PALINDROME: BINX

21 April 2024

Orange NSW 
 

Under the table 

Outside 

Bathing in the sun

Keeping warm.

After play 

His space 

Alone.

Leah C Dancel 

21 April 2024

APRIL HAIKU: SUNRISE

Written in Orange NSW

SUNRISE 

Glinting rays over 

The rooftop of sleeping hosts

Town awaken by.

Leah C Dancel 

#haiku 

21 April 2021

Colour City 

DAFFODILS by William Wordsworth

Lifted from ENGLISH LITERATURE

18 April 2024/FB

"DAFFODILS" 

(I Wandered Lonely As A Cloud)

By William Wordsworth

I wandered lonely as a cloud

That floats on high o'er vales and hills,

When all at once I saw a crowd,

A host, of golden daffodils;

Beside the lake, beneath the trees,

Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine

And twinkle on the milky way,

They stretched in never-ending line

Along the margin of a bay:

Ten thousand saw I at a glance,

Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they

Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:

A poet could not but be gay,

In such a jocund company:

I gazed—and gazed—but little thought

What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie

In vacant or in pensive mood,

They flash upon that inward eye

Which is the bliss of solitude;

And then my heart with pleasure fills,

And dances with the daffodils.

Analysis;

"I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud" (also commonly known as "Daffodils") is a poem by William Wordsworth that is known for its celebration of the beauty of nature and its ability to bring joy and happiness in times of despair. The poem is written in the first person, with the speaker describing their own personal experience of wandering through a field of daffodils.

The poem is divided into four stanzas, each of which describes a different aspect of the speaker's experience. The first stanza sets the scene and describes the speaker's feeling of loneliness as they wander through the countryside. The imagery of a cloud floating over hills and valleys evokes a sense of isolation and detachment, which contrasts with the vibrant and joyful scene that the speaker is about to encounter.

The second stanza describes the moment when the speaker comes across a field of daffodils. The imagery of the daffodils stretching in a "never-ending line" along the shoreline creates a sense of awe and wonder, and the comparison to the stars in the Milky Way emphasizes the vastness and beauty of the scene. The use of the word "host" to describe the daffodils also suggests that they are not just a random collection of flowers, but an organized and purposeful group.

The third stanza describes the speaker's emotional response to the scene. The use of words like "gay" and "jocund" suggest that the sight of the daffodils has brought the speaker a sense of happiness and pleasure. The phrase "I gazed—and gazed—but little thought / What wealth the show to me had brought" suggests that the speaker did not fully realize the impact the daffodils would have on them until after they had seen them.

The final stanza describes the lasting effect of the daffodils. The use of the phrase "And then my heart with pleasure fills / And dances with the daffodils" suggests that the sight of the daffodils has lifted the speaker's spirits and brought them a sense of joy and happiness.

The poem is also known for its use of imagery, particularly the image of the daffodils dancing in the breeze, which creates a sense of movement and liveliness that contrasts with the stillness and isolation of the opening lines. The poem also makes use of personification, as the daffodils are described as "dancing" and "tossing their heads" which imbues them with human-like characteristics and adds to the lively and joyful nature of the scene.

____ ^*^ ____

12 August 2024

A more thorough analysis in expanded form as elucidated by ENGLISH LITERATURE Page to which this credit is due. 

DAFFODILS

BY WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 

"I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud" (also sometimes called "Daffodils") is a lyric poem by William Wordsworth. It is one of his most popular, and was inspired by an encounter on 15 April 1802 during a walk with his younger sister Dorothy, when they saw a "long belt" of daffodils on the shore of Ullswater in the English Lake District. Written in 1804, this 24 line lyric was first published in 1807 in Poems, in Two Volumes, and revised in 1815. 

It is a quintessential Romantic poem that celebrates the beauty of nature and the profound emotional connection between the natural world and the human soul.

SHORT SUMMARY: 

The poem begins with the speaker, who feels lonely and detached, comparing himself to a cloud that floats high above valleys and hills. This image sets the tone for the poem, emphasizing the speaker's isolation from the world around him.

However, this loneliness is soon alleviated when the speaker encounters a "crowd" of golden daffodils beside a lake, fluttering and dancing in the breeze. The sight of these daffodils is uplifting, and Wordsworth uses personification to give them a life of their own. The flowers "toss their heads" and "dance," creating an image of joy and movement that contrasts sharply with the speaker's earlier solitude.

