SCRIBBLERS
ON SUNDAY


scribblers



Scribblers on Sunday is a varied and versatile group of writers with one thing in common: a love of poetry and prose and sharing this love with other writers. Members' ages range from teens to retirees which gives a wide scope of interest and experience in the written word. The group published its first book, simply called "Scribblers on Sunday", in 2006.

Scribblers meets in a social atmosphere on the second Sunday of every month at the Carindale Library meeting room from 10.30 am until 12.30 pm. The group extends a welcome to those who write, perform, or simply enjoy being part of a listening audience.

If you would like to know more about Scribblers on Sunday, contact Rae on 07 3395 0797.







rae

Rae enjoys presenting her poetry much of which concludes with a humourous twist and this aspect is particularly enjoyed and appreciated by residents of a number of the local retirement villages. Rae is co-ordinator of the Scribblers on Sunday group and always has an encouraging word for fellow poets. She is an accomplished artist. The graphic on this page is Rae's work and forms the front cover of the "Scribblers on Sunday" book.











peter

Peter loves to entertain and, assisted by his amazing imagination, he does this well. Many of his poems are humourous, although he sometimes touches our emotions with his more thoughtful and soul-searching verse. His ever-devoted wife, Rona, accompanies him to most poetry meets. Peter has self-published three books, "The Bashful Baker from Banyo" and "The Baker Rides Again" and "The Naïve Baker".











yvonne

Yvonne is a wife and mother and her hobbies include local history, reading and walking. Yvonne's writings reflect the Australian way of life and personalities such as country singer, Slim Dusty and ice skater, Steven Bradbury. Yvonne published her first book containing local history and poetry "From Newstead to Norman Park" in 2006. Click here to contact Yvonne.











sarah

Sarah has been writing poetry for the last 10 years, and this is her second year as a member of Scribblers on Sunday. She enjoys participating in the monthly meetings and finds writing on a group theme focuses her writing. Sarah enjoys writing poetry based on what she observes around the Brisbane city streets and also in nature. Her poetry is reflective, often philosophical with insights into her inner world and life journey.










dave

Dave and wife Andrea enjoy travelling the country in their motorhome and their life on the road provides great inspiration for Dave's poetry. His Christian beliefs and appreciation of nature ring clear in many of his poems, as does his sense of humour.












rita

Rita looks forward to the shared interests, encouragement and friendships at the monthly meetings of Scribblers on Sunday. At present she is working on writing and illustrating books for young children. A favourite relaxation is bushwalking and exploring remote areas such as Currawinya National Park.













marjorie

Marjorie's interests include weaving, embroidery and travel. Since her retirement from teaching Marjorie has travelled extensively throughout Asia which has provided an opportunity for her to enhance her collection of textiles. She has had a life-long interest in writing, including poetry, and has been involved in a number of writers' workshops.















john

John's poetry writing has extended over a few years but he has taken this interest more seriously since joining Scribblers on Sunday. His writings range from bush poetry through to free verse, satire and short stories. John also enjoys the opportunity to present his poetry to entertain other groups and this interest has become a fulfilling part of his life.















Ann loves reading and writing creatively from personal experience, her love of nature and her philosophy on life. She enjoys the friendship of fellow writers with shared interests both encouraging and stimulating. Although she is new to writing poetry, she has been greatly encouraged by Scribblers on Sunday monthly meetings.















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QUESTIONS

I cannot help but wonder now
What will the future bring?
With global warming now a fact,
Economy so grim.

Can we conserve the bushland and
The forests and the streams
For future generations, or
Will that just be a dream?

Will money markets settle down?
Or will my savings drain?
How can pollution be controlled
Our food supply maintained

I do not know the answers but
I only know I must
Be optimistic, live this life
With faith and hope and trust.

© Rae



BRING INVISIBLE

If I could be invisible,
What fun now that would be:
A whole new world would open up
Of opportunity.

I'd travel all around the world
By plane or train or sea
In luxury, and best of all
I'd do it all for free.

I'd visit with the idle rich
Their mansions I would share,
I'd lounge beside their swimming pools -
They'd not know I was there.

I'd go to see the latest shows
Of stage or on the screen;
I'd mingle with the stars and hear
Their gossip while unseen.

