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Thank you!

Your response, so far, to Reflections on Life has been very gratifying. There is something that frees your spirit when you can share innermost thoughts, beliefs and feelings with your fellow man.

Each of my poems has a story or experience that caused its creation. I’d like to share with you some of those stories.

Hello everyone,

I write the poetry I do to reflect my life experiencies, hopes, dreams and expectations. Sometimes it’s to comment on some aspect of life that catches my attention. Other times I write simply to experience the joy of creating something that has never been before.

I was having a conversation with a lovely Italian lady. Her name is Tina and she is not only physically stunning, she is a genuine and caring individual. We were talking about poetry and it struck me that it might be that poetry could well be a vehicle to enhance peoples lives, as it has throughout history. But how to do it in a very personal and practical way?

It came to me the film of many years ago about Cyrano De Bergerac, a poet who did not find love because of his sensitivity over the size of his nose. But he did write sonnets for your men to woo their paramours. It doesn’t matter whether the story is true or not. What is important is the fact that someone could create the words to assist someone else to say what is in their heart to someone important to them.

I am fortunate enough to be able to put into words the concepts I see and feel.

What I have in mind is to offer to those who feel strongly about a loved one and cannot say what is in their heart, to write an original poem to express those deep felt feelings.

If you have read my poetry you will see what I mean about communicating deep felt emotions.

For this I would charge a minimal fee to cover my costs of operating this site. I would like to know if people want this service. Simply post a comment either yea or nay.

I have done this over the years for people and have had the pleasure of helping many. I thought it was time to do it on a larger scale.

I must confess, I have an ulterior motive. Writing poetry gives me great pleasure and I have a bug about helping others. If I could combine the two it would be great.

Send a comment and let me know.

Live well

Ollie Lind

The Mask

image of comedy-tragedy masks

Recently I attended a dinner in Sydney. It was a sports awards dinner and I am President of NSW Squash. The board had as their guest the CEO of Lifeline, a well known charity that provides support and counselling for people struggling with life. For some reason the conversation turned to the arts and mentioned I write poetry. She asked me to recite some and apparently enjoyed what was offered.

She mentioned that it struck her that so many people seem to live their lives behind a mask and she asked me to write a poem entitled “The Mask.” Following is the result. I hope you enjoy.


The Mask

“What is that?” I hear you say,
as if you didn’t know.
It’s with me every waking step,
everywhere I go.

It keeps me free from other’s gaze,
shelters me from harm.
With it’s help I solve the maze,
no panic, only calm.

Yet wearing it, I live a lie,
my certainty it shatters.
If you believe that honesty
is all that really matters.

To be myself is what I need,
my fear takes me to task.
Why can’t I simply be as me,
and live without my mask?

Look Foward

wedding hands

As those of you who have followed my poems know, I often write because of something in my life stirring me to comment.

Quite a number of years ago my life long friend married for a second time. Both he and his lady had grown children and I chided him how someone as plain as he could attract such a lovely lady.

Seriously though, I saw his happiness and wanted to write something for them that may perhaps touch them in later times. This man is the wisest, most honourable person I have ever known and I count myself fortunate to count him as a friend.

Look Forward

We look for laughter, happiness and life.
Don’t seek a husband, nor a wife.
Life alone can be such fun,
considering only ever one.

One’s own company can grow terse;
from tiny cradle to coal‑black hearse.
Trying to find our own soul‑mate,
just like waiting at the pearly gate.
Yet we seek to ever find
love to bring a peace of mind.

Long ago, another life.
She a husband, he a wife.
Issue from the unions grown,
one and one and two alone.

Her son and daughter bound in love,
his two sons from heaven above.
Life’s strange journey onward roamed,
each parent found themselves alone.

These children born of different love,
at once apart but not above
finding family in the other
children of a different mother.

Love, look forward; ever on.
Happiness and joy for Marie and Ron.

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The Storyteller

Hans Christian Andersen

Many years ago I used to attend meetings of poets.

At one such meeting I heard a Russian called Yuri tell a story. He insisted the lights be turned out and he then lit a candle. He really created a mood and then told his tale. It struck me that so much of our history and culture came from stories and storytellers.

We used to meet every couple of weeks and he told us his birthday was on the date of the next meeting. As a gift to him I wrote this poem.

The Storyteller

I saw a man the other day
who filled my heart with fascination,
The machination of time and event
saw a vision rent with pathos.

The gloss of mystery shimmered
as imagination glimmered
in the half light of fantasy.

His candle flickered as he told
the tale of deeds so bold
and yet behold the devils
demons and elves as we struggle
to hold onto ourselves.

His voice gripped our minds
a kind of half light of ideas
and fears of what we know,
a show of courage, the scourge

of evil lightened by whimsy.
A flimsy gossamer of wonder
he plundered tales tall and true
to entertain me and you.

We should love this man
dead pan teller of tales
of life, love, death and fury
None compare at all with Yuri.

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