‘The others had ice-cream, but I got none,
And, if it was you Dad; you’d curse!’
Patting my hand, Mum says, ‘It’s all right,’
And Dad says, ‘You might get some tonight,
Cos you’re looking better, you’re not so white,
I’ll go over and ask that nurse.’
Back he comes grinning down the ward,
And sits back in the chair without a word,
To Mum he whispers so he can’t be heard
Then his eyes meet mine, his lips are pursed.
The doors swing open; a nurse comes through,
Carrying a tray and says, ‘This is for you,
You can have some now you are healing like new,
To Mum, Dad says, ‘We’ll cancel the hearse!’
I’ve broken no bones, the x-rays prove,
But there’ll be a scar and a slight groove
Left from the fencepost that failed to move
When I fell on it, off my horse
With an arm in a sling and one foot on the ground,
The other in plaster and my head bandaged round,
I’m going home soon, and my horse has been found
Across the river, but he’s none the worst.
It’s easy to laugh with no aching head
And it doesn’t disturb the others in beds
‘There is no need to fear,’ as everyone says,
‘Just ring the bell for the nurse!’
Copyright © J Eliza James | Year Posted 2012
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J Eliza James Poem
ENOUGH FOR ALL
by Wordancer
All the species of this world, whether mammal, fish or bird
Are provided with their food, whatever their taste
Each created for the other,
When the offspring leaves the mother
There is all the food that’s needed without waste.
The ants will feed the lizard, and in turn, it feeds the Hawk
The flies they feed the spiders, then the frogs.
The amphibian feeds the snake
Which the Kookaburras take
And in time, they all feed ants inside the logs.
The logs fall from mighty trees that house and feed the tiny bees
that fertilize the plants we use as foods.
With rain and sun the crops will flourish
And when harvested, they can nourish
All the peoples in the world, if we so choose
Foods for all the nations are here in God’s Creations,
Glorious is the spirit that’s big enough to care.
Food goes where it’s needed
If our sight is not impeded
Or we keep it for ourselves when there’s enough for all to share.
In this world of ours we’re brothers, sisters, fathers, mothers,
We’re all related by living on this earth.
Whatever we do tomorrow
Can bring happiness or sorrow
Today is when we work out what it’s worth.
Copyright © J Eliza James | Year Posted 2012
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J Eliza James Poem
Nature’s Single Dad’s
THE LEAFY SEA DRAGON
Gracefully swaying without need for speed
Are creatures of beauty, disguised as seaweed.
Up to twelve inches long from tail to snout
These delicate creatures just drift about.
They carry, as they move like galleons in sail,
Silk-like appendages, leafy and pale
On back spines, projecting as masts on a ship
Sailing the oceans, they rise and they dip,
To the rhythm of moon tides; full or neap,
They travel the seas; these Dragons of the Deep.
Through weed-covered reefs and meadows of sea grass
There’s neither a neigh nor a moo as they pass.
They resemble sea horses in flowing silk gowns
Drifting on rhythms, dancing up and then down.
They slow dance through the water just moving around
No fire, no flames from these dragons; not a sound.
The mother will lay two hundred eggs on Dad’s patch
Of soft sponge, where safely they’ll hatch.
The sun flashes golden as she drifts on by,
While in the shadow on his tail, his offspring lie.
This single Dad of the deep tends a new generation,
Of Leafy Sea Dragon eggs; a fascinating creation.
Less than one inch when first hatched from the eggs
As newly formed babies; ready for life without legs.
They drift as if they feed, gaining the silky covered bone
To a length of twelve inches by the time they’re full grown.
The cycles of the moon dictate the rhythms and motion
Of this Leafy Sea Dragon in the great Southern Ocean.
The Leafy Sea Dragon is just one of Natures' Single Dads worthy of a mention for the survival of the species.
Copyright © J Eliza James | Year Posted 2012
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J Eliza James Poem
The Prospector:
He packs his tack in a great canvas sack
And then drives away in his car.
Nobody cries as they wave their goodbyes;
They will await his return from afar.
When he reaches the track he will find his way back
With his GPS tuned to a star.
The stories are told how he travels the road
With constant anticipation,
He ignores the snakes as he hammers in stakes,
On the boundary of his location
This man has gone bush, and he shows no rush
To return to civilization.
This modern-gold seeker, with a stick and a beeper
That creates echoes to his ears from the ground.
On his own, he unpacks his gear from his sacks,
He’s left family and friends in the town.
Now the bush replaces their loving embraces
With an encompassing sky and a peaceful surround.
The look on his face shows nary a trace
Of emotion as he unpacks his gear.
He sets up his camp, and primes his lamp,
Lights fire, and watches a dingo draw near.
Staring into the embers, he starts to remember
Other campsites like the one he has here.
He wakes in the morning, stretching and yawning
As he extracts his bones from the ground.
