Poet, Audrey Austin

Poet, Audrey Austin
This site is to honour my mother, poet, Eva Ruby Austin.

Wednesday, January 30, 2013

Two poems by Poet, Murray Alfredson

Young bones

Those were still the days when gas was made from coal
leaving a residue of coke, pure and porous
carbon that burnt ashless. The gas was deadly, though,
not merely thinned with air to blow out walls when touched
by careless spark or flame, but toxic through the lungs
and blood to brain.
                                     I do not know just why Anne took
the coal-gas route; history honours, archivist,
but years long punctuated with psychotic bouts
chlorpromazine, that mind-divorcing drug, did not
quite hold at bay. Did her heavy future stretch
too far its terrors? This much I know, that schizophrenics
rarely make old bones.

-- Mindfields: edited by Jude Aquilina & Ken Vincent. Port Adelaide, S. Aust. : Ginninderra Press, 2011

Falco berigora(on the Strzelecki Peaks)

It was no gale
but plumb amidst
the roaring forties
and at seven
hundred metres
on that island
where all the trees
leaned strongly eastwards
the wind bit chill
through summer cottons.

To lunch and talk
we lay on naked
granite, in shelter
of melaleucas
tough and fully
ankle high,
forcing their roots
in narrow cracks
through meagre rock-
crumble and leaf-rot —
when from the east
a bird swooped up,
brown falcon poised,
wings wind-fluttered
scarce two metres
above the peak.

A moment she hung
against the wind,
then turned and in
her turning drew
her wings closer
and stooped down
the northern drop.

We ran scarce twenty
paces to the edge.

That black streak
flattened her flight,
swept out above
the plain beside
the flecked sea-crawl.

-- Ocean, v. 6, 21 (Winter, 2009) ;Visible breath; ed. by Ronnie Goodyer and Dawn Bauling. Stoney Stanton, Leics: Indigo Dreams Publications, 2010.

Monday, January 28, 2013

SOMEDAY - a poem by Paulette Grant


Somewhere in time.
At this life's end.

When body is no more
And all earthly obsessions
As dust are scattered by the winds.
A soul is flying free.

Somewhere in time.
These eyes unclouded.
Ethereal lips sing heart songs from
The mountain of self.

Somewhere in time.
All melodies divine
Pour out the living memories
All lived for God
They are.

A final note someday in time.
A punctuation mark.
Will plunge into the timeless hearts
That wrapped themselves to her
In unbearably earthly ways.


The merging cried for like a whining child
Since the beginning
Will come full circle.
The lessons learned at last.

An individual spark.
At times in darkness was.
Will see, hear and taste
In its own measure of perfection
The true meaning of love and peace............Paulette
.............so in the meantime ...I cry ......sometimes.

Saturday, January 26, 2013

This Student - a poem by Maggie Kirton

This Student



she sat at the back of the class

the very last row

where others dared not be

where those whose works

suffered - undone

flunked - incomplete

whose ambitions

and dreams

were born

through a steady stare

into a classroom window

holding within its glass

a bit of light

giving importance

to the impossible


she stood by the gate

watched them play

tag and jump rope

slides and swings

their laughter embraced her


- in spite of -

she would not join in


the teachers taught her




what they could

when they could reach her

but instead she remained

in the back of the room

with a window

a port hole


uneducated dreams

they shook their heads




her failure


but they pushed her on

the pale child

that stood by the gate

embraced by the laughter

of friends not had


her smile was a weak one

easily returned

seldom seen

a private affair

reserved for the dreams

and so she went on

for so many years

with homework undone

and shoes untied

close to the garbage basket

and window

and dreams

for which she could find no words


until there was one

a teacher and friend



who laid before her


empty paper

a soft and gentle smile

warm hand on her shoulder

a wink

and a whisper:

"finish your dream on this

so I may dream it too"

Silent Thunder ... a poem by Audrey Austin

Silent Thunder by Audrey Austin was previously published in Sylvan Jottings Northern Ontario Poetry Collection, Volume Eleven, 2006, presented by Canadian Authors' Association, Temiskaming Branch and White Mountain Publications.


He softly speaks of quiet pain
      Then smiles to ease the burden we now share

And deep within my searching soul I find a truth
       To run away from if I dare

His words are silent thunder running scared in
       circles unconnected

He touched me and I'm freezing in a suffering
       warmth that leaves me wanting to
       experience a love that can't be mine

And now I softly speak of quiet pain

His words have left me standing in the rain and
       the thunder has grown deafening

Remembrance of his smile is my umbrella.  His
       gentle touch is my despair.  He is unaware
            that I truly care; no longer there to
                   know he touched my soul and left me
                           bare and wanting.

Thursday, January 24, 2013

In One Divine Love -- by Rima N. Jaber

                                                                                                                                                                                                                    In One Divine Love

Fusion of love,
Mixed with the divinity,
Souls of pure glory,
Above the edges of hopes,
Living in the heart of faith,
In a universe of holiness,
In the ocean of tenderness,
Smiles of sunshine,
In the land of Saints,
We drink from the source of eternity,
Two lovers living, praying,
Two souls uniting in love,
Two in God’s blessings,
Darling we are these two, in one,
In One Divine Love..
I love you eternally..
Always Love, Light, Joy,
Peace & Blessings to All of us
Rima N. Jaber
© January 23, 2013


Monday, January 21, 2013

Not Quite There Yet -- a poem by Terry Shepherd

When you are middle aged
Is this the time to begin
To live and discover
Or maybe to sin.

Should we act our age
As people wish us to do
Is it to late to find
A man and say I do.

Is your life half over
Or has it just begun
Has your better half gone
And left you as one.