And think of all the good that I
Could do in fighting crime:
If criminals had hatched a plot
I'd foil them all the time.

And what a chance of getting rich:
I'd buy up stocks and shares,
I'd listen in to broker's tips
And mix with millionaires.

But I am not invisible,
I can be clearly seen,
And yet I find it's fun to sit
Here in the sun and dream.

© Rae





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CHILDREN

Ladybirds with luggage
Females on the footpath in pink
Walking where?
I stare.
So young, so early, so tidy
Will the day awaken for them?
Will they see nature around?
Ladybirds with luggage.
Once, once, you were mine.

© Peter



AN OLD LOVE

She went picking grapes in the Falklands,
Her hair held my heart there;
She walked around the parapets,
I followed with my stare,
Knowing she was not for me,
It was a helpless dream.
I was like the cheshire cat
Wanting to lick the cream.

But milk today is pasteurised -
You cannot taste the past,
The castle walls impregnable,
My love it would not last.
I knew that grapes of wrath
Descended when you were mine;
It was a hopeless fantasy,
All that's left is wine.

© Peter



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HAIKU SELECTION

angel in the cloud
just a glimpse to recognise
a sign of God's grace


gazing all day long
for an angel to appear
angel wings above


girl on mobile phone
chatting loudly on the bus
inconsiderate


council bus to town
small frail lady almost falls
driver starts too fast


medicare office
hum of air-conditioner
robot-like system.

© Yvonne

NEW YEAR'S EVE IN AUSSIE

Auld Lang Syne and new beginnings
Memories and nostalgia too.
A time to reflect on what has been
And embrace our life anew.

The Lucky country is full of hope
Cobbers and mates galore.
Cities, outback, beaches and rainforests,
So much to wonder at and more.

Another year has come to a close
It’s time to herald in the new.
A fresh beginning full of promise,
That’s my heart-felt wish for you.

© Yvonne Pick





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CIRCLING

1.
White lines painting a labyrinth
five of us enter this sacred space,
a ritual to journey through nature’s glory.
A Chapel with a cross, St Francis protecting
Us wanderers.

  2.
Travelling patiently, slowly
I come to terms with my own cross,
each step becoming less shackled.

  As I age
freedom gently guides the way.

  Like the leaf tumbling so slowly
floating, as if in water
I hear the grace of my internal voice.
A huge juncture has been crossed
I’m at a cataclysmic point of change within,
not binding myself in a wall of security and safety,
but leaping with life,
hearing the call to explore this beautiful world.

  To see life as an experiment,
not knowing where this dive
into the unknown will lead,
But as a scientist
thriving on discovery, learning,
wisdom and wonder.
Each day a new challenge.

  3.
At the Centre of the labyrinth
I stand still
My four companions have gone before me
I feel the stillness inside
dance with a gentle breeze.
The wind blows fresh against my face.

  I face North then South, then East, then West
embrace all the seasons and directions of my life,
knowing I am home, healed and centred,
with huge faith in the process of life itself –
I affirm the traveller within.

  4.
We wind back through the labyrinth
sometimes four of us in line
like planets crossing through sacred time.

  A magpie stands on high,
looks below.

  We have each found our Centre.  

© Sarah



MOTHERHOOD

  1.
The robot was restless, searching
forged by humans,
metal, nuts and bolts.
Yet at its centre
it shared all of humanities’ desire -
longing to find its mother.

  The mother travelled overseas.
Her daughter waited at the front door
repeating the mantra: “mummy, mummy”.

  When Mum came home she saw
loving delight in her child’s eyes -
They beamed at one another.

  2.
Hostile prison guards tugged at her arms -
an adult woman torn from her mother’s embrace.

  The Woman felt that forever
she would be alone.
She also knew she would be her own mother
and nurture that wild child’s heart,
and a mother herself to young
male and female friends,
crossing her path.

  3.
The earth, a mother to all beings .

  Her trees a home to bury into for warmth and love,
rain to moisten our souls
and wind to blow life’s vital force
into all our hearts.