His muscles will strengthen as the days lengthen
While he walks the grid; listening to sounds.
Bright are his eyes, as he unearths the prize
His detector, signals it there to be found.
When his eyes behold the nugget of gold
As he digs in the earth for this prize
They sparkle and shine as he takes out his twine,
Knotted, for measurement of size.
The tail of his shirt removes unwanted dirt
And hessian covers rock from prying eyes
As he looks to the ground; there is more to be found!
Shards that catch the bright setting sun.
He puts some in a pot, then marks this fine spot,
So he can find it again when he’s done.
For the task of recording his find in the morning,
He must leave; he feels he should run.
From the past he has learned, he knows he’ll return
After the assayer sees what's in his sack.
There is quiet celebration, with this revelation
As he phones his partner to say she should pack.
They both go to sign on the dotted line,
Then together they travel the track back.
Wordancer
Copyright © J Eliza James | Year Posted 2012
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J Eliza James Poem
The Country District Nurse
If you listened to the gossip down the street or at the mall,
That someone had been hurt, or had a fall,
You could bet your boots that she was there
With her navy blue bag, and her hat on her hair
Right up the front with those who did care,
Giving attention, and helpful to all.
She had to get her facts right so she could tell it true
How it happened, what was where, and who was who.
Opening her pad she’d begin to write
Of all she had heard and saw at the site
She had to make sure that she recorded it right
For it could mean a lot to you.
She retired; the government said the service now not needed,
But it did not stop her giving to her district, for she heeded
Their calls, when the doctor was far away
In the city, at the clinic every day’,
He personally paid his Nurse to stay
To continue the service, unimpeded.
When she got older and with fading sight
She did not stop caring to turn wrong into right
Whether around the corner or across the park
She knew which dog was worse than its bark,
And if you weren’t home until well after dark,
She would keep her light burning all night.
Her happy cheerful nature is no longer seen in town
When they seek her for advice, she can’t be found.
Her memory remains with the children, now grown,
As if they snuffle along with a cough and a groan,
With no nursing service like the one they had known,
They drive to the clinic; city bound.
©
Copyright © J Eliza James | Year Posted 2012
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J Eliza James Poem
RISING FROM THE ASHES
Wordancer
The eyes of the dragon seen through the trees
Mesmerize minds and cause bodies to freeze.
Which way to go, which way to turn;
No time for questions when the trees burn.
Just jump in the cars and flee towards town
But the road is cut off as the wind swings around.
No way to go, no way to turn;
An acceptance of fate, as the trees burn.
The fence of the paddock does not impede
The scorched car that flattens it, picking up speed
Away from the flames, away they must turn
Desperate with fear, as the trees burn.
The breath of this beast lights fires with no flame
The heat of its breath burn all just the same.
It’s tail flames on, it’s head, see it turn
Back towards town, there are more things to burn.
With fire, smoke and tears these folk have learnt
To rise from the ashes; spirits singed; not burnt
A call for assistance, now the schools turn
To grey squares of ashes; and more townships burn.
The calls went out across this wide country
And the offers came from all and sundry.
What do you need? What can we bring you?
They were told, so they went; what else would they do?
Hand towels, toothbrushes, soap and shampoo
To clean away ashes; the soot, and tears too
Through fire and smoke, these folk have learnt
To rise from the ashes; spirits singed; not burnt
The towns’ people will labor as long as there’s need,
They’ll listen and learn and plant as they weed,
While their houses and schools, fire stations too,
Rise from the ashes, and stand good as new.
The February Dragon has left for a time,
But hope that heals the scars in the minds
Of the people there, is strong and alive,
They have rebuilt their towns, their dreams and their lives.
©
Copyright © J Eliza James | Year Posted 2012
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J Eliza James Poem
Nature’s Single Dad:
The Australian Emu :
The first 55 days
Emund is busy
preparing his
dance-floor for
partners who’ll put
him to the test.
His pedigree line
has proven with time
that it is now his
turn, to be best.
He hears them emerge
from the bush as
they gather in
answer to nature’s
call.
They dance, and then
go away, they know
they cannot stay;
there is not enough
food for them all.
They dip and they
weave as they mingle
together knowing
that each has a
chance
With his reputation,
there is no
hesitation;
he is ready to join
in the dance.
‘Bonk! Bonk,’ comes
the sound of another
arrival, ‘It’s
Emulena!’ he says
with a grin.
Others move to the
side as he leaves
them mid-stride
to greet this dancer
as she flounces in.
With sensuous,
rhythmic movement of
hips she fluffs up
her boa, it bounces
in time.
He matches her mood.
His movements are
smooth
as they twist and
twirl in their
dancing mime.
He does not fuss
about who takes the
lead, he follows and
their dance now is
ending.
