Archive for July, 2013

With one click

Darkening clouds are gathering,

a cold wind whistles around.

My plans to go meandering

come crashing to the ground.


Things have conspired to defeat me,

I’m thwarted and turned from my way.

I wanted to follow my schedule,

my calendar notes for the day.


I long to just click my fingers,

to set everything to my course,

to be in control of what happens,

my great expectations enforce.


If I could decide every outcome

so life went the way that I chose,

things would be shiny and rosy.

That’s surely the way that it goes.


With a click of my fingers the weather

would turn into sunshine or rain,

I could make every outcome a good one,

eliminate sorrow and pain.


Never I’d face disappointment,

or failure, regret or remorse.

No storms on my lake of reflection,

never adjustment mid-course.


But the power isn’t mine for the taking.

I am born to belong to the King,

to be shaken and stirred and unsettled,

until to His feet I will bring …


my soul and my body and spirit,

surrendering to His command,

accepting His rule and His choices,

the days of my life He has planned.


With one click of His fingers He formed me.

For His joy He allows me to be.

He made and sustains all creation.

He controls how it impacts on me.


If I fall on my knees and I worship,

If I trust His infallible grace,

I’ll be guided and led though life’s changes,

I’ll be readied to see His dear face.

© Ellen Carr 2013


Human watching at Logans Beach



We have a system, we have a plan,

that no-one will see us; and nobody can.

I’m an observer from Southern Right Spies

and I see a lot with my big eyes.


We’re keeping data, making notes,

human habits, the ways of boats,

observing patterns, noting trends.

Long-term study, open ends.


Weather patterns correlate

with their numbers and their state.

Sunny days will bring a crowd,

vocal soundings, wailings loud.


Rain brings fewer, extra-skinned,

top ends covered, mushroom-finned.

Increased movement windy days,

paws near eyes on days of haze.


The boss insists, ‘Stay out of sight,

certainly do not excite.

Watch control group standing round

Keep selves hidden; make no sound.’


‘When we know their normal ways

we’ll introduce some tests,’ she says.

‘Monday afternoon we’ll breach,

and note reactions on the beach.’


‘Will they change behaviour when

they know we’re here, and will they then

hang around to watch us play

or move a little bit away?’


‘Next day we’ll blow and lobtail too,

perform a pectoral slap or two,

note how humans now react

to each movement and each act.’


To the humans we’re benign,

science research is our line.

Our knowledge of their types and ways

grows with passing years and days.


Perhaps we will communicate

with humans at a later date

but  in the meantime we’ll pursue

our aim, to know them through and through.


© Ellen Carr 2013


Looking for whales at Logans Beach, Victoria, Australia (and seeing none) I wondered whether the whales might try and observe us humans. This inspired this poem. There have been a lot of whale sightings along the Victorian coast this winter, but not on the day we were looking!


White-fleck havoc

In the whirling cavern

a wretched evil spread,

cloned itself in tiny pieces

and clung to black and red.


Its white-fleck havoc

singled out the dark,

multiplied its power

in every mocking mark.


Just a single tissue

colonised our clothes,

spread its spotty dandruff

everywhere it shows.


Whose the guilty pocket

or the culprit sleeve

from whence the viral paper

sought its mischief to achieve?


(No-one’s owning up!)


© Ellen Carr 2013