Frank Halliwell Poems

I've drifted for these sixty years,
And never really known,
Where life would lead eventually,
Ere the bird of time had flown.
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Hail, poets! Raise your glasses
For I'd like to make a toast
To thoughts that dissipated
With the sunrise, like a ghost.
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HELP WANTED
by Frank Halliwell
Jimboomba, Australia
Public Domain.
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No, not for me; the plastic verse,
The lines of fractured prose.
Give me instead the singing rhyme
That each true poet knows.
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Far down below the sunlit waves
Stresses accumulate,
And thousands up above shall know
The fickle hand of fate!
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If the world should lose its savour
And I cease to feel a thrill
At the lorikeet's bold beauty
Or the magpie's liquid trill...
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The herald of the dawn glows faintly in the eastern sky
A lonely Loon is softly calling me.
From far out on the sleeping lake, I hear the haunting cry,
And hear the echoes race from tree to tree.
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My cat has gone where all cats go
When mice get fast and cats get slow.
For sixteen years she ruled the place
As terror of the rodent race.
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It seems a year or two at most that Luke has been around,
But nine have passed since first I spied him at the Brisbane pound.
He stood in dogdom's big house, all ears and tongue and smile,
The model of a friendly dog, without a trace of guile.
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The rigging sings the north wind's song,
Through all the sheets it's sighing.
The pirate crew atoning now
In time that flight is buying.
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