New Zealand born, Russell Tibby always keen on poetry as most admirers of back country and bush huts are, he is a member of the Rotoura Mad Poets Society.
A GOLDEN LIFE.
The summer wines the golden times
the gems and joys of yester years
the strident laughs so many paths
that twist and turn then disappear
into the songs of tenors – crooners
poets, dreamers, folk like me
we loved our pasts, our loyal hearts
our friends – their special company.
And yet among the laughing clowns
from circuses that came to town
comedians that filled our halls
and buskers that all played around
we kept our heads kept working hard
studied, swatted, gained degrees
we ran, we swam where life began
out in the wild woods and trees
but never losing sight of goals
behaved and did what we were told.
Courses charted, great intentions
certificates clasped in our hands
we laughed and strode into the world
and told our elders we were men
and wondered at exchanging glances
comments passed behind their hands
so little did we really know
just what it took to be a man.
But then one day the Anzacs marched
Dear God – on us they left their mark.
Then spinning through a blunder land
of business ventures, schemes and dreams
making fortunes making time
for family by any means
despaired by failing marriages
In anguish how our children played
we couldn’t stop we must push on
the mortgages must still be payed
but finally upon our knees
to some of us a greater power
He placed his hand upon my head
and said – this is your golden hour.
Ah yes – so right, I see it now
the privilege of busy lives
by day our arms around our kids
by night our arms about our wives
success is not about the deals
the stunning house or names on walls
but golden moments, golden friendships
golden lives – as after all
the roads are paved by lonely fools.
So finally the circle closed
back where it started years ago,
I sit among some golden times
and close my eyes to see the show
as memories drift into view
I hear the voices, hear the laughs
the memories of golden moments
appear so clear while swirling past.
Dear God the lessons I have learned
I choke and find it hard to speak
these golden moments in my life
left steins of tears upon my cheeks.
© R Tiiby June 2018.
About the Author:
New Zealand born in 1944 Russell Tibby grew up in Hamilton on the North Island, raiding orchards, shooting rabbits, duck and pheasants. He completed an apprenticeship program after a schooling that he considered to be in the way of his life. In his early years, he raced motor cycles, drove bulldozers, rode horses then packed off to Australia to hunt and shoot crocodiles and buffalo. After a time he returned to New Zealand to marry an old friend he dearly missed. Two daughters and a motorcycle shop later, Russell began the sales of conveying equipment for Rotorua’s forestry industry. He returned to his love for horses and riding with hounds and has not missed a season opening in 43 years. Sports a small Scorpio tattoo on his chest to remind him of his personality. Always keen on poetry as most admirers of back country and bush huts are, he joined the Rotoura Mad Poets Society. One day he entered a poem in a USA competition and had a win. His current status–still out there.