The daffodils are described as being "continuous as the stars that shine," suggesting their vast number and the endless beauty they represent. This comparison to stars also imbues the scene with a sense of timelessness and eternity, as if the daffodils are not just a fleeting moment of beauty, but a lasting source of inspiration.

In the final stanza, the speaker reflects on how the memory of the daffodils brings him comfort even when he is alone or in a "pensive mood." The daffodils become a symbol of inner peace and joy, capable of lifting his spirits and filling his heart with pleasure. This enduring emotional impact illustrates the Romantic belief in the healing power of nature.

THEMES: 

1. NATURE'S HEALING POWER: The poem underscores the idea that nature has the ability to console and uplift the human spirit. The sight of the daffodils provides the speaker with solace and joy, both in the moment and in memory.

2. THE IMPORTANCE OF MEMORY: Wordsworth highlights the significance of memory in preserving the beauty of nature. The daffodils are not just a temporary delight but a source of lasting happiness, stored in the speaker's mind.

3. SOLITUDE AND CONNECTION: The poem explores the contrast between solitude and connection. While the speaker starts in a state of loneliness, his encounter with the daffodils fills him with a sense of connection to the natural world, alleviating his isolation.

4. ROMANTICISM: The poem embodies key elements of Romanticism, such as the emphasis on emotion, the celebration of nature, and the exploration of the individual's inner experience.

HAIKU 2024

Posted at ILA

17 April 2024

HAIKU POETRY DAY 

By Steve Lyman 

TRILOGY

#1
A summer rose buds 
Draw their last blooming saga
Petals wilt and die.

#
The leaves are falling
Trees stripping off their old barks
Twigs and limbs weakened.

#3
It's Fall,  but, Autumn
Down Under changing season
Cool nights, slumbering.

Leah C Dancel
17 April 2024

FLOWERS 

Though flowers may fail 

To win a heart, hard to win

Handle them with care.

Leah C Dancel 

17 April 2024

PSCS 

ROSES

Let thy love be known 

With roses that spark romance

To sweet lady fair.

Leah C Dancel

17 April 2024

PSCS 

Dedicated to Eve Sison

 

WHEN MORNING COMES

Poem by Lenore Caytiles

When Morning Comes

When morning comes, welcome it with a smile

No matter whether the clouds are white, black or gray

And the skies clear or not

Whether the day is sunny or gloomy

Just be thankful.

The morning is always beautiful for it is the beginning of a new day

A new day has come to give us hope

The pain we felt might be gone

Another chance to do better

and difficult tasks done.

Time to start a new beginning

Time to take a new road if the other way didn't turn out right

Time to view the world with the brightest hope

Leaving all the blues and the pains behind.

Tire not. 

Do not give up for this tomorrow might have the best for you.

April 15, 2024

Sunrise in Carmona. Cavite

THE SOLILIQUY OF THE SUN

31 March 2024

The Soliloquy of the Sun

By Rado Gatchalian

I look at the East

And bow down 

To the moon and the stars,

The glittering lights

That strike my soul —

It vaporises my fullness

And it makes me whole.

But as I stretch my sight

And dare to look Him in the eye —

I become blind,

And never shall I see again the visible.

But as I hide for thousand years —

Slowly within me,

A humble monk of no dogmas,

I shine like sunlight,

Like petals in the ocean,

Quietly waiting for sunrise.

"Look to my coming at first light on the fifth day. At dawn, look to the East.” 

~ Gandalf

A NEW SEASON

By Leah C Dancel

24 March 2024

A NEW SEASON 

Waking up to a new season's day!

Cool and cosy 

Driving me alive and esprit!

By the window's seen that majestic sky

Behind a nature's screen in green

That promises a colour void of strife. 

Five fingers leaf climbers portray 

A renaissance of early autumn crisps

This awning highlights a refreshing view. 

Quietly as time goes by 

No one dares to disturb

The silence of the sphere. 

©️ Leah C Dancel 

Copyright @ 24 March 2024

All rights reserved 

SH-AUSTRALIA

SOLITUDE

By Jeffrey Cejero

22 March 2024

Solitude

by jepoy

From dusts, I am created

Aided  by the burning compassion

Of the flowing river of time

And the void turning into a space.

