Hi All,
I am David Terelinck and live on the Gold Coast in Australia.
Many thanks to Maggie for approving my admission to camp – much appreciated. A little about me for anyone who is interested:
In another lifetime I was involved in academic writing and had many articles published in peer-reviewed nursing journals. I left nursing after 20+ years and got a “real job”; by that I mean no shift work, no rotating rosters, no more socially unacceptable hours, and the only person I had to care for and clean up after was myself!
I had written poetry when in my youth, and had abandoned it for decades as I charged up the career ladder. When I was done with career, and I had found me a nice 9-5 job (sans weekends), I started to dabble in poetry again. In 2007 I was kidnapped by poetry in the form of tanka. I wrote almost exclusively in this genre of poetry until 18 months ago, when I ventured back into free verse.
I have dropped to 4 days a week, and wish it were much less. I am now starting to loathe my day job in injury management and return to work, and really just want to write full-time. But if one wants to put food on the table and take holidays in business class, poetry is not a great bread-winning occupation.
I am looking forward to reading the poems of others, and sharing some of mine along the way.
Here are a couple; I hope you enjoy them:
*********************************
Spicy
by morning
the blizzard has howled
itself hoarse –
you sleep in my arms
after coming three times
the spark
& crackle of shifting logs
makes you stir
slither of sheets
slither of hands
on the rug
listening to Billie croon
stormy weather
today’s forecast
more of the same
a shower
large enough for 2
the hiss of steam
a sharp intake
of breath . . .
eggs & bacon
sizzling in the pan –
every word
you whisper in my ear
spiced with tabasco
*********************************
Appalachian Nights
A running faucet and snatches
of song from beyond the fly-screen
door. Wheezing & rattling,
the old icebox palliates
its way toward another
tomorrow. The closing jaw
of noon has lost its bite.
No longer fixed high overhead
the sun slowly circles,
flames the ridge of red pine,
then sinks below a stand
of old-growth birch. Shadows
gnaw at the hind leg of day.
They limp up the graveled path,
nuzzle around the steps. Furtively
they climb each swayback tread
to finally rest at the foot
of your rocker. With each
rhythmic rise & fall your feet
dosey doe with dusk.
You find comfort in the creak
of mellowed bones & ageing
porch timbers slacked by time
& weather. With welcomed habit
rivulets of twilight once more
torrent into nightfall. Stars
calve from obsidian skies
& the avalanche of darkness
is complete. A far-away freight
whistle strobes a crisp night air
spiced with leaf-fall,
hardwood smoke, & a hint
of mountain moonshine.
Fireflies swarm to puncture
& repair the night. They fluctuate
like an undecided jury;
their gilt-edged light bright
enough for passing judgment
on a descendent life. You’ve chosen
your resting place in mountains
which have cradled your soul
long before your birth.
But for now, your nose hooked
by frying catfish, buttered greens,
& coffee two-days strong.
I enjoyed Spicy.
Though have some thoughts on form and line lengths for Appalachian Nights .
Lovely drafts. Maggie
A running faucet and snatches
of song from beyond the fly-screen
door. Wheezing & rattling, the old icebox
palliates its way toward another tomorrow.
The closing jaw of noon has lost its bite.
No longer fixed high overhead the sun circles,
flames the ridge of red pine, then sinks below
a stand of old-growth birch. Shadows gnaw
the hind leg of day, limp up the graveled path,
nuzzle around the steps.
Furtively they climb each swayback tread
to finally rest at the foot of your rocker. With each
rhythmic rise & fall your feet dosey doe with dusk.
You find comfort in the creak of mellowed bones
& ageing porch timbers slacked by time & weather.
With welcomed habit, rivulets of twilight once more
torrent into nightfall. Stars calve from obsidian skies
& the avalanche of darkness is complete.
A far-away freight whistle strobes a crisp night air
spiced with leaf-fall, hardwood smoke, & a hint
of mountain moonshine. Fireflies swarm to puncture
& repair the night. They fluctuate like an undecided jury;
their gilt-edged light bright enough for passing judgment
on a descendent life.
You’ve chosen your resting place in mountains
which have cradled your soul long before your birth.
But for now, your nose hooked by frying catfish,
buttered greens, & coffee two-days strong.