

Love Shone In
Darkness came
And all the world
Was filled with sorrow.
And I feared
That maybe there’d be
No tomorrow.
But in that time
When my heart
Wept with pain,
Love shone in
And it was
Soft as rain.
Reminiscing – but disregarding the horror of World War One,
Three cobbers sat, their time of life – the setting of the sun.
They spoke about the good old days – they joked about the war,
Entitled too – for they were there, though they said not what they saw.
In silence they reflected for a minute maybe longer…
Then one friend with a solemn stare said “If I had my time once more –
You Know I think I’d go again; I’d go again to war…”
And they laughed for if it was true – hindsight’s twenty-twenty.
And in the distance a bugle sounded – and the three friends sipped their tea.
Lest We Forget.
Silver slime creates a pathway.
Night time is when journeying begins
Across leaf litter, deep into the rainforest
In silence they explore,
Leaving little trace of their adventure. Just a sparkle.
I don’t know why I’ve got feet
when I could have had wheels,
for wheels go so much faster.
Imagine me flying down our street
not in my trainers or boots
but on wheels, with my ghetto-blaster.
Imagine people turning to stare
and all telling me to slow down
before I caused a disaster.
Imagine me gliding off into space
with a quick little nod to the Moon,
then simply going straight past her. . .
© Katherine Gallagher
(Published in Through a Window, Longman, 1995)
Remembrance Day,
Ever in our hearts,
Minute of silence observed,
Every year at the eleventh hour, day and month,
Marking respect and gratitude,
Being reverent to those
Returned soldiers,
And those who lost their lives.
Never forgetting their sacrifice,
Commemorating their achievements,
Embracing a universal loss.
Defending home and country,
And human rights and more,
Yet always striving for peace, not war.
On the eleventh hour
Of the eleventh day
Of the eleventh month,
1918, the guns fell silent.
World War One,
The war to end all wars,
Was over.
Lest we forget, in Flanders fields,
The poppies grew blood red,
When Aussie boys, far from their homes,
Were number’d ’mongst the dead.
They came from farms where red gums grew,
From ’neath the Southern Cross;
No friendly sun, no magpie’s cry,
Would ever mark their loss.
In ev’ry town, in ev’ry park,
Their solemn statues stand.
Lest we forget those brave young men
Whose honour shaped our land.
The blood of her song
is a litany against war
It throbs against the air
echoes remembrance
The sky doesn’t break
as her voice wavers
The world craves her song
of forgiveness and hope
She sings for those who died in war
and a crowd gathers silently
offering homage to soldiers
Anzacs and those who have borne
their love and innocence,
always reminding.