Cool breezes whip at my hair

Gentle waves ripple over my toes

Seagulls take to the air

and sea mist tickles my nose.

© Chrissy Siggee 2020

Archived in: Poetry Mix

A Man Called Rob

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.

Chrissy Siggee 2020

Note: Dungog is a town in New South Wales, Australia.

Archived in: 🦋 Poetry Mix

A camel that couldn’t blink,
had eyes that were yellowish pink
but being a smart fella,
he bought an umbrella
and married a lama in sync.

Chrissy Siggee 2020

Archived in: 🦋 Poetry Mix

There was a young man called Bill,

who lived in a town near Broken Hill.

He often dreamed of buying a yacht,

and thought he would name it Hotshot.

Instead, he inherited a windmill.

Chrissy Siggee 2020

Archived in: Poetry Mix

Archived in: 🦋 Poetry Mix

There once was a bear named Dwight,
who raided beehives by day
and licked his paws by night.
He ate so much his teeth fell out,
now he can only suck trout.

Chrissy Siggee 2020

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.

Chrissy Siggee 2020

(Note: Dungog is a rural town near Maitland north of Sydney)

Archived in: 🦋 Poetry Mix

There once was a flea called Heather,
who really felt under the weather.
She went to see her pharmacist,
– known to most as a romanticist
and now they are living together.

Chrissy Siggee

Archived in: 🦋 Poetry Mix

He gazed upward to the stars
counting sadness and his woes—
Deep wrinkles creased his brow,
he stands alone and ponders life.

It took one selfish moment
for his wealth to slip away—
Gambling is a fool’s game,
he wonders how he can regain.

Not one dollar he had left.
No income, no means to pay—
His house and car are gone,
He contemplates to end his life.

His wife, his son — he failed.
Nothing left to support them—
Life is not worth living!
He stepped out into the traffic…

Horns blast
Tyres skid
Thud

He stares upward into lights
muffled voices all around—
Deep wrinkles crossed his brow,
he marvels why he’s still alive.

It took one thoughtful moment…
Why would strangers save his life?
Two strong hands pulled him back,
he tried to rub a sore behind.

“Sir, not one bone did you break.
You hit the grass — not the truck—
There’s two people you should thank
and give them the trust they deserve.”

Wife and son approached his bed.
“Why did you return?” he asked—
“My debts won’t go away!”
He couldn’t bear to hurt them more.

Tears flowed
Misery
Dread

He gazed upward into hope
given now a second chance—
Deep wrinkles shaped his brow,
he reaches out and asks for help.

It took a year of meetings
learning how to take control—
Took years to pay his debts;
he found a job and stuck with it.

Desperate decisions made
difficult times they endured—
Early starts, long night shifts,
he finally forgave himself.

His wife and son stood by him,
nothing fancy they could own—
Probably never will.
But what they have is worth far more.

True love
Forgiveness
Trust

© Chrissy Siggee 2019

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental

Archived in: 🦋 Poetry Mix

There once was a man called Matt,
who wore an astonishing hat.
He found himself lost on vacation,
in an Australian outback location
and fell into a hole of a kangaroo-rat.

Chrissy Siggee 2020

Archived in: 🦋  Poetry Mix

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

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.

Chrissy Siggee

Archived in: Poetry Mix

Archived in: Poetry Mix

There once was a flea called Maureen,

lived a laid-back life of a queen.

She survived on a government grant,

which occurred to her as a song and dance,

After-all, she was only eighteen.

Chrissy Siggee 2020

Archived in Poetry Mix

A little cry drifts down the hall
announcing Jane’s awake—
Breakfast dishes partly done,
Just a small sacrifice to make.

‘Share’, she says, stepping over twins and blocks.

The washing machine begins to shake
And little Amy’s has a fall—
Two more loads will do today,
A bigger machine, I really need.

‘There now’ she soothes, stroking Amy’s locks.

Tim and Robbie are almost five.
Will their fighting ever end?
At least next year they’ll go to school,
to miss them she could not pretend.

‘Coming,’ she sighs, picking up a pair of socks.

The telephone rings in her room
She grabs it as she passes by—
Judy’s baby isn’t sleeping,
She’s so tied she wants to cry.

‘It’s ok’ she smiles, ‘I can mind your little Enoch.’

