A Man Named Rob

A Man Called Rob

There once was a man called Rob,
who lived in the town of Dungog.
With daily doses of moonshine,
he couldnt 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

Rhythm of the Dawn

Rhythm of the rain gently declares its message,

Its gentleness soothes my soul;

Silent birds make known the impending cooler day

I snuggle deep beneath the covers.

穢 Chrissy Siggee

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
From my book: Glimpses of His Glory

Archived in: Poetry Mix

Me and My Writing….

I dont care what people say
Its 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…
Its 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.

穢 Chrissy Siggee – 2018

Archived in: Poetry Mix

Roof Top Dancing

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 wouldnt 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

穢 Chrissy Siggee

Archived in
Poetry Mix and Children’s Corner

There’s Nought to Fear

Some things dont feel right.
Unpleasant confrontations generate a mood of sadness.
Shivers torment already traumatised nerves,
like finger nails dragged across a blackboard.
Yet, theres 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, theres 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, theres 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, theres nought to fear.

穢 Chrissy Siggee -2019

Archived in: Poetry Mix

Riverside Peace (the poem)

Theres something about a river
that draws me to its side
Effortlessly advancing
toward a lake or sea.

With abundance of freshness
its 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.

穢 Chrissy Siggee

Archived in: Poetry Mix

Fire in the Sky

The heavens are ablaze with orange embers
Splinters of steel-grey clouds pierce the radiance
Wisps of haze emerge like smoky smudges
Summers 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.

穢 Chrissy Siggee

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 couldnt 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 Smell of Death Lingers

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