Posts Tagged ‘poem’


pen-on-a-piece-of-paper-with-a-cup-of-coffee-background ATTRIBUTION RQD_1162-26

She picked up her pen,
Picked up her pen,
Twirled it around,
Tapped a little rhythm,
Looked at the clock,
And thought of coffee.

She sat at her desk,
Sat at her desk,
Sipped her coffee,
Hummed a catchy tune,
Smiled a bit,
And thought of yesterday.

She pulled out her phone,
Opened her phone,
Clicked and scrolled,
Checked her messages,
Muttered quietly,
Fired off a quick reply.

She noticed a cobweb,
Noticed its dangling grey,
Like clinging tendrils,
Frowned at its intrusion,
Collected a broom,
And swept it from the wall.

She glanced at the clock,
The slow ticking clock,
Hands moving on and on,
Sighed at the passing of time,
Picked up her pen,
And wrote the date.

She considered the date,
Considered tomorrow’s date,
Half remembered,
Looked for her diary,
Thumbed through its pages,
Confirmed her plans.

The pen in her hand,
Pen poised and ready,
Extension of thoughts,
To paper.
Wrote a sentence,
Paused just a while,
And wrote another.

She heard the phone ring,
Heard it ringing on and on,
Refused to move,
Ignored it,
Kept on writing,
Finished a paragraph,
And kept writing on.

© Copyright Ellen Carr 2016






Those Kids! (A Palm Sunday reflection)



What a procession,
on the road into town!
What a commotion
and laying cloaks down.

Yelling ‘Hosanna’,
‘Blessed is the King’.
Shouting ‘Messiah’,
honouring Him.

Excited disciples
making a scene,
waving their branches,
a carpet of green.

The colt of the donkey
bearing the Lord,
the crowd shouting praises,
it seemed that they roared.

The children were listening.
They joined in the praise,
swept up in the moment
young voices they raise.

Into the temple
the Lord went that day
sweeping traders and money
changers away.

Healing the blind ones,
curing the lame,
watched by the children
praising His name.

‘Hosanna,’ they shouted
‘Son of David,’ they cried,
and the scribes were indignant
the priests said they lied.

The children annoyed them,
their simple refrain
stole all their thunder,
upstaged them again.

‘Do you hear what they’re saying,
these children?’ they said.
Indignant and angry,
they wanted Him dead.

But the children sang praises;
they shouted His name.
They knew He was worthy;
they told forth his fame.

While the priests and the scribes
plotted terrible things,
the children rejoiced for
this day was their King’s!
Re-blogged from 2014
© Copyright Ellen Carr 2014

The Purple Carpet of Advent

jacaranda-flowers-resize maybe not free to use

Purple stretches over the pathway,
Covers the green of lawn,
A kingly carpet of fallen flowers,
Heralding His coming.

Towering jacarandas light up December,
Purple the landscape,
Majestic in their robes,
Signalling Christmas.

Australian Advent days
Of balmy sunset air
Stretch the evenings out
Towards Nativity.

Carollers tread their way
Across the purple,
Underneath the silent trees,
Singing Christmas in.

© Copyright Ellen Carr 2017


Daylight Saving

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What did you do in your house last night?
Did you sort out the clocks and get them all right?
Did you fix up the microwave, stove and TV,
turn their clocks on so their times all agree?
Did you work out the way to change each device,
which buttons to press or to tap once or twice?
Did you alter the wall clock and bedside alarm,
the clock in your car and the watch on your arm? 

Then, after you'd done all that changing of clocks,
did you check out the fire alarms and all the locks?
Did you get yourself moving, and early to bed
so you'd wake bright and chirpy, not grumpy instead?
Did you leap out of bed with a sense of delight
that somehow the morning still seemed like the night?
Did you think of the power you'll be saving each day,
now Daylight Saving has come into play? 

Or did you get sleepily out of your bed,
wondering why you were feeling half dead,
remember the reason and, with a sigh,
wish you could wave Daylight Saving goodbye! 


© Copyright Ellen Carr 28-9-17 (The day before Daylight Saving started here.)


From you, Mum

Flower vector created by Freepik

How much have I learnt –
how many ingrained truths
well-worn habits
turns of phrase
tricks of trade
lines of humour –
and wisdom
from you, Mum?

How much have I learnt –
how many ways to live
get involved
have a go
reach out
invite in –
and share
from you, Mum?

How much have I learnt –
how many truths of faith
enduring patterns
every-day prayers
reading of the Word
worshipping –
and trust
from you, Mum?

You set my path from childhood
steered me on my way.
And for this I’m thankful
on this new Mother’s Day.

© Copyright Ellen Carr 2017

But Who?

jigsaw-its-still-puzzling-meDazzling beauty greets us

as we lift our gaze

to grandest mountains,

watching soft clouds drift

across a sapphire sky,

as a great hawk soars overhead.

But who is the artist?


Symphonic sounds rise together,

piercing the silence

of the morning light,

heralding joyous life,

a bird-song of movement,

and natural melodies.

But who writes the music?


Minute creatures crawl the ground,

slither and creep around

on tiny stomachs and legs,

weaving their silken webs,

or trailing silvery lines

in fine precision.

But who is their designer?


In intricacy or grandeur,

in whispers, or roaring waves,

the microscopic, the gigantic,

tiny feelers, or highest peaks,

all is in order,

all follows a plan.

There is One who oversees it all.


The jigsaw is fitted together,

so nothing is out of its place,

each piece the design of the Maker,

fashioned in detail by His hands

to take its place

in the glorious world,

sustained by His wisdom and care.


The mystery of the beginning,

the puzzle of how things will end,

in the hands of the loving Creator,

are ordered, secure and sure,

in His big plan

for all of time.

The puzzle is complete.

Just the Two of Us

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The front door slammed; the tyres squealed.
Off we drove, smiles unconcealed.
Been a long time coming, this short vacation,
this downing of tools, this gratification.

The traffic was heavy; we crawled along,
heading out country, away from the throng,
the radio blaring some frivolous tunes,
singing along in the Friday night fumes.

Out past the suburbs, down the slow road,
hugging the highway, in holiday mode.
Turned off our mobiles, loosened our shoes
Hello relaxation; goodbye to the blues.

At last we were flying; the highway was clear,
the sun sinking slowly, our hearts in high gear.
Began reminiscing the days of the past,
things of no longer, and things that still last …

the way we would load up our old beetle car,
that took us on trips to the near and the far,
first just ourselves, then with children in tow.
But the children grew big and the car didn’t grow.

And now here we were, with the children all grown,
just the two of us off for a weekend alone.
No longer a beetle, our car was more sleek,
with very few rattles and barely a squeak.

Off down a lane-way, round a slight bend,
our lodgings before us, our drive at an end,
I reached for my mobile, and typed in the code,
put us back in connection, but in silent mode.

© Copyright Ellen Carr 2015