It was not easy for me to exist.

Everyday is a silent cold war

But still I decided to fight

In a battle where destiny is the victor.

From a distant, I watched in silence

Those glistening gems under the heavens

And I dreamed to be like them someday

Until this wish turned into a star.

I flexed my good traits

Twinkling, smiling at all times

Hope these acts could help brighten the sky

But I was judged for being too flashy and arrogant.

I asked the cloud to cover me all the time.

I begged the moon to outshine me in all nights

And if ever, you never find me

It's all because, in solitude I find my peace.

WHEN I AM OLD

Lifted from FB

Rumi and Spirit Quotes 

22 March 2024

Photo credit to the owner. 

WHEN I AM OLD

When I am old...

I will wear soft gray sweatshirts...

and a bandana over my silver hair...

and I will spend my social security checks on my dogs.

I will sit in my house on my well-worn chair

and listen to my dogs breathing.

I will sneak out in the middle of a warm summer night

and take my dogs for a run, if my old bones will allow...

When people come to call, I will smile and nod

as I show them my dogs...

and talk of them and about them...

...the ones so beloved of the past

and the ones so beloved of today...

I will still work hard cleaning after them,

mopping and feeding them and whispering their names

in a soft loving way.

I will wear the gleaming sweat on my throat,

like a jewel, and I will be an embarrassment to all...

especially my family...

who have not yet found the peace in being free

to have dogs as your best friends...

These friends who always wait, at any hour, for your footfall...

and eagerly jump to their feet out of a sound sleep,

to greet you as if you are a God,

with warm eyes full of adoring love and hope

that you will always stay,

I'll hug their big strong necks...

I'll kiss their dear sweet heads...

and whisper in their very special company....

I look in the mirror... and see I am getting old....

this is the kind of person I am...

and have always been.

Loving dogs is easy, they are part of me.

Please accept me for who I am.

My dogs appreciate my presence in their lives...

they love my presence in their lives...

When I am old this will be important to me...

you will understand when you are old,

if you have dogs to love too.

-Author Unknown

TOWARD ETERNITY

By Emily Dickinson

Lifted from English Literature 

Because I could not stop for Death –

He kindly stopped for me –

The Carriage held but just Ourselves –

And Immortality.