© Sarah



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WHAT GOES UP

A friend, a pilot, offered to give me a flight,
To soar the blue and to gain some height;
I was quick to accept, my imagination ran free -
Flying in a Cessna! Alas, it wasn't going to be.

Arriving early morning, anticipation in the air,
I chance to see a Tiger Moth standing over there,
A bright yellow, contrasting with all around;
My friend stepped out, my jaw hit the ground.

"We're not..." says I, frightened out of my wits.
"It's ok, mate, it's held together with wire and bits,
And of some of the parts it may be a bit shy,
But, hey man! You want to see this baby fly."

I climbed into this cockpit that was very cramped,
The moisture on my face wasn't from the damp;
My safety harness was melded right into my skin,
Leather helmet, flying goggles, a very sickly grin.

Well we looped the loop, and a right hand spiral,
At any moment in time I thought it was my final;
As we flew his hand reached out, and the motor died -
That's when I knew in my heart I was fried.

Down we went in one big swoop,
I yelled out and gave a whoop;
The ground rose to meet the plane
And I heard Jesus call out my name.

All of a sudden the great motor kicked in,
The contents of my stomach were very thin.
If I ever get out of this I quickly declared,
No one would ever get me back in the air.

© Dave



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WINDS OF THE STRAITS

The South East blows the Islands and the Sea,
The pearling season has begun.
Luggers, billowing sails and singing ropes,
Clustered in flotillas, say farewell
To people crowding beach and wharves.
They call Yawah, toss their flowers in the sea
And pray to ancient gods to keep the divers safe
From sea and sharks and dreaded Darnley Depths.
Some will not survive the crippling bends.
The divers, dark skin, frizzy hair, smile and wave.
Pearling Masters white starched and well heeled,
Hope for shining shell and lustrous pearls.
The Nor' West comes to claim the waves,
The depths are murky, currents rip the sea.
Rain squalls hurl the luggers off their course.
Seaweed drifts and raging seas sound the call.
Time to make for home and safe refuge.
The people crowd the beach again to see
Fathers, sons, long absent from their arms
And shining shell heaped upon the decks.
The pearls are safely stowed below.
Pearling Masters, smiling on the wharf,
Come to claim their treasures from the deeps.
Those who dived and died remain at sea,
To face alone the terrors of the depths.

© Rita







TIMBER and TIN

They straddle the hills of old Brisbane
Those houses of timber and tin.
Their verandahs spread arms to bay breezes
That fan all who dwell within.

Rain drums on tin roofs in the summer
Lulling the sleeper at night.
Winter sunlight works on the timber
Putting the cold to flight.

Scent of the sweet frangipani
Drifts through lattice and rail.
The coolness of shady verandahs
Is a joy that will never fail.

New houses now jostle beside them,
Unit towers peer down from above.
But those houses of timber and tin
Are treasures we'll always love.

© Rita



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PAULINE THE POSSUM

Pauline the Possum you must admit was really somewhat twee,
she spent her life entirely, sitting in a banksia tree.
Her friend Amanda begged her down, to come and join the fun
when she and other possums were going on a run.

Pauline shrank down on the branch and wouldn't move an inch,
she said she had a phobia and couldn't eat her lunch;
The others all derided her and treated her with scorn -
you've always been a loner, from the time that you were born.

You never think we're good enough for you to scamper with
and now you've got a phobia you're giving us the pip.
Go and find another tree where you won't be disturbed
and we can have our fun and run and not be overheard.

Pauline had to think a bit and make a wise decision,
she knew she was a loner and so examined her position.
If she couldn't mix with them, they'd cut her off completely,
that would really change her life, and ostracise her neatly.

Climbing from her favourite branch she called to them directly -
could I join in now and then, and sit out when I'm tetchy?
I don't mean to snub you all, I am so bad at games,
but find I cannot stand it when you call me nasty names.

The others all conferred a while and then they took a vote -
if she can show she's willing and not be so remote,
We'll give her one more chance to play and join in all our antic
and if she likes our make believe, she needn't be so frantic.

Off they started there and then to play a game of tag
and Pauline joined in with them and tried hard not to lag.
Whatever happened then she thought she'd always show the flag
and never give up on the game and never be a dag.

