A Collection of Poems
Rising, falling,
Gliding, flying.
Mantled in whispers of cloud,
Little white dove blissfully endowed.
Rising, falling,
Gliding, flying.
Softy embracing a heavenly tone,
Fly little white dove in skies unknown.
Rising, falling,
Gliding, flying.
Little white dove rise beyond the dance,
Through the power of a rhythmic trance.
© Chrissy Siggee
Archived in: Poetry
Rising, falling,
Gliding, flying.
Mantled in whispers of cloud,
Little white dove blissfully endowed.
Rising, falling,
Gliding, flying.
Softy embracing a heavenly tone,
Fly little white dove in skies unknown.
Rising, falling,
Gliding, flying.
Little white dove rise beyond the dance,
Through the power of a rhythmic trance.
© Chrissy Siggee
Archived in: Poetry Mix
Lost
Tears roll down her sunken cheeks
Sorrow falls from all she seeks
Memories
Where have they gone?
Silent weeping, full of dread
Photos stand beside her bed
Treasures
No longer mean a thing.
Recollections of a lifetime friend
She cannot comprehend
Inquires
What was her name again?
Misplaced images, shapeless faces
Times past gone, she embraces
Snapshots
Within a puzzled mind—
Unsure of the man beside her lies
Sleep won’t come to heavy eyes
Confused
Why can’t she remember?
Dark hours bring loss and sadness
Barely surviving utter madness
Loneliness
Tortures a baffled mind.
Laughter echoes through the day
Someone brought a big bouquet
Mystified
Who was that nice young man?
Foreign words, vague identities
Now she speaks obscenities
Misunderstood
Unable to say things clear—
Caring physicians calm her protests
Guide her through painless tests
Frustration
Why can’t she tell the time?
Rejecting yet another embrace
To just become another face
Heartache
Mirrored in her children’s eyes.
© Chrissy Siggee
This poem is dedicated to those who suffer from Dementia,
Alzheimer’s and to those that have been forgotten.
Archived in Poetry Mix
Sixty days she’d walked alone,
counting memories along the way.
She stumbled every now and then
but knew she couldn’t fall.
Her mind was full of images;
her heart was full of grief.
Too many nights alone,
many days that would not end.
Now she sits on her garden seat,
bought together one summer’s day.
Tears spilling down her cheeks
lost in a world without her Paul.
She knows her life must go on;
her mind still filled with disbelief.
With every breath it hurt,
alone, she cannot comprehend.
One day she’ll fall in love once more,
with a restored heart to give away.
For now, she lives with memories
that she cannot help recall.
His presence’s felt all around;
memories bring fruitless relief.
Worst of all, no doubt about it,
she had lost her very best friend.
Autumn leaves fall to the ground,
like her tears they do portray.
Her face stings with salty wetness—
she wipes them away it with assurance tall.
She’ll face new challenges boldly;
yet still, sorrow will not be brief.
Time will heal and life will go on,
and her mourning heart will mend.
© Chrissy Siggee – 2019
Archived in: Poetry Mix
There once was a man called Rob,
who lived in the town of Dungog.
With daily doses of moonshine,
he couldn’t walk a straight line.
Sadly, he drowned in his grog.
(Note: Dungog is a rural town near Maitland north of Sydney)
Archived in
Poetry Mix by Chrissy at Riverside Peace
Archived in: Poetry Mix
There once was a fly called Mable,
whose life was quite unstable.
You see, she lived in Humpty Doo
where they loved their barbecues
but often drank flies in their booze.
Chrissy Siggee
(Note: Humpty Doo is a small town approximately 40 kms from Darwin, Northern Territory Australia)
Archived in
Poetry Mix by Chrissy at Riverside Peace
The Smell of Death Lingers The smell of death lingers – It lingers in the bedroom and in the dining room. But, in the garden it grasps the essence of life— Even the weeds share their aroma. The smell of death lingers— Odours cannot be shaken it's everywhere I go. But, in the garden it grasps the essence of life— Even the weeds share their aroma. The smell of death lingers— It lingers on my clothing every breath smothers me. But, in the garden it grasps the essence of life— Even the weeds share their aroma. The smell of death lingers— Until life yields into death to finds its final path. And, in the garden it grasps the essence of life— Even the weeds share their aroma. Chrissy Siggee July 2021
Archived in: Poetry Mix
Why?
Why is life like the ebbing tide?
The ebb of tides is never-ending…
Devastation can come in one huge wave
Or glide you gently into the shore.
Why is life like the shining sun?
Its radiance never ceases to glow…
Harsh heat often sets the earth ablaze
Or softly warms us on a winter’s day.
Why is life like the lilies of the field?
They stand so tall in their Sunday best…
Winter winds causes them to tilt and bend
Or makes them dance in a summers breeze.