We slowly drove – He knew no haste

And I had put away

My labor and my leisure too,

For His Civility –

We passed the School, where Children strove

At Recess – in the Ring –

We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain –

We passed the Setting Sun –

Or rather – He passed Us –

The Dews drew quivering and Chill –

For only Gossamer, my Gown –

My Tippet – only Tulle –

We paused before a House that seemed

A Swelling of the Ground –

The Roof was scarcely visible –

The Cornice – in the Ground –

Since then – 'tis Centuries – and yet

Feels shorter than the Day

I first surmised the Horses' Heads

Were toward Eternity –

EMILY DICKINSON

***

CTTO

Source: Read More Books 

She wrote 1,800 poems, and only 10 were published in her lifetime—all without her permission. Emily Dickinson spent thirty years writing some of the most revolutionary poetry in American literature. And almost no one knew. She didn't seek fame. She didn't want publication. When a few of her poems appeared in newspapers—edited, "corrected," stripped of her distinctive punctuation and capitalization—she was horrified. They had ruined them. So she stopped trying. She wrote for herself, and for a handful of people she trusted. Born in 1830 in Amherst, Massachusetts, Emily grew up in one of the town's most prominent families. Her father was a lawyer and congressman. Her family expected her to be social, accomplished, marriageable. She had other plans. In her late twenties, something shifted. Emily began declining invitations. She stopped going to church. She saw fewer people. By her thirties, she rarely left her family's property. By her forties, she wouldn't come downstairs to greet visitors—she'd lower baskets of gingerbread from her bedroom window instead, or speak to guests from the top of the stairs while remaining hidden. No one knows exactly why. Some scholars believe she suffered from anxiety or agoraphobia. Others suggest epilepsy, or eye problems that made bright light painful. Some think she simply preferred solitude to society's suffocating expectations of women. Maybe all of it was true. What we know for certain is this: in that upstairs bedroom, Emily Dickinson was writing poetry unlike anything America had ever seen. Her poems were short, sharp, startling. They broke all the rules. She used dashes instead of conventional punctuation. She capitalized Random words for Emphasis. Her rhymes were slant and strange. Her syntax twisted like roots breaking through stone. She wrote about death as if it were a gentleman caller arriving in a carriage. She wrote about hope as a bird with feathers. She wrote about pain so precisely that readers a century later would say, "Yes. Exactly that. "But she shared her work with almost no one. One person she did trust was Thomas Wentworth Higginson, a well-known editor and writer. In April 1862, Emily sent him four poems with a letter asking, "Are you too deeply occupied to say if my Verse is alive? "Higginson was baffled. Her poems were brilliant but strange—too strange for the literary magazines of the day. He encouraged her to keep writing but advised her not to publish. She didn't mind. She kept sending him poems anyway, hundreds over the years. Their correspondence became one of the most fascinating literary relationships in American history: a famous editor who didn't quite understand the reclusive genius who kept writing to him. Then, around 1863, Emily started wearing only white. White dresses. White shawls. Nothing else. Every day, for the rest of her life. Her neighbors noticed. People whispered. The woman who never left her house now looked like a ghost when she did appear at a window. Why white? No one knows for sure. Some scholars think it symbolized purity or artistic dedication—a kind of uniform for her vocation as poet. Others suggest it was mourning that never ended, perhaps for a lost love (she had intense emotional attachments to several people, though whether any were romantic remains debated). Some believe it was simply practical: she could focus on poetry instead of choosing what to wear. Whatever the reason, the white dresses became part of her legend: the reclusive poet in white, writing upstairs while the world moved on without her. She wasn't completely isolated. She wrote hundreds of letters—witty, warm, philosophical letters to friends and family. She tended her conservatory, growing exotic flowers. She baked bread for neighbors. She had deep friendships, just conducted almost entirely through correspondence. And she wrote. Constantly. By the time she died in 1886 at age 55, Emily Dickinson had written approximately 1,789 poems. She kept them in hand-sewn booklets she called "fascicles," hidden in a drawer in her bedroom. Her sister Lavinia found them after her death and was stunned. She knew Emily wrote poetry, but had no idea how much. Lavinia was determined to get them published, despite Emily's wishes for privacy. It took years. The first collection appeared in 1890, heavily edited to make the poems more "conventional"—exactly what Emily had feared. But even butchered, they were a sensation. Readers recognized genius. It wasn't until 1955 that Emily Dickinson's poems were finally published as she wrote them, with all her odd punctuation and wild capitalizations intact. And suddenly, readers could see what she'd been doing: not breaking rules out of ignorance, but inventing an entirely new way of writing. Today, Emily Dickinson is recognized as one of America's greatest poets, alongside Walt Whitman. Her work influenced modernists like T.S. Eliot and continues to shape contemporary poetry. But here's what makes her story remarkable: she did it all while rejecting everything the literary world demanded. She didn't network. She didn't promote herself. She didn't conform to editorial expectations. She didn't seek approval or fame or validation. She just wrote what she needed to write, exactly how she needed to write it, in a room upstairs while wearing white. And 140 years after her death, millions of people read her words and think: "Yes. She understood. "Emily Dickinson proved that you don't need the world's permission to create something that matters. You don't need to be seen to be significant. You don't need to explain yourself to anyone. Sometimes the most powerful thing you can do is close the door, write your truth, and trust that eventually, the right people will find it. She wrote: "I'm Nobody! Who are you? / Are you—Nobody—too? "Turns out, that Nobody changed everything.

 

WHEN I THINK ABOUT MYSELF

By Maya Angelou

When I think about myself,

I almost laugh myself to death,

My life has been one great big joke,

A dance that's walked

A song that's spoke,

I laugh so hard I almost choke

When I think about myself.

Sixty years in these folks' world

The child I works for calls me girl

I say 'Yes ma'am' for working's sake.

Too proud to bend

Too poor to break,

I laugh until my stomach ache,

When I think about myself.

My folks can make me split my side,

I laughed so hard I nearly died,

The tales they tell, sound just like lying,

They grow the fruit,

But eat the rind,

I laugh until I start to crying,

When I think about my folks.

@Maya Angelou

Source: American Literature 

IF A SEAGULL CAME

Lifted from Mir of Lisbon

"If a seagull came"

bring me the Lisbon skies

in the drawing I made,

In the sky where you look

It's a wing that does not fly,

take a nap and fall into the sea.