With steps that are
light he glides to
the right,
he meets her, bows
deeply, head
bending.
Emulena says,
“Sorry, we cannot
stay longer, we all
must find paddocks
anew.
It matters not
whether we all stay
together,
we trust you to know
what to do.”
As she speaks, they
deposit their gifts,
and he hears, as in
chorus they say,
“We know you’ll do
magically, what you
do naturally
to deliver these in
your own way.”
After completing her
task, Emulena stands
tall and she fluffs
up her feathers once
more.
They follow her lead
in twos, and in
threes,
and promenade across
the dance floor.
Left all alone, he
goes back to his
duties and looks
closely at each pale
green shell.
He checks all for
defects. He sees
they are perfect,
so with care he
covers every one
well.
He sticks to his
task for fifty-five
days in sunshine,
strong winds and
some showers.
He values each
treasure and tends
them with pleasure
as he, turns each
egg every three
hours.
Through his long
lashes he sees
danger coming. He
drops his neck down
like a log.
Feathers flying on
high and red fur
prowls near-by;
he needs to fool
both bird and dog.
The shells have now
turned a dark bluey
green, there’s an
infertile egg in the
batch.
This egg will be
food for his hungry
brood;
but he won’t eat or
drink, ‘til they
hatch.
Each day he looks
up, and turns his
head to the sun as
it rises each
morning.
He’ll sit day and
night until the
time’s right.
He knows, that time
comes without
warning.
to be continued...
Copyright © J Eliza James | Year Posted 2012
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J Eliza James Poem
WHAT’S IN A NAME
My Name?
I'll set the record straight, right now for what it's worth
Wordancer was not the name my mother gave me at my birth.
My avatar can be Emu, Fairy, Frog, or a dinner suited Wagtail
Like the one who tattles to the birds when a Cat is on their trail.
This Poetically Spirited Soup shows there’s a welcome at the door,
I don't know you; you don't know me, I'll see you on the dance floor
As I travel through this varied life other names I sometimes own,
Like, Eliza and Threadneedle, they're all part of me alone.
On the Southern Fleurieu Peninsula, on the South Australian coast
Near the town of Yankalilla, is the place that I haunt most,
And if you're ever down our way the door is left ajar
You'll be welcome whether travelling from close by or from afar.
Oh yes, I love to dance.
Wordancer
Copyright © J Eliza James | Year Posted 2012
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J Eliza James Poem
NATURE’S SINGLE DADS:
THE AUSTRALIAN EMU
The next sixteen months:
CRR-ACK ~ “That’s loud,” he exclaims getting up on his legs, so knobbly and thin.
He looks down to the ground,
where he first heard the sound,
and says, “Now it’s your turn to begin.”
Hours go by, as each little chick tries to break free of its protective cover.
They all work their way,
throughout the long day,
then all greet their father-come-mother.
For his new family he breaks the last shell. To his fluffy striped chicks, he’s their mother.
As they grow older under Dad’s shoulder
he will nurture, each sister and brother.
In time, they will leave his home on the dance floor; a single dad, with chicks he will roam.
With high steps he will prance.
They will learn every dance
for survival, before he goes home.
With the changing seasons, Emund finds reasons to leave his young chicks on their own
Others join with his brood
now there’s plenty of food,
Emund turns and again, he’s alone.
Not taking the chance of being late for the dance Emund picks up his speed on the track.
They won’t meet at his gate
if he gets home too late
to dance to the rhythms of the outback.
The Australian Emu; one of Natures' Single Dads worthy of a mention for the survival of the species in the extremes of the outback.
Copyright © J Eliza James | Year Posted 2012
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J Eliza James Poem
PROGRESS
CHRISTMAS TOYS AND JOYS
The toys in the shops today are different from the past,
with electronics replacing bat and ball.
Even parents get in the mix, and children need be fast,
if they want to play with their new toys at all.
Back-yard cricket is forgotten when the Wii comes on the scene.
Virtual sports replace the games we know.
Invisible balls are slashed at when hit towards the screen
and a cartoon rival hits it back to you.
These rivals in the TV Box will play with you alone,
or you can play with a friend by your side.
Sometimes a couch potato gets up to play and groan,
but keen to join the game with a swing that’s wide.
The DS, Xbox and the PSP keep everyone amused
with puzzles for the brains of young and old.
There’s Pokemon and Mario forever been renewed,
played with concentration; fingers quick and bold.
But the games are put aside when we are called to table;
no fast food today it’s Christmas fare for all.
There’s turkey, pudding, pies and cakes to eat if we are able,
then we often fall asleep on the lounge, or in the hall.
But lives, when shared with others are better for the sharing,
with memories created and sent across the miles.
These keep us going when we feel alone, with no one caring,
then we see their photos; remember friendships and we smile.
Wordancer
Copyright © J Eliza James | Year Posted 2012
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