Tag Archives: Poem

Bird Play and Mr Fear – J.K. Leahy Poetry

Together and enjoying the water – Kaz and partner. J.K.Leahy Pic.

Knowing what is not there,

is through the window’s stare

In one pause

Bird play – water soothes

Presence is being

Stamped: “Authentic – one pure joy”

Every drop enjoyed,

but silence yells louder

Shadow talk lurks and

slides in the next scene

Mr Fear and Company

A voice: “Let’s  head into the desert alone”.


*A heart felt gratitude for those kind words from those of you (my readers) that enquired about my health. I am on the mend.  I have been going under some major changes personally, spiritually and health-wise. I was surprised by my doctor asking me if I was hearing voices. I walked away a few days ago wondering, what if I said “yes – all my life”. In my culture, you need those “voices” to guide you – it’s your intuition but we see them also as our ancestors and guides. But there are those “voices” that we need to be aware of as well. Such an interesting topic to discuss further at some stage. I would be grateful to hear your thoughts on the matter. 

Poetry Slam Winners – Queensland Finals

My friend Jenny came second in the Queensland Poetry Slam finals.

The winner was Vivi Baker with her poem on The Murder of Women. I was unable to contact Ms Baker for her permission to publish her poem, that’s why this post is late, but Jenny Campbell gave me her poem to share. I hope you like it. Congratulations to both women poets who will now enter the Australian national finals.

I wanted an image to go with Jenny’s poem and there was so many to  choose from, but I thought this one was appropriate. It was one of the many Trump images on Digital Arts UK – following his election last year.

This was the cover for German publication Der Spiegel. Translation: The end of the world (as we know it). Published on Digital Arts UK.


Anatomy of Terror – Jenny Campbell.


Beware the terror everywhere

beneath your skin and in your stare

it’s in the thoughts you dread to think

it’s in our leaders guilty blink.


Its terror this and terror that

please remove your welcome mat

for terror lurks and terror hides

it grips our lives, but who decides


the terror here and terror there?

Invent a villain, Laissez Faire!

A glance into your neighbor’s yard

may reveal a suspicious bard.


Hide your children! Take the stairs!

They come in ones and groups and pairs!

Bombing things, invading shores

they’re using terror as their oars!


But don’t protest or make a sound

‘cause there’s a lot of them around;

and they could use a cluster bomb

and who could guess where that came from?


So, be you sweet or sharp of mind

they target most of human kind

they take our nature firm in hand

to help us fear them on command.


“They” are world leaders, close the door.

To sovereign coin they pimp and whore.

For oil and gas they kill, inflame

but how they fear revolution’s name.


They run our countries, seize our lands

our blood and breath drips through their hands

they kick the weak and rob the poor

delivering terror door to door.


They use their journos as a prop

who spread the terror news non-stop

to make the nightmare crystal clear

they ‘manage’ what we see and hear.


They pillage with psychotic lust

betray their nation’s flagging trust

and then at night they go to bed

indifferent to the lives they shed.


Oh yes, world leaders terrify

and brutalize and falsify.

So if the ‘terror’ gets to you

be alarmed: they built this zoo!


Jenny Campbell ©










Soaking Hearts – Love Poem

Soaking Hearts with the Night – Love Poem


We soaked our heart in the night.

Oblivious to time and weather,

we  shared the tea of love.

By the firelight, where winds engulfed our embrace,

mushrooms glowed, transcending our emotions.

And like heart-beat, the fireflies echoed the rhythm.

Long and steady, into the morning light;

letting the moon slip by, and the shadows dissolve.

When we let our words melt into nothingness, our bodies

rushed to the voice of our desires.






A Pink Bundle with Price Tag – (Continued)

Pink Bundle with Price Tag – Poem

Artwork by JK.Leahy©

Poem – JK.Leahy©

(See verse one in the last post – This is a short story I tried writing in this format)

Pink Bundle with Price Tag

Arms to hold her first baby, folded on her crossed legs.

Suppressed in her expression, wrapped was her excitement.

I remembered Aunt on the phone telling,

“we are going to have a baby” while laughing at her husband.

A young school girl wanted to adopt her unborn baby.

Aunt said, “she would be beautiful like you, lady.”

The gossip; baby’s father was white and the mother was black.

The baby could own loose locks on a melted caramel tan.