What a perfect heart

a battery in my chest

my love in your hand,

That hand where it fit

perfect my heart“

Poem by Alexander O'Neill

WHEN YOU ARE OLD

Lifted from Grace Celeste Chan

"WHEN YOU ARE OLD" 

by William Butler Yeats

When you are old and grey and full of sleep,

And nodding by the fire, take down this book,

And slowly read, and dream of the soft look

Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,

And loved your beauty with love false or true,

But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,

And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

And bending down beside the glowing bars,

Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled

And paced upon the mountains overhead

And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

(One of the last poems that W.B. Yeats wrote. Born 13 June 1865 – Died 28 January 1939)

Image of W.B. Yeats public domain by Charles George Beresford via Wikimedia Commons.

A DISTANT SCENE

By Leah C Dancel

A DISTANT SCENE

Let me dream about you
While sailing away towards the sunset
Let me gaze into the twilight
With mind undazed by its golden kiss.

The tranquil mood of the sphere
Is hearkened by the moon rising above.
I'm enamoured by its alluring light;
Softly touching my bassinet of dreams.

Will you meet me on this quiet night?
That gently tucked me in a  zephyr's bliss.
I heard your voice from a distant scene
Whisked by the wind in a whisp'ring swirl.

The sunset lingers on this summer night
Where strands of wisp clouds floating in the sky
Resplendent in its aureate robe
Like a crown that illumines the throne.

©️ Leah C Dancel
Copyright ©️ 31 January 2024
All rights reserved
SH-AUSTRALIA 

Info: Colnect 

Comment 

"That's such a beautiful poem, Mang! The imagery of the sunset and the moonlight weaving through the verses creates a serene atmosphere. I especially love the way you use "bassinet of dreams" and the idea of the wind carrying voices. It's a lovely way to capture a peaceful moment and a distant longing." ~Melany Amante Mabao Maguindanao 

"Beautiful poetry about sunset; meaningful, descriptive & poignant." ~Teresita Sy Giok Liong

IN SEARCH OF DEAD MOMENT

Shared with permission from the author.

In Search of The  Dead Moment 

(Published by Delhi Post, India)

The moment of my cry!

Still springing over me

As I ran back the glaring reminiscence

A funny fly touched my eye

An amazing feeling, body quivered

And a wave of hoarse sounds of infancy

Murmured in my ear

The nature made me dumb and blind

Though I was not my own creation

Blew in its light in freedom

 

My cry from birth to the third year

Were but a vague memory

I rushed to find the moment

Whenever I was with my innocence

My mind recounted towards the years

And mind blows in a cool grin

Till silence prevailed

 

My birth to the land

The sacred gift of glory

The moment of closing eyes

It’s remained unchanged to see

As my ears were bearing echo

 

Keeping me on my past

Was I hurting my mother?

Oh! She was the pawn of nature

Her mind always in my eyes

And my innocent eyes playing

Beyond the world.

 

Tears in my eyes along with past

It stopped when I felt

Could I ever hear by my naked ears?

To make my mind as fair as blue sky

 

I ran my line along with moment

As free as highway in loneliness

To bring a point of my cry

To know what I didn’t hear

I should wipe out the teardrops

From my mother’s eyes

In my privilege over my past

 

Yet, I was living with my nature

In search of my dead moment

I shouted through my voice, forlorn

To see and feel my infancy

 

In my mother’s liberty

My eyes would gaze in her eyes

I would be transmitting my sound

Beseeching with a continuous echo

Staying beyond my privilege

Waiting for my dead moment

(C) Hum Ale

(2000) 

Comment:

Very charismatic, nostalgic, poignant. A lovely reflection of youth of how much you have remembered in bringing honour in memory of your dear Mother. Its depthness (and I won't mention a tinged of regret) is one I can relate, perhaps, others too. Excellent narration, with rhythm that accentuates the whole story. Great write my Friend.

THE AUTHOR 

"Writing has been an awesome experience in my literary journey." ~Hum Ale

 Hum Ale is a Nepalese born writer, poet, tennis player, traveller and who works in a bank-related environment.  He's a prolific writer and a patriot known for his burning passion about his country. In spite of his status in life, he remains a humble country boy at heart that is central to most of his writings to which he is proud in showing off his idyllic village for its green beauty and tranquillity beyond description. 