Do you really want to
Go to bed at ten
Or do you want to go out
And come back when.

It’s a hard thing to swallow
When you reach this point
You have raised your family
And you feel it in the joints.

Not quite ready for the rocker
And not ready to dance
Maybe just a little companion
And a little romance.

Let me live the life
That I once have done
Let me soar with the birds
Until the last song is sung.

Terry Shepherd

The Only One I Know -- a poem by Rima N. Jaber

The Only One I Know

A tender caress from my destiny,
My God’s mercy,
My heart melody,
My soul glory,

A gift from the infinity,
My endless ecstasy,
My consciousness perpetuity,
My hopes reality,

A sky opening so kindly,
Your eyes mesmerizing me,
Your heart loves truly,
You enchanted me with your purity,

A paradise is our unity,
In your heart you took me,
To your soul you invited me,
My life I offered you eternally,
You and I forever united in love divinity..

I love love you darling for eternity..
Always Love, Light, Joy,
Peace & Blessings to All of us
Rima N. Jaber
© January 21, 2013

Richard Blanco -- Inauguration Poet - inspirational and wonderful ..

The following poem was delivered by inauguration poet Richard Blanco during ceremonies for President Obama's second inaugural Monday. The text of the poem was provided by the Presidential Inaugural Committee.


 "One Today"

One sun rose on us today, kindled over our shores,
peeking over the Smokies, greeting the faces
of the Great Lakes, spreading a simple truth
across the Great Plains, then charging across the Rockies.
One light, waking up rooftops, under each one, a story
told by our silent gestures moving behind windows.

My face, your face, millions of faces in morning’s mirrors,
each one yawning to life, crescendoing into our day:
pencil-yellow school buses, the rhythm of traffic lights,
fruit stands: apples, limes, and oranges arrayed like rainbows
begging our praise. Silver trucks heavy with oil or paper -- bricks or milk, teeming over highways alongside us,
on our way to clean tables, read ledgers, or save lives -- to teach geometry, or ring up groceries as my mother did
for twenty years, so I could write this poem.

All of us as vital as the one light we move through,
the same light on blackboards with lessons for the day:
equations to solve, history to question, or atoms imagined,
the “I have a dream” we keep dreaming,
or the impossible vocabulary of sorrow that won’t explain
the empty desks of twenty children marked absent
today, and forever. Many prayers, but one light
breathing color into stained glass windows,
life into the faces of bronze statues, warmth
onto the steps of our museums and park benches
as mothers watch children slide into the day.

One ground. Our ground, rooting us to every stalk
of corn, every head of wheat sown by sweat
and hands, hands gleaning coal or planting windmills
in deserts and hilltops that keep us warm, hands
digging trenches, routing pipes and cables, hands
as worn as my father’s cutting sugarcane
so my brother and I could have books and shoes.

The dust of farms and deserts, cities and plains
mingled by one wind -- our breath. Breathe. Hear it
through the day’s gorgeous din of honking cabs,
buses launching down avenues, the symphony
of footsteps, guitars, and screeching subways,
the unexpected song bird on your clothes line.

Hear: squeaky playground swings, trains whistling,
or whispers across cafe tables, Hear: the doors we open
for each other all day, saying: hello, shalom,
buon giorno, howdy, namaste, or buenos días
in the language my mother taught me -- in every language
spoken into one wind carrying our lives
without prejudice, as these words break from my lips.

One sky: since the Appalachians and Sierras claimed
their majesty, and the Mississippi and Colorado worked
their way to the sea. Thank the work of our hands:
weaving steel into bridges, finishing one more report
for the boss on time, stitching another wound
or uniform, the first brush stroke on a portrait,
or the last floor on the Freedom Tower
jutting into a sky that yields to our resilience.

One sky, toward which we sometimes lift our eyes
tired from work: some days guessing at the weather
of our lives, some days giving thanks for a love
that loves you back, sometimes praising a mother
who knew how to give, or forgiving a father
who couldn’t give what you wanted.

We head home: through the gloss of rain or weight
of snow, or the plum blush of dusk, but always -- home,
always under one sky, our sky. And always one moon
like a silent drum tapping on every rooftop
and every window, of one country -- all of us --
facing the stars
hope -- a new constellation
waiting for us to map it,
waiting for us to name it -- together

Saturday, January 5, 2013

"A Place to Lay My Heart" - a poem by Marlon de Souza

A place to lay my heart

You accept me with all my faults
and everything I do
is watched by you for signs of love,
kind words from me to you.
You wake me up because you are
ready to start the day,
the crazy joy you bring to me,
a dog that wants to play.
I wonder what I will do
when you're no longer here,
you tell me to enjoy your love
and never shed a tear.
And when some days I stop and sigh -
at times you drive me nuts,
you wiggle waggle my sighs away,
my darling mutt of mutts.

© 2013 Marlon de Souza. All rights reserved.

Marlon de Souza is a writer and artist based in New York City. He learns a lot of life lessons from Jules, the dog who lives with him. More of his work can be found on

and on Facebook at http://www.facebook.com/JustAnotherAveragePerson

Friday, January 4, 2013

Warrior Woman - a poem by T.L. Cooper

"Warrior Woman"

I stand short but tall
Shoulders narrow but squared
Armor at the ready
Weapons stowed within reach
Trained for the moment
When you breach
... My defenses
My smile slides into place
Fooling you into thinking
I’m easily taken
My gentle curves
And slight stature
Make me seem like easy prey
To those who would seek to conquer
But when the battle you seek is done
You’ll find yourself bloody and vulnerable
Your weaknesses exposed
Your losses incalculable
And you’ll wonder how you missed
This tiny woman, as you saw me,
Held the strength of a
Battle hardened warrior