My aunt had fought and climbed trees, just like a man

Not to happen, she would bear children like a woman


(To be continued in a book of short stories)

A Pink Bundle with Price Tag – Poem

A Pink Bundle with Price Tag is a poem I wrote about an incident that occurred some 20 odd years ago. I was trying to write my exercise in a prose form (for my Creative Writing Workshop), and after much confusion, I had gone down this path with the exercise, so I just went with the flow. With 700 odd words later, I told the whole story in a poem, by accident. I spoke with the workshop facilitator and confused her too, but she has forgiven me, she said. I think it’s because she wants to hear the rest of the story tomorrow. This is the opening of the story and hopefully, it will be part of my collection of poems and short stories book later. I hope you like it.

Pink Bundle artwork – Paper artist, 2016. JK.Leahy©


A Pink Bundle with Price Tag – Poem

JK. Leahy Memoir

The house was low, a brown brick hole with blue shades.

Through the open windows, the inside was newborn stained.

A littered table of copious nappies and toys in rainbow frame.

On a ruffled bed, a small centre-piece, wrapped in a pink bundle.

Outside, my aunt sweats on a hardened dry brown lawn.

Desperate time calls for a monsoon, but none had come.

The sward had suffered Port Moresby’s arid time.

Aunt had waited to have babies, years these many,

that patience had become her virtue and time, her company.

Surrounding Beauty – Poem

Crescent Moon by Charles Hite – Free Stock Photography, Public Domain

Surrounding Beauty – JK. Leahy Poem

Life is surrounding beauty

Where crescent moon casts enough light

Your footsteps drum their own music

While walking gives life to your heart

Dead leaves dance in the breeze

Snail trail glistening in light’s reflections

Shadows creating their own art

An owl hoots and swoops low; you hear

A bat screeches that night is near

Before darkness swallows and hides you

Until new day seeks and finds you



A Tender Bloom – Poem

A Tender Bloom – ©JK.Leahy

A succulent bloom. 2015. JK.Leahy photo.©







Blooming succulent

Tender is her child

Radiant a beauty within

Softness is her skin

A spirit of iron built-in

Petals bruise at touch

Yet, in arid menace

Where dew is languished

She steals her solace

And thrives defiantly

Life Has Left Me

Life Has Left Me  © JKLeahy 2015

In The Fog
Paddling In The Fog by Tim Curtis


A proud, strong and phenomenal woman

The time awaits me for what I am to become

Across the dark lake the fog has hung

To shield my journey I obeyed to take

Like many a journeys I have taken

I push the boat into the lake

Paddle cuts thick in life’s oblique

Each stride reaching for the end

I break the fog as it consumes me

Heart not willing to let go, I know I must

Upon reaching the other side, body shivers in cold

Darkness encloses, waters still

Life pushes back against the will

The shadow arrives and becomes me

My life has come to decease for now

In a fleeting glance I see my daughters and son

The grand children and friends

My heart swells in love and happiness

What a legacy I have constructed

Living on, the beauty of life and its greatness

Unto him I will see – the final release lifts me

I drift to the heavens, where my final resting place


Written in loving memory of Mum Kathy by Joycelin K Leahy. (copyright)

Sunday March 29th 2015.

For a woman who was beautiful in and out. My friend Belinda’s mother Kathy Moeder who died peacefully after illness. We buried her today in Brisbane after a wonderful funeral where there was sadness and pain, but many stories of Kathy’s life with happiness, humour and celebration. Kathy Moeder believed in love, family, rights and safety of others. She was a Peace and Women’s advocate and a dedicated Christian. She was truly loved.


Phenomenal Woman

Happy International Women’s Day!

To celebrate us, the women of the world today (March 8th), I share words of  a great poet, Maya Angelou. I would like to pay tribute to the phenomenal women (pictured below) that raised me, and whose blood flow in my vein.

Scan 1
From left to right, Mama De-ec, Tinang and Mama (Freda). My aunt, grandma and mum. Guess who is in the bilum…

Phenomenal Woman

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I’m not cute or built to suit a fashion model’s size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I’m telling lies.
I say,
It’s in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I’m a woman
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.

I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees.
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.
I say,
It’s the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing in my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I’m a woman
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.

Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can’t touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them
They say they still can’t see.
I say,
It’s in the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I’m a woman

Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.

Now you understand
Just why my head’s not bowed.
I don’t shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.
I say,
It’s in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,
the palm of my hand,
The need of my care,
‘Cause I’m a woman
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.
Maya Angelou