His writings are dished in reflective, poignant and moving nostalgia of his  sentiments about life in general: family, youth, work, adventure, travel, environment and politics. His truths are pretty much of a two-edged sword. 

He's also a published author in many books of poetry he has written and some were published in other periodicals like the one mentioned above. 

I knew him through ILA Magazine (INTERNATIONAL LANGUAGE AND ARTS), a poetry group founded by Annette Nasser of the USA.

COMMENDATIONS:

Hum Ale; an exemplary multidimentional personality; an established international poet; who laid and crossed many remarkable milestone in his successful journey. Keep up your literery journey towards the summit of literature. Best wishes our beloved Bhanja Babu. ~Babu Ram Poudel

 

SAVE ME OH LIGHT

By Leah C Dancel

26 February 2023

Norah Heads Lighthouse

SAVE ME OH LIGHT 

Save me oh Light 

Send your beacons bright

Save me from this perilous sea

Shield me from the terror of the deep

Where darkness live that I cannot see.

Hear my plea oh Light

Succour me from this hour of night 

My faith rekindles and is put to test 

In you all my hope rest.

Your beams will rescue me from perishing.

©️ Leah C Dancel 

29 January 2024

SH-AUSTRALIA

Lifted from PSCS 

DEVINUWARA LIGHTHOUSE 

Country: SRI LANKA 

Series: Lighthouses 

Date Issued: 03 December 1999

Emission: Commemorative 

This stamp gives me an inspiration to write this poem. 

I LOVE THE SUNBURNT COUNTRY

By Dorothea Mackellar

My Country – I love a sunburnt country

The love of field and coppice,
Of green and shaded lanes.
Of ordered woods and gardens
Is running in your veins,
Strong love of grey-blue distance
Brown streams and soft, dim skies
I know but cannot share it,
My love is otherwise.

I love a sunburnt country,
A land of sweeping plains,
Of ragged mountain ranges,
Of drought and flooding rains.
I love her far horizons,
I love her jewel-sea,
Her beauty and her terror –
The wide brown land for me!

A stark white ring-barked forest
All tragic to the moon,
The sapphire-misted mountains,
The hot gold hush of noon.
Green tangle of the brushes,
Where lithe lianas coil,
And orchids deck the tree-tops
And ferns the warm dark soil.

Core of my heart, my country!
Her pitiless blue sky,
When sick at heart, around us
We see the cattle die –
But then the grey clouds gather,
And we can bless again
The drumming of an army,
The steady, soaking rain.

Core of my heart, my country!
Land of the Rainbow Gold,
For flood and fire and famine,
She pays us back threefold –
Over the thirsty paddocks,
Watch, after many days,
The filmy veil of greenness
That thickens as we gaze.

Dorothea Mackellar

AUSTRALIA DAY 2024

26 January 2024

Happy 36th AUSTRALIA DAY 🇦🇺 

To Me

On barbie plate

Chops and snags will sate

My empty guts and tummy sac

Wrapped in thick buttered bread

Toss in fried onions

Spread a barbie sauce.

Toe the line, all is free

No push, no rush

Be nice, be kind.

Smile a friendly grin

Wide and toothsome;

Greet all's g'day Mate!

Australia Day is here to stay

All skins in, nobody's care 

Spread the blanket for family to sit

Beside the esky of beer and drinks 

Let kids let loose

Let them run around

To chase the icecream van, 

To pick a waffle, one or two

Filled with fancy flavours 

All they want 

Ozzie country music blaring,  

And folks a dancing 

While others wait for fireworks 

To shoot into the air.

While bats are hov'ring

round and round 

In hundred flocks,

They speck across the sky

As the sunset plume a show.

AUSTRALIA DAY to me is freedom 

Of fair go, and Mateship uncompared

A country free the world envy

A country I now call HOME!

©️ Leah C Dancel 

Copyright ©️ 26 January 2024

All rights reserved

SH-AUSTRALIA 

#australiaday2024

PETS

21 January 2024

PETS

JENNY,
a golden fish,
died of unknown cause, sadly.
She lived in a Fish tank at home.
Marco was so upset.

