Recording Life Seasons

In my writing and art I endeavor to capture the seasons of life.

The season of our lives changes as we move through life and experience all it means to be human. Whether I am writing a story, a novel or a simple poem, I endeavour to capture the essence of who we are, where we come from, and to whom we belong. In my art work it is the cycle of life and the changes in the yearly seasons I seek to capture.








There Is a Season

To everything there is a season,

A time for every purpose under heaven,

A time to be born,

And a time to die,

A time to plant,

Amd a time to pluck what is planted,

A time to kill,

And a time to heal,

A time to break down,

And a time to build up,

A time to weep,

And a time to laugh,

A time to mourn,

And a time to dance,

A time to cast stones,

And a time to gather stones,

A time to embrace,

And a time to refrain from embracing,

A time to gain,

And a time to lose,

A time to keep,

And a time to throw away,

A time to tear,

And a time to sew,

A time to keep slience,

And a time to speak,

A time to love,


And a time to hate,

A time of war,

And a time of peace.



Ecclesiastes 3: 1 - 8

Saturday, May 1, 2010

Ipswich 150 and All Grown Up!

Ipswich just year or two




Sitting in a St Mary’s pew,

My mind wonders back a year or two,

When things like Riverlink were new,

And the cafe in Queens Park too.



We can now walk along the Bremer River,

Looking at its muddy waters as we shiver,

Awash after recent floods,

What’s happened to the Parklands we love?



Before Riverlink we did our shopping in the mall,

Posted snail mail at the post office in the our town hall,

Shared by the residents of Global Arts Link,

PO days in the old hall numbered, signed off in ink.



Look around at our historical city,

Our grand old buildings stand empty,

At least the old court house,

Is being used for art to be housed.



But now they tell me,

We need a new court house for the city,

So there’ll be the old court house,

And the old, old court house.



Mayor Pisasale calls this our coming of age,

The new for the old like turning a page,

It’s time to drive on the super highway.

That of the internet found in our library.



Look up from the books,

And out the window if you have a look,

There’s R.T. Edwards where you can buy a TV,

Instead of catching a movie.



Across the town bridge past Riverlink again,

The old railway shops just remember when,

The sounds of the coal trains came to a stop,

And crews of men worked around the clock.



Well the mark of time has changed them too,

Still the railway shops but now for kids and you,

They now house a rail museum,

And trains are out numbered by human beings.



And what of the coal, the cargo trains moved,

Well our mines met a timely death too!

But ask the residents of Collingwood Park,

They’ll tell you the old mines remind you of their art.



To drown our sorrows there’s always Jets.

The RSL and Metropol are easy bets,

Our local footy team should restore our pride.

But Redcliffe dolphins just kicked our hide.



Back at St Mary’s I’ve recovered my senses,

Ask the Mayor it’s not the things that I mention,

In which we should take our pride,

It’s the heart and soul of the people like you and I.



Debbie Chilton (c) Copyright 2010

No comments:

Post a Comment