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My style may vary, the subject differ. I usually write on subjects that occur during my day. Some dedications to family or friends that have passed or I see a picture I really like and feel it needs a poem. I feel strongly about prejudism and bigotry so if your poems contain either or both dont bother asking me to comment. Sorry if that offends.
o _ O
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There thou sits, behind thy desk,
Fingers posed on thy keyboard.
Thyne eyes look toward the screen,
Words in thy mind scramble for use.
Plague me not with thy words,
Thy mismatch sentences haplessly placed.
Mine eyes hurt at senseless words,
What love have I for thy prose?
Think thee lucky that I bother,
For mine own I'd rather read.
So with these words I will go,
Type well foolish poet, for I will read.
A comment I will leave on thy attempts,
I am the muse that is. I am the Scribe.

© Syr Scribbles 2006


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Bellbirds

BY channels of coolness the echoes are calling,
And down the dim gorges I hear the creek falling:
It lives in the mountain where moss and the sedges
Touch with their beauty the banks and the ledges.
Through breaks of the cedar and sycamore bowers
Struggles the light that is love to the flowers;
And, softer than slumber, and sweeter than singing,
The notes of the bell-birds are running and ringing.

The silver-voiced bell birds, the darlings of daytime!
They sing in September their songs of the May-time;
When shadows wax strong, and the thunder bolts hurtle,
They hide with their fear in the leaves of the myrtle;
When rain and the sunbeams shine mingled together,
They start up like fairies that follow fair weather;
And straightway the hues of their feathers unfolden
Are the green and the purple, the blue and the golden.

October, the maiden of bright yellow tresses,
Loiters for love in these cool wildernesses;
Loiters, knee-deep, in the grasses, to listen,
Where dripping rocks gleam and the leafy pools glisten:
Then is the time when the water-moons splendid
Break with their gold, and are scattered or blended
Over the creeks, till the woodlands have warning
Of songs of the bell-bird and wings of the Morning.

Welcome as waters unkissed by the summers
Are the voices of bell-birds to the thirsty far-comers.
When fiery December sets foot in the forest,
And the need of the wayfarer presses the sorest,
Pent in the ridges for ever and ever
The bell-birds direct him to spring and to river,
With ring and with ripple, like runnels who torrents
Are toned by the pebbles and the leaves in the currents.

Often I sit, looking back to a childhood,
Mixt with the sights and the sounds of the wildwood,
Longing for power and the sweetness to fashion,
Lyrics with beats like the heart-beats of Passion; -
Songs interwoven of lights and of laughters
Borrowed from bell-birds in far forest-rafters;
So I might keep in the city and alleys
The beauty and strength of the deep mountain valleys:
Charming to slumber the pain of my losses
With glimpses of creeks and a vision of mosses.

Henry Kendall

Dont You just love this piece? Pure Australiana.