Her mate,
old Jeremy,
feeling lonesome, was let go
into the big water to live
with all other fishes.
It's not
easy to bid
goodbye to Jenny and her
mate Jeremy, so dear to us.
It's a teary farewell.

Pets of
any kind do
give us joyful company.
They're a part of us, every  day:
Their presence is a gift.

©️ lcd
21 January 2024
Pensee Poetry 

THE STORY

Gold Fish Tragedy

By Leah C Dancel 

21 January 2023

When you woke up in such a discomfort and a sad news met your dreamless sleep that we lost Jenny in a tragic end, the night before. How she died, it was nobody's guess as she was looking well and good the other day. There was no noticeable sign of lethargy from both Jenny and Jeremy.  But the Lady of the House was the first to have noticed that one of the precious gold thing was floating, lifeless. It must have had been in distress for a while.

Today, the homeowners, especially Marco, the pet caretaker, decided to take Jeremy, the surviving gold fish to a new home in a waterhole in the wilderness. 

It was a kind of unspoken sadness, that created a vacuum in our hearts. We deeply feel sad, but in silence. The moment Jeremy finally has gone out of sight, the Lady of the House gave the poor thing her Last Salute.

Goodbye Jenny. Goodbye Jeremy. May you both be happy where you belong. We gonna miss you heaps.

Photos: SIMMOS BEACH, Fifth Avenue, Macquarie Fields

DAYDREAMING IN WINTERLAND

Posted at PSCS and shared on my FB Timeline

Published in The Philippine Community Herald News founded by Evelyn Zaragoza.

DENMARK's Winter Wonderland on Stamp issue highlighted in this dedicatory poem.

I have no other information to offer other than this brave soul daydreaming under a  Snowy sky.

DAYDREAMING IN WINTERLAND

(To King Frederik X and Queen Mary of DENMARK)

At broad daylight in a daydreaming trance,

With clouds pouring tears amidst the festal dance;

Soft rain look like pearls of exhilaration 

And the crown of glory creates jubilation. 

A new sovereign king and queen are hailed; 

With throng of thousands came; their love prevailed. 

The dear old Monarch who's lavish in munificence;

Ruled her kingdom with sublime grace and resilience. 

Admired and cherished by all the lands;

Even the clouds above adored where she stands.

A beamish pride, the new King and his lovely Queen warmly  waved to the crowd; 

His daydreaming ceased, as King he vowed.

©️ Leah C Dancel 

Copyright ©️ 15 January 2024

All rights reserved 

SH-AUSTRALIA 

#DENMARK 

#coronation

#daydreaming 

#clouds 

Edited by Jadj Dancel

Comments:

"Expressive ‼️" ~Nestor Punzalan Crisostomo 

"Well versed, expressive & on point." ~Teresita Sy Giok Liong

"A lovely piece of respect for the monarchy of Denmark..👌 Love the Daydreaming stamp 🥰 Pleasant read.. Thank You for sharing this.. 💕🙏❤️" ~Steve Lyman,  ILA Admin

ENNUI

Shared with permission from the author:

by Gus Perez Amio

10 January 2024
 

ENNUI

The tedious hours tick into a dreary day

Listless

Amidst the humdrum, into relevance I digress

Waiting

This stolid countenance, unnerving and stale

Calls for

Something that wends the mind to connect

A spark

In the doldrums, a selcouth feeling aroused

To last

NB

Thank you ILA MAGAZINE for this citation.

DREAMTIME TRAVEL

FOR PUBLICATION 

Posted at ILA

Backroads and Byways Challenge 

DREAMTIME TRAVEL

(BACKROADS AND BYWAYS)

Travelling alone at my own pace

Gives me freedom and space;

To relish the beauty of a journey 

With ample breathtaking views at liberty. 

The train I'm on, go fast and slow. 

In every nook and cranny, it leaves me

Feeling with vim, vigour and zest;

It's a country train I'm on, going west.

Passing through a scenic mountain range: 

The alluring vistas  have no end;

Along a zig zag rail in the midst of sylvans' trail;

Under long dark  tunnels,  there's both chill and thrill.  

Valleys down the valley of blue haze 

Covering the landscape behind the maze

Of rugged terrain and sandstone walls 

Weaving wild imaginings at sunset, when twilight falls.

Echoes of myths these mountains breathe 

Whom people keep their honour and respect 

Native legends are bound by a legacy 

In dreamtime folklore,  their ancestors lay.