© Marjorie



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AN AUTOMOTIVE CHANGE OF LIFE

(Written at the time of the "Utegate" fiasco)

I’m a humble old Mazda Utility,
I thought my life was at its end,
But suddenly my body became famous,
When I helped Kev. become our new P.M.

Was I chosen by fate to be special?
This new lifestyle beyond my belief,
It brought a new sparkle to my chromework,
And my transmission gave a sigh of relief.

I’d spent most of my life with a ‘tradie’,
He threw all sorts of stuff in my back,
And didn’t care about hurting my tyres,
As he drove across any rough track.

But I knew that my life as a utility,
Was to help some poor bloke make a quid,
And ‘change of life’ to me was incredible,
With the new type of work that I did.

He traded me at John Grant’s car yard,
He’d bought a newer model, you see,
But I hope that he treated it better,
Than the way he abused poor old me.

It happened back there in ’07,
John gave me to his neighbour to use,
And I became Kevin Rudd’s Mobile Office
For the election that was then the big news.

But I enjoyed my new lifestyle with Kevvie,
With Therese and the kids in the back,
As we drove around the streets of the electorate,
Trying to put Johnnie Howard on the rack.

The media just thought I was terrific,
I helped fill their pages with news,
As they presented all the facts to the public,
A privilege that they sometimes abuse.

They just went on and on with the dribble,
As the pollies kept tightening the screws,
And I realized as they sold more newspapers,
That it’s only special Utes that make news.

I never meant to be part of this furore,
To me it’s just political hype,
I think of the homeless and starving,
While our politicians just argue and fight.

But the result was all good in the election,
With good reason for much celebration,
And it brought a wee tear to my headlights,
As I became the toast of the Nation.

Now my home is again at John’s car yard,
And I’m classed as a ‘Celebrity Ute’,
But despite all the ‘Utegate’ publicity,
I thought the whole experience was beaut.

And I’m glad the whole incident happened,
My old motor had another good rev,
And I’ll always be lovingly remembered,
As the Mazda Ute John loaned to Kev.

© John







THE LOOSE SCREW

There’s a screw I think is coming loose,
It’s been happening for some time,
It has some strange effects on me,
And there no real reason or rhyme.

I asked the Doctor why it was,
He said, “Mate, it’s just your age,
At your time of life, there’s things that happen,
You’re just going through that stage.”

I lose my specs, look all around,
Even underneath the bed,
But all the time I’m looking,
They’re up there on my head.

I think ‘Sat-Nav’ is a great idea,
I hope it’s here to stay,
‘Cause every time I drive the car,
I seem to lose my way.

Remembering passwords and bankcard numbers,
Is a problem that’s always there,
And I often go to another room,
And wonder why I’m there.

Nametags I wear for Clubs I’m in,
They get me out of a jam,
I forget my name, but not a problem,
I just look down and see who I am.

So don’t despair with passing years,
Don’t get the old-age blues,
Just take control of all you do,
And tighten up those screws.

© John



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THE SEEDS YOU SOW

 The seeds you sow each day -
Kindness, encouragement, or a smile
May help another along their way,
Courage to walk another mile.

  In life new beginnings can take hold
In ways we could never foretell
Just as weeds multiply in the lawn -
Wrong thoughts deposited, may dwell.

  Seeds are faithful when planted
Producing what was meant to grow.
When tomatoes are sown, roses aren’t granted
Like seeds sown, like plants will grow.

  An act of kindness, thought to be ordinary
For a seed is such a small thing.
The harvest may be extraordinary
And reap more rewards than you think.

  Be mindful of actions and words you speak
Plant only what you mean to grow.
You can be the change in life that you seek
Each day, with the seeds you sow.

© Ann







RIVERBEND

The name reminiscent of a favoured story,
"The Wind in the Willows".

The teahouse under sails and leafy green -
A great place to meet at leisure,
Where friends can talk without pressure.
Comfortable also for those alone.
Time to sit quietly, time to reflect
Surrounded by books and greenery.
Traffic crawling down Oxford Street
Busy but not intrusive.
Coffee and cake, always a pleasure.
In urban Bulimba village, is a treasure
Where calm and service is not so elusive.
Riverbend friendly, but not exclusive.

© Ann



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