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Wondering Pilgrim

~ the ramblings of a perambulent and often distracted sojourner

Wondering Pilgrim

Tag Archives: bush poetry

Getting wet feet

03 Monday Aug 2020

Posted by wonderingpilgrim in Personal

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bush poetry, Matthew 14:22-33, swimming, trust

Matthew 14:22-33

Photo by Tommaso Fornoni on Unsplash

My Dad knew a bloke who could teach me to swim
My seven year self set off feeling grim
This whole new experience filled me with doubt
Nevertheless, togs and towel after school I set out.

The Port Canal was the place where we mustered
A small group of kids and a bloke where we clustered
He had a harness and a long bit of rope
One waited one’s turn ‘twixt dread and hope.

My turn came and I stood full of fear
“When I say ‘Now’ just jump off the pier.”
Counterphobic me, I failed to wait.
I jumped right in and encountered my fate.

The rope was slack and I sank right down
I spluttered and splashed thinking I might drown
The bloke hauled me in saying, “Too quick, young man,
Learn to trust directions if you possibly can.”

I read of Peter getting out of the boat
Walking on water! Better than afloat!
The Christ had summoned him, had called him ahead
Peter started out well, then sank full of dread.

Christ hauled him in asking “Where’s your trust?”
Your transformation means risks are a must.
Risks on your own are a pattern to avoid
Keep your focus on me and you’ll always be buoyed.”

(c) 2020 Dennis Ryle


A New Year’s Resolution awaiting fulfilment…

01 Saturday Jan 2011

Posted by wonderingpilgrim in Personal, Spirituality, Wembley Downs

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2011, bush poetry, handyman, New Year, postaday2011

A bit of bush doggerel for a job I have to get done…

I sit by the fountain on New Year’s Day;
the bricks shimmer and shine in burning heat.
Through the parched bowls the leaves swirl and sway;
no streams of water – the pump is beat!

Beneath the cover the water is brackish;
the pump underneath needs tradesman’s skill.
Although the still depths are cold and blackish,
I plunge down my arm – and, Oh! What a thrill!

The church built the fount six years past –
a feature for the courtyard – so we were told.
With garden seat and plants that last,
‘twas a place for resting for young and old.

And so it happened – the fount became a feature,
the running waters a delight to behold.
Not only people, but every bird and creature
rested and played by the streams of gold.

Shoppers passing,  old folk sitting,
mums with toddlers seeking distraction,
school kids massing, matriarchs knitting –
the ecclesiastic fountain gave strong attraction!

Three bowls gushing, an old man musing:
“Surely the Trinity!” pondered he with alarm.
A lone one sitting at midnight perusing
the sights of bubbling, the heart’s good balm.

In times of trouble, the fount gave solace,
Remember the tribute to Van Tuong Nguyen?
The waters yearn to resume their promise.
Let’s replace the pump and begin again.

I sit by the fountain on New Year’s Day;
the bricks shimmer and shine in burning heat.
The dented bowls and debris clamour to say
“Live streams again will return a good treat. “

-31.911079
115.772731

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Recent Posts

  • Seventh Day Musings December 31, 2020
  • A Christmas reflection on a Senior Housing Crisis December 20, 2020
  • Rocky Road August 17, 2020
  • She came asking… August 10, 2020
  • Getting wet feet August 3, 2020
  • Economy of abundance July 28, 2020
  • Riddle me July 20, 2020
  • Let it Be July 13, 2020
  • Wasted Words? July 6, 2020
  • But John held up a mirror… June 30, 2020

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