Friday, February 22, 2008

JOHN FARLEY, prose and poetry

I going to throw my hand in and have a go at prose.
The puritans will throw their hands up, I guess he is permitted, make a stand.
He has been an honest person all over he has traveled, far and wide, well in Australia.
What’s the criteria here, tell a story, make a rhyme, is that where what it resides.
OH, bugger, first mistake, will have another go at something peaceful; my brain wants an art form.
Where can this come from, all I have ever known is lower class, my family, we are people, world is big now.
What a comment, forgive me kin, the very best poets have lived a life, have a world within.

So here’s my prose.

Waves, bred by hidden force ocean waves, ground swell waves, heaving falling will we understand the magnitude, the power is magnetic in its wisdom, contemption and relentless.
We watch with envy, crashing bashing, sometimes grinding, our precious earth.
Watch that beautiful flowing motion, powerful, intrinsic, our earth.
Did we come from here, where we born from, can we make some sense, it has mystic presence, a wild dark presence.
Watch the power, the sound, spectacular, eruption, the vented spume, it sprays and surges.
Feel eons of life, life back, is it saying we are, we were, God has been here, legacy, my God your God.
Waves, beautiful motions in time, watch in awe the blessings, we live here, we love here, this place, the ocean.
Waves, endless, preoccupation. Our world has known this image, this vista beauteous face, waves were born well before the human race.

Couldn’t help myself, I’m gonna take lessons.

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