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

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.

Ollie

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?

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.

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.

I am sometimes disappointed at the way we set up barriers to prevent us reaching our true potential. We lose courage and daring as life buffets us about, never realizing that it’s the struggle that is the essence of life.

We should celebrate our triumphs and learn from our tragedies. Yet so many of us cower beneath the blankets and never really live life. For whatever time I have left I have decided to chance my arm at whatever challenge comes my way. I am a little nervous, but excited. After all, shouldn’t you be excited about life?

Boundaries

I sometimes go right to the rim
and look beyond the veil.
and see what I think can’t be seen
my inner self goes pale.

Beyond the pale is where I go
when answers can’t be found.
and wise men reap what they can sew
with concepts so profound.

Lofty thoughts are not my aim
when I seek to know
what pleasure lies beyond the pain
I harvest when I hoe.

Perhaps it’s true we’re not allowed
to make a mindful choice.
or else stand out from the crowd
and speak with single voice.

The voice that cries to be set free
from chains that bind and crush,
memories blinding you and me
and stop our headlong rush

The boundary’s set to hold us tight
from visions of our youth.
Stopping soaring, searing sight
of beauty and of truth.

One time in my life some people took me for gay. I was divorced, had no lady in my life, yet seemed happy and sociable. In fact it was a period where I had resigned myself to being alone.

I try to help people anywhere I go and sometimes this has been misconstrued.

When I have a realization in my life I often write a poem to crystallize my feelings. This is one such poem.

A Play

A play on words he said it was,
the cruel taunt cutting deep.
he couldn’t help the way he was,
he hung his head to weep.

But then a thought rang in his head
that made him stand and start.
No one could take his life as read
and penetrate his heart.

What if he seemed to others weak,
not able to defend,
his way of life, or mode of speech,
on who could he depend?

No woman was to share his life,
his lot to be alone.
Once before he had a wife,
that life he must atone.

Those who thought of him as gay
did not know his intent.
To help another on the way
to live a life well spent.

He simply sought to help another
find his way to trust,
to be perhaps, his other brother
no soul destroying lust.

This poem was written as a wish for how life could, or should be. I am happy with many aspects of my life, but it still rankles at the waste of life I see all around me. The loss of love, the spirit of co-operation and charity that should abound, rather than be the exception. There are many examples of how good people can be; I just wish for more.

If Only

If only love was free to find
and hope existed side by side.
I find not orange, only rind
the joy I seek seeks to hide.

If only people learnt to trust
each other in their daily lives,
and dreams were not dashed to dust
by falsehoods uttered forth as lies.

If only dawn followed dark.
If dawn was seen as birth of hope,
to wander forth within the park
and life takes on a different scope.

If only I could see what lies
beyond tomorrow’s darkened view,
Perhaps I may again arise
to live a life of different hue.

And then, at last I may rest
and see the promise come to bloom.
No more my life put to the test
And live according to my doom.

If only people could allow
others space to be whatever.
To sew the crop that they can plough
and reap the harvest till forever.

I have some news of a personal nature. Most times I write poetry when something occurs in my life which has a profound effect on me. Last week, on the first day of spring [in Australia], my daughter had a baby girl, her first child.

Spring signifies a new beginning for life and what time could be more appropriate that the first day to welcome into the world an absolutely beatuiful being. She is alert, healthy and very loud! Her mother is stunned, mesmerised by the beauty before her. I wrote this poem when Lucie was a few days old and read it to her mother just a few minutes ago. I’d like to share it with you.

She

She comes, not with a whimper, but a cry,
A brand new life, reach for the sky.
Born of anguish, fear and pain,
Comes to life, once again.

Her mother suffers, love for pain,
her presence surely worth the pain.
Life’s cycle starts over again,
she looks with love, sees not the pain.

What future holds for this girl,
born of love, mind in a whirl.
A gift born of heaven above,
completes the family’s circle of love.

For Lucie, born 1 st September 2009

We all have demons from our past who revisit from time to time. During a particularly difficult time in my life I wrote this poem to simply recognize how we all try to get away from time to time.

Away

Sometimes I try to get away
to live again another day.
To start my life again brand new,
see it all from a different view.

Yet ghosts and demons from the past
see that present peace won’t last.
I am caught once again
in the things that might have been.

It seems the more I try to flee
past deeds remain to pester me.
Why can’t I see the light of day
why can’t I simply go away?

When I go to lands afar
I always leave the door ajar,
as past mistakes once more repeated.
Life, once calm becomes all heated.

Perhaps I should go down and pray
for peace to visit for a day,
perhaps I’ll find another way
to ease my load and get away.

People who read this poem also liked:

Wondering
Like us all I sometimes wonder on what might have been if I had done things differently in my life….
Listening
There comes a time in every man’s life where he is alone. Sometimes this is a time of peace and reflection. Other times it is anything but…
Torment
Sometimes we have low points in our lives which threaten to overwhelm. Sometimes, in the darkest hour you gain great clarity, sometimes only despair…
Who is he?
Some years ago the Salvation Army had a TV ad running that depicted an old man in a torn singlet looking into a dirty, cracked mirror. He was looking at himself as a young man, wasting his life on alcohol and drugs…
Reflections of an Old Young Man
I wrote this poem in an attempt to gain some sort of understanding of the state of mind of someone who is losing his grip on reality. It must be a terrible thing…

One day I was thinking about my failed marriage and came to the realization that it was my lack of honesty with myself mainly that caused the failure. The lady had the misfortune to enter into a relationship that was doomed from the start. Ah, how we play vicious games in the name of honesty.

Life

How can I tell you how I feel,
when times confuse, my senses reel.
You say you’ll leave and start anew,
and once again the world’s askew.

And yet you stay for God knows what,
not love or hate, no twisted plot.
I want you near, to make my own,
and yet your loss I must bemoan.

Life to live, open and true
relies on faith and hope and trust,
no lies to tell and so bemuse
a friend to help and so you must

be frank and tell the truth to me
so you and I can both be free,
If you can’t then we must part
so life anew can once more start.

Just tell me now and don’t hold back,
do we take a different track?
Or have you love at last to give
to give us both a chance to live.