Amy wants to change her clothes
and play out in the rain.
‘Not right now my little one,
It’s time to feed our baby Jane.’

‘Mummy’s here’, she s smiles, giving Jane a gentle rock.

Jane is finally fed and bathed,
and it’s only half past eight!
Little Amy’s far too quiet…
last week she escaped through the gate!

I need to remind Tom to fix that lock.

Now there’s someone at the door,
Tim and Robbie run down the hall—
Oh dear, Robbie’s lost another shoe,
He lost the last pair at the mall.

‘Come on,’ she calls, ‘let’s answer that knock.’

Enoch really has a lot of zest,
being quite the noisy guest—
He’s into this and into that,
She hopes poor Judy gets some rest.

‘Lunch time’, she announces, glancing at the clock.

Macaroni is a lunchtime favorite,
Followed by cup of juice…
Looks like more dishes will have to wait,
Where does her morning go?

‘Wash you face,’ she laughs. ‘You gave me quite a shock.’

Enoch forgot to bring his bedtime toy,
It took a while to calm him down—
The twins woke up tired and cranky,
Oh dear, Amy’s made her wall all … brown.

Peek-a-boo!’ She surprises little Amy wearing Mummy’s frock.

Chaos reigns in an afternoon frenzy,
Toys and books spread everywhere—
Judy looks a whole lot better,
She even found the time to brush her hair.

‘Daddy will be home soon boys, so put away your blocks.’

A little cry drifts down the hall,
Announcing Jane’s awake…
Perhaps Tom will order pizza for tea.
Sigh…she never did get time to bake his birthday cake.

© Chrissy Siggee

Archived in: Poetry Mix

The fresh smell of damp earth is no longer
Air thick with red dust sweeps across the plains
Creek beds and dams completely dried up
Deep crevices formed like lightning bolts in the earth
Sheep and cattle wander – struggling for survival
Farmers open gates to their withered crops
while we city-dwellers have our fill.

Children play in the shade of Coolabah trees
where temperatures are of little difference –
Families battle against all odds to save their land
Determination and courage reveal their Aussie spirit
Household over-draughts rise beyond all revenue
Farmers are fraught by the burden of debt
Requests for assistance, shatters their humble pride.

An unrestrained sun blazes mercilessly
Occasional clouds overhead constrain their moisture –
Flies stick and infest the cut-price sale yards
Stock owners livelihoods plundered and rorted
Gone are the days of cattlemen and their droving
Greener pastures no longer exist in this dry barren land
Australia, why do we ignore their anxious plight?

Suicides are frequent in this desperate land
Every four days a man takes his life
Outback families weep – completely torn by grief
Livelihoods shattered by troubled times
Land owned for generations – now in ruins
How dire must the life of the Aussie battler be?
A nightmare has replaced their great Aussie dream.

Open the heavens and send down the rain
Fill our dams and drench our dry thirsty land
Refresh our rural regions with life-filled rains
Bring hope and life to struggling families
Restore to this nation a sense of mate-ship
For God, if this drought continues into another day,
the true-blue Aussie will be lost forever.

©   Chrissy Siggee  24^thOctober 2006

Although written in 2006, I feel that this is relevant today.

On 12 Apr 2018 at 2:40pm this statement was released on the ABC: Seasonal conditions are worsening across 90 per cent of New South Wales, and some farmers are forking out up to $10,000 a week to maintain livestock. 

http://www.abc.net.au/news/2018-04-11/farmers-hit-hard-by-drought-in-new-south-wales/9640038

Archived in: Poetry Mix

Archived in: Poetry mix

We often see victimisation and bullying in nature and birds are no exceptions. Across from our house is an open green area with a scattering of trees. A neighbour has donated a birdbath for the birds to enjoy and many residents will encourage the birds to hang around by feeding them. Usually the same variety of birds will gather together at various times during the day. Sometimes stragglers are left from a previous flock and fighting will breakout with screeches and squawks. Sometimes it’s the same breed who fight among themselves but this pretty bird flew in alone. By the time I set up my camera he had had a drink and was moving quite awkwardly up the branch of a jacaranda tree. That’s when I noticed how battered he looked and where there should have been brilliantly blue feathers on his head and chest were quite black and ruffled ones. He may be just old but most likely he’s an escaped caged bird and has been in a fight with native birds who didn’t appreciate his arrival.