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Poet: None
Author: None
Novel: None
Votes: None

 Category:  General Poetry
  Posted: February 25, 2018      Views: 435

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Tony Fawcus, ex-RAF Navigator and Junior School teacher, now living on South Australia's Fleurieu Peninsula where he runs a small farm and a B&B cottage.

He is an accomplished novelist and is currently at the #5 spot on the rankings.

The Seal of Quality committee has rewarded him with 4 seals.

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Free Verse for the contest
"Brindled Thoughts" by tfawcus
Now shall I speak in brindled words
the brindled thoughts of poets wise,
whose scope of life and whim,
surmise and sighs,
and love for life,
is seen in ecstasies of weald and wood.

I hear their words on angels' wings
for, though these poets died,
their fears and loves survive,
transcending time
in harmonies that rise
to waft and wheel, then drop
with claws of steel
to pierce the soft of human stuff
and taffeta ordeal,
raising up such welts and weals
as resurrection deems it needs
to vanquish death.

My favoured book now falls,
its meld of life and rage consumed
in sleep, the blank of sheep
that will lamb anew
now all is still.

Diffuse the light of whispered dawn,
still damp with dew when I arise;
a no-man's land, where lost souls scrawl
a half-scene purgatory of mists
that hang like flaccid sheets,
in the main awaiting
doldrum days, the listlessness
of lethargy and age,
until a gentle breeze
brings life again.


Free Verse Poetry Contest contest entry


Author Notes
Photo by ivan Torres on Unsplash

To be brindled is to have obscure dark streaks or flecks on a usually gray or tawny ground. The effect is one of blurred mystery of shifting colour, rather as expressed in Gerald Manley Hopkins' poem ("For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow".
A weald is a wild, uncultivated region, often wooded.
A weal is a red, swollen mark left on flesh by a blow.

Pays one point and 2 member cents.

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