Why is life like a shooting star?
Sometimes you see it, sometimes not…
Leaving a trail of light across the evening sky
Or gone in an instant, to be no more.
© Chrissy Siggee
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
From my book: Glimpses of His Glory
There once was a prince called Dylan,
who was known as a bit of a villain.
He would never wash his hands
after a feeding on smelly clams,
so his doctor ordered him to take penicillin.
Archived in
Poetry Mix by Chrissy at Riverside Peace
Some things don’t feel right.
Unpleasant confrontations generate a mood of sadness.
Shivers torment already traumatised nerves,
like finger nails dragged across a blackboard.
Yet, there’s nought to fear.
Some things are not right.
Hostility clutches hold with naive dishonesties
and confusion creeps in with unsuspected lies.
Cold fingers of fear grip with malicious rumours.
Yet, there’s nought to fear.
Some things are never right.
Malice and corruption run amok in a violated world
with greed and self-absorption taking hold.
Unpredicted anguish and hearts full of darkness.
Yet, there’s nought to fear.
Some things can be made right.
Terrors of the night flee with the promise of the sunrise.
Integrity re-established to transform thoughts
to benefit the practise of honest, uncorrupted lives.
Yes, there’s nought to fear.
© Chrissy Siggee -2019
Archived in
Poetry Mix by Chrissy at Riverside Peace
I don’t care what people say
It’s time to look the other way.
If I want to write – I will
with or without a copyright.
Poems, fiction and mysteries,
for children and adults.
Whatever takes my fancy – oh yeah…
It’s what I like to do.
My grammar may not be perfect
and rhyme is not my forte
But whatever I write –
I write with all my heart.
Grandchildren love my nonsense,
Friends enjoy a jingle.
I only write for them and those
Who enjoy my writing most.
© Chrissy Siggee – 2018
Archived in: Poetry Mix
A moment of joy
and a note to sing—
or a tender kiss.
A whisper of peace
and a soothing voice
with a gentle hug.
A lasting hope
and a caring heart—
the softest touch.
An endless faith
and a treasured gift
that lasts forever.
© Chrissy Siggee 2017
Archived in
Poetry Mix by Chrissy at Riverside Peace
fading cries of restless birds
linger in the cooling air—
quietness rests like a gentle hug.
© Chrissy Siggee
From my book : Glimpses of His Glory – ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Archived in: Poetry Mix
There’s something about a river
that draws me to its side
Effortlessly advancing
toward a lake or sea.
With abundance of freshness
it’s filled with life and health
Uninterrupted flowing
beyond the distant fields.
From gentle humble beginnings
– a fact of life itself
Amazingly appealing
amid a lonely past.
Whispers of the river embrace
the peace renews my mind
Majestically embracing
yonder pathways I see.
© Chrissy Siggee
Archived in: Poetry Mix
I asked an old lady in the park if she had seen my little boy.
‘What does he look like?’ she replied.
‘Well,’ I answered, quite sincere—
‘He has brown eyes
And hair to match;
Too many curls for a little boy,
Combed to perfection every day;
His teeth are white as white can be—
A very tidy little man is he!
He wears a smartly pressed sailor suit
With little white shoes to match.’
— A perfect darling is my boy.’
‘No child like this I have seen,’ the lady did respond,
‘but a treasure you will find, just around that path.’
Around the garden path I went
And before me, a treasure my eyes beheld—
He had brown eyes
And hair to match,
A shock of curls in disarray,
Band-aid knees and soiled clothes—
What happened to my little boy?
At front, he had a missing tooth;
He was eating ice-cream from a cone,
His face aglow with a rainbow smile.
—’A perfect darling is my boy.’
© Chrissy Siggee
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED From my book: Glimpses of His Glory
Archived in: Poetry Mix
Trees bare
Frosty breath—
No warmth
Lifeless—
A bowl of soup
Crusty bread—
Glowing fireplace
Lazy days—
© Chrissy Siggee 2018
Archived in
Poetry Mix by Chrissy at Riverside Peace
tap, tap, tap…
thud, thud,
bump bump.
repeat
There is someone on my roof…
It sounds like they are dancing.
tap, tap, tap…
thud, thud,
bump bump.
repeat
I wonder if this roof is dance-proof…
It wouldn’t be for elephants prancing.
tap, tap, tap…
thud, thud,
bump bump.
repeat
Who is dancing on my roof?
Toward the eaves they’re now advancing.
tap, tap, tap…
thud, thud,
bump bump.
repeat
I sneaked a peek to find the proof…
To do this, it took some chancing.
tap, tap, tap…
thud, thud,
bump bump.
repeat
There is someone dancing on my roof!
— It’s three galahs belly-dancing.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Galah
© Chrissy Siggee
Archived in
Poetry Mix and Children’s Corner
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