The Festival

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The festival –
it’s another world.
It’s here!
The music never stops.
Artists just entertain.
It is odd but perfect.
Copyright © December 2012 Norma Martiri
Form: Erasure Poem



Sounds of Summer


Flickr Image by cubagallery

Animated crickets sing away silence;
kookaburras laugh at the day.
Lorikeets whip round in wondrous brilliance
screeching, announcing dusk.
A cool breeze rustles through full-leaved bushes
while wind chimes clang tinny tunes.
Workers hurry home booming and hooning
like an orchestra producing a cacophony.
The storm bird is out coo-eeing again –
geez I wish it would rain.
Hungry mosquitos buzz about
intent on causing pain.
Steaks stop sizzling – just in time.
Dinner’s on the table.

Copyright © December 2012 Norma Martiri

Form: Free Verse

Shared with dVerse Poets Pub
 Oz Poetic Society 
Weekly Poem, 24th February 2013

The Journey


The world belonged to him at night.
The moon was his lantern,
the stars his friends.
He was at home here.
He looked upon his kingdom.
Wayside fires were his altars,
smoke, incense to his gods.
He journeyed not knowing why.
He knew no reason for not journeying.
His vague imaginings swung along
until he saw the distant hill.

Copyright © November 2012 Norma Martiri

Form: Erasure Poem

Written for dVerse Poets Pub – Meeting the Bar: Erasure Poetry
Taken from Sundow Slim by Henry Hubert Knibbs

Mother of the Bride

Flickr Image by Gunkina Olya

Beaming right there before me,
eyes fixed upon your man.
Dressed in white lace and satin,
an elegant woman.
The first moment I saw you,
I gave you my whole heart.
I loved you and adored you,
tried best to do my part.
Now at this very moment,
my heart erupts with pride.
I wonder if you realise,
the love I hold inside.
And as your vows are spoken,
I try to stop the tears.
As memories dance around me,
I see you through the years.
God bless you on your journey,
as I have gained a son,
My beautiful young daughter,
my child, my precious one.

Copyright © 2012 Norma Martiri


Imagine ordinary people
Outfitted in khaki and blues.
The news reels of war propaganda,
A mother grief-stricken with news.

What price do we put on our soldiers?
In victory or in defeat?
What cruelty of fate is the carnage?
What fate do the prisoners meet?

Imagine them all for a moment,
Just think of the life they have lost.
Let’s pray for a better tomorrow,
A day not bought at such a cost.

Copyright © April 2012 Norma Martiri

Form: Quatrain