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Creation and Criticism

ISSN: 2455-9687  

(A Quarterly International Peer-reviewed Refereed e-Journal

Devoted to English Language and Literature)

Vol. 07, Joint Issue 26 & 27: July-Oct 2022


I Am The Poet and Other Poems — Paddy Martin

"Poet of love, nature and spirituality, Paddy (Patrick) Martin (1947-2011) always believed in vigorous life and its vibrant journey on earth. Paddy was born in Orange, a small country town in Western New South Wales of Australia in 1947. He began writing poetry as a child and was first published in the local newspaper when he was eleven. His poetry has been acclaimed worldwide, especially his Ancient Poet Series and the Conversation Series. His poems are also collected in ‘A String of Words’ (compiled by Marie Shine and published by Prakash Book Depot, Bareilly, U.P., India in 2010), which was released at Poetry Venue in Sydney in the presence of more than 75 poets and intellectuals of the city.  At the age of sixty four he got the severe stroke of paralysis, admitted to the hospital, went into coma, recovered after a few months of treatment, again suffered with the stroke and died on Feb 04, 2011 in Sydney." — Abnish Singh Chauhan


1. I Am The Poet


The old man sat on the Stone of Knowledge,

He called the boy to him for the last time.

As the lad approached him he saw a tear drop,

flowing down the old man’s cheek.

“Why do you cry?” the boy asked his master.

“I cry for you,” said the man “for you are a poet.

Your richness will be your description of poverty.

Your banquet will be the bread of the beggar.

Your tears will flow with the blood of innocents.

You are like the windmill dredging words of hope

for the deaf ears of greed and the souls of despair.

This is why I cry.  Sit with me before I leave.”


The old man stroked the boys hand and spoke,

“You will need to become the petal of a sun flower,

the scent of a rose and the strength of a tree.

Dream the fall of a raindrop, the drop of a snowflake,

climb mountains and slide down rainbows,

Swim with the shy platypus and the playful dolphin.

You will not see my face again, except in your dreams,

But you will always hear me whispering in the breeze,

be still and listen and you will hear me.” He finished.


“But,” cried the boy, “where are you going?”

“All these things I have asked you to do,

I have done, and more, my time is over,

I must go now to the Land of All Knowing,

There I will hammer my fist upon the gate

And a voice shall call out ‘Who begs entry?’

And I shall reply in my proudest voice,

I AM THE POET."                                                                 


2. A Childs Coat - A Yellow Star


A small blue coat,

a yellow star,

bloodstained mud,

the road to Auschwitz.

Have we missed the point?


A broken woman,

a dead child clinging,

the vacant stare,

the road to Bosnia

Have we missed the point?


A small boys arm,

and empty shoe,

bloodstained walls

the road to Bagdad.

Have we missed the point.


A cry in the wilderness,

A scream in the dark.

In the name of humanity,

no one has a mandate to kill children.

Don't let them miss that point!                                                    


3. A Fond Farewell


When I leave the focus of your vision,

stay not in mourning of my passing,

remember with joy our togetherness,

then return to our meeting circumstance.


Were it that we met when we were buds

in the garden of our childhood,

when our imagination was boundless

and our innocence was incorruptible,

or were it in the the blooming years

of youth, when we were indestructable,

when love or lust was all there was to live for.


be with your children, relive with them

the wonderment of all our beginnings.

Find me in their eyes

as they experience the world,

long forgotten by our hearts.


Were it that we met

where words of rhyme danced,

as soft rain in the spring mist,

or echoed like stock whips,

in the Australian bush.

Where we recited verse of sweet love,

or told stories of romantic heroes.


where the poets challenged me to be myself,

in my talents, and stood beside me

when I dared to show the world my heart.


Were it that we met in church halls,

and small rooms,

to escape the ravages of our addictions.

Standing out like beacons,

on the shores of recovery,

carrying the message of hope

to those in need of it's sweet caress.


there to the fellowship of the spirit

that gathered me unto itself and

returned me to health and sanity,

then allowed me the grace

to live in dignity.


Were it that we met in one and other's homes,

as brothers in the universe,

to share with each other in the family of life.


Go ,

embrace the love in your home,

sing and dance in the joy of that love.

As we were once for one another

be now for each other, and

remember me in your love and laughter.


Were it that we met in our sunset years,

when the awareness of life's brevity dawned upon us.

Here we come to see each flower as beautiful,

no matter it's colour or it's origin.

Arriving here as our forebears did,

having learned the same lessons they had,

we knew some of these lessons cannot

be given to our children,

lest we rob them of their own life's experience.


Were it that you and I could not be together,

when I left the focus of your vision,

I bid you Godspeed, my cherished friend,

 across the ether I hear your fond farewell.                                             


4. My Road


Along my road I have had great joy,

I have shared it with many others.

Along my road I have had great sadness,

I have shared it privately with a very few.


I have shone the light in corners,

where I thought only blackness dwelt,

and found little rays of hope, that,

opened up and changed me forever.


Along my road I was taught to love,

 by those who knew how to love me,

I have been taught how to trust,

by those who placed their trust in me.


I have learned richness is the rainbow,

not the non-existent pot of gold,

What people think about me doesn't matter,

that they think of me is to be cherished.


Now in my sunset, I am content,

I have found the most important thing,

I 'm not what I thought I'd be or become,

I'm what I always was, I am me.                                  


5. When I Think Of Home


A kookaburra's laugh

warns of rain,

a kangaroo bounding

across the western plain,

the wallaby hopping

and the dingo's bark

A thousand wombats,

grazing after dark,

platypus swimming

in the billabong

koalas munch gum leaves,

all night long,

a white cockatoo,

with his yellow comb.

Of these things I think,

when I think of home.  



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