The train I'm on go fast and slow

For travellers like me wanting to know.

How vast these mountains can keep abreast -

The stories of old I heard in the west. 

©️ Leah C Dancel 

Copyright ©️ 27 December 2023

All rights reserved 

SH-AUSTRALIA 

#ILA MAGAZINE 

#BackroadsandByways

#RoadTrip

NB

Along with three other poets,  I've been honoured to be published at ILA Magazine  with my humble contribution as I took part on a ROAD TRIP - Backroads and  Byways. 

In most of my travels in a  literal sense, it's always the scenic countrysides that swept me into a dreamy state especially if the trip lasts 3-4 days. I have the habit of taking mental notes whatever experience I encounter in my travels. 

In a metaphorical perspective,  travelling backroads and byways gives me a sense of freedom,  boosts my confidence,  a feeling of restoration, an escape from the suffocating pressures from our mundane world.  

In every line each poet unravels her/his mind and unleashed her/his thoughts that our journey here on earth is manifested by all kinds of challenges each of us has to face.  Every byway,  every backroad is only a segment of that road trip. What matters most is that, we arrive safely in our destination with memories we choose to keep.

©️ Leah C Dancel 

17 January 2024

TO FRED and MARY

PARATAXIS

Photos credit to the owners 

TO FRED AND MARY OF DENMARK
(A dedication)

Excitement contained, cool as a cucumber.
Prim and proper, her finesse defines -
The person she is, of humble upbringing.

Who'd think, she'd meet a prince -
In the guise of a man, undercover extraordinaire?
He pitted her attention, nonchalant of her forebears.

A headstrong prince,  a down to earth maiden;
Bound by destiny, blessed in holy matrimony.
The kingdom rejoiced, the people jubilant!

A happy loving Monarch, a charming Crowned Prince;
A faithful Crowned Princess, noble in her dreams.
Along came the heirs; the kingdom reigns.

Elations on the air; anticipations growing.
Great news waves magic, the world stands still.
Hail to the new King; Hail to the new Queen.

May their love rule; may they reign long!

©️ LEAH C DANCEL
Copyright ©️ 9 January 2024
All rights reserved
SH-AUSTRALIA
#ILAMAGAZINE
#parataxisinpoetry

ADORATION of the MAGI

Posted at PSCS 

7 January 2024

ADORATION of the MAGI

MEANING:

Magi, in Christian tradition, the noble pilgrims “from the East” who followed a miraculous guiding star to Bethlehem, where they paid homage to the infant Jesus as king of the Jews (Matthew 2:1–12).16 Dec 2023

Source: Brittanica 

Three wise men

from the Orient came.

Led by a bright Star

in Bethlehem shone;

A guide to light 

their journey long.

Offering gifts 

to a new born: 

Gold, Frankincense and Myrrh.

They cared not much

that the King of kings,

they came to adore,

was only wrapped

in swaddling clothes. 

They kneeled down

on knees beside a manger

Where baby Jesus was  laid 

over a  hay  as His bed.

Humble kings bestowed 

their  will as angels sang:

Peace on Earth 

Goodwill to men!

@lcd/07012024

Three wise men

from the Orient came.

Led by a bright Star

in Bethlehem shone;

A guide to light 

their journey long.

Offering gifts 

to a new born: 

Gold, Frankincense and Myrrh.

They cared not much

that the King of kings,

they came to adore,

was only wrapped

in swaddling clothes. 

They kneeled down

on knees beside a manger

Where baby Jesus was  laid 

over a  hay  as His bed.

Humble kings bestowed 

their  will as angels sang:

Peace on Earth 

Goodwill to men!

@lcd/07012024

RAINBOW

26 December 2023

Posted at SUNRISE and SUNSET

As summer's leaves of wonder keep the clouds afloat 

Long days have tarried the sun to go away 

Time drags slow though days swiftly go

The dreaming's impatience creates a stolid show.

Twilight has tenderly digressed into a nightfall 

With no sunset in sight, but the rainbow.

©️ Leah C Dancel 

26 December 2023

All rights reserved

NB

Lara, Irene and I went out to the street to do Dog walking with Cooper, the gorgeous Pomeranz.

I took this chance to snapshot the sky hoping to catch a beautiful sunset, but to no avail.