Archived in: 🦋 Poetry Mix

Whispers of the dawn
proclaim its arrival
Softness caresses the horizon
with pastel hues.

© Chrissy Siggee

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED  From my book:  Glimpses of His Glory – (the book)

Archived in: Poetry Mix

Archived in: Poetry Mix

 colours of the evening sky

                  reveal the setting sun—

aromas of the sleepy garden

                  refresh my musty senses.

© Chrissy Siggee

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

From my book: Glimpses of His Glory

Archived in: 🦋 Poetry Mix

Archived in: 🦋 Poetry Mix

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

Archived in: Poetry Mix

The heavens are ablaze with orange embers
Splinters of steel-grey clouds pierce the radiance
Wisps of haze emerge like smoky smudges
Summer’s twilight heat affects the changing light
Fiery reflections shimmer against the fading hues
Like a fire in the sky, the sun melts into the horizon.

© Chrissy Siggee

Archived in: 🦋 Poetry Mix

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

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

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

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

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

Dancing couples enhanced my mood,
Lights dimmed and music subdued.

This man intrigued me – he sat alone
Rumours had him single and smart
Perhaps he’d consider a dance with me ~

He looked at me, I looked away
Doubt disappeared – I met his gaze
He smiled at me – I think I blushed
Was it possible – was he the one?

He rose from his chair and strolled my way
I sat quite still, frozen in time
Preoccupied with sweet fantasies –

With a princely bow he took my hand
His eyes spoke volumes; I rose to dance
A foretaste of our love and romance.

daNce

Daydreams mingled with our dance,
Nothing ever happens by chance.

We married young – knew nothing of life
We lived simply and loved each other
We knew we could dance without a doubt ~

We dreamed our dreams, I knew your heart
Through the years we dancedas one
We learned to commit – we cherished our love
To Dance with you – for a lifetime, no less!

We nurtured our dance and learnt new moves
From hip hop kids to break dance teens
discovered and danced every routine –

You showed me how to refine our dance
With true love – the order of each day
We progressed to classical ballet.

DaNCe

The sands of time continue to flow,
Neither age nor pain will end this dance.

We danced yesterday. We danced today
We’ll dance tomorrow, this dance of life
Bad years are few—but we took that chance –

Your true commitment never fails
because you dance with a patient heart
You love me the way I am – I know
Always have – right from our first dance!

In the stillness of the night, you hold me
For always – I want to dance with you
Devotion and love are ours – it’s true ~

A life time of memories stir from within
Our dance is still to the highest degree
Because I accepted – and you danced with me.

dANcE

First published © Chrissy Siggee – 2018

Dedicated to my husband of 42 years. Always the romantic. Always in love.

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Blue skies, gentle rains

     Summer’s sun sweltering heat

Hot days – sticky nights.

© Chrissy Siggee – 2018

Archived in: Poetry Mix

Why is it when I plan to spend time writing, I’m needed by everybody?

Why is it when I’m relaxing, someone wants something?

Why is it when I’m sleeping that someone phones me?

Why is it when I’m about to eat, there’s a knock on the door?

Why is it when I want to shut down the computer, an email/ message comes in?

Don’t get me wrong, I do get to write…

Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy to help…

Don’t get me wrong, I love people who phone…

Don’t get me wrong, I love having visitors…

Don’t get me wrong, there’s only spam emails I dislike…

I just wish at times I have more time to write.

I just wish at times I have super powers.

I just wish at times I can answer in my sleep.

I just wish at times people come earlier and eat with me.

I just wish at times my computer answers emails for me.

by me: Chrissy Siggee

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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

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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.

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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

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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

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

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.

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