My Poems

Social Networking
Betwixt & Between
The Green Door
Mahony Street Madness
-  Six Years On
-  Who Cares
-  The Secretary Bird
-  Remembering
-  The Rehearsal !
-  A Perfect Rose
-  General Inquiries !
-  Thoughts & Wishes
-  Blessings
-  The Beginning.
-  Precious
The Index for other pages is at the bottom of this page. 
Previously published poems - my own and Guest Poets -
have been moved to a new site.  Please use the link below.
(Note :   I haven't updated "The Poetry Book" website 
in a while but will get to do that asap.    A.)

Click here for "The Poetry Book"


Social Networking !!



Some readers will not like this

Oh no  – not one wee bit

but something must be said here

and NO – I will not quit.

 It all began with promises

of social contact hope

then blundered through the stages

of developmental joke.


As time went on it came to pass

this social network stuff

was to be invaded

with innuendo and with bluff.

 This turned to downright bullying

from some younger of the users

to so called ‘friends’,  who are on line

they become outright abusers.



To be fair,  and at this point,

 there’s some good on FB

and on the Tweeting site as well

some photo’s sweet to see.

 However not as much of it

as saner folks might like

there’s not a lot to say for it,

there's so much spit and spite.



Then there’s YouTube – OMG

what nasties found on there,

nothing’s sacred on THAT site,

turns many to despair.

 But again – the YouTube site

holds  some admiration

provided you are looking for

a source of inspiration.



Clicking on the wrong thing

can bring cataclysmic horror

and people who are in the know

don’t care and do not bother.

 So what’s all this with Facebook

and Twitter and the like,

Should we just accept it

or tell them to ‘take a hike’.



How do we control it ?

Is there any way ?

to protect our smaller children

from a possible affray.

 All those private settings !

but they don’t mean too much

As Facebook does just what it likes

Allowing scams and such.



Talk about ‘out of control’

Facebook, My Space now feral

allowing all kinds of attacks

on anyone in general.

 C’mon Mums and c’mon Dads,

Get involved – and watch

the walls of allowed users

and the comments there attached.



Make sure that all your children

are protected every way

from attacks and monster bullying

that is happening every day.

 Make certain that your offspring

use sites that are quite right

for their age and their intelligence

don’t cast them to ‘the night’.



I know this won’t go down so well

with many an SN fan–

but I can’t be really worried, cos …

…… I’m just doing what I can.



©  Anne N Byam 2011.













I dreamed a dream with images

of an ocean wide and wild

yet moonbeams kissed the wavelets

leaving shoreline undefiled.

The wind was screaming raucously

up on the cliff tops high

the rocks and sea-side grasses

glaring balefully at the sky.



Walking then to fields of gold

a quiet descends on all

the gentle waving of the wheat

creates unusual pall

of changing colours dark to light

and back again - it's dealing

a somewhat puzzling movement

that sends the senses reeling.



How torn am I between the two

the wild relentless sea

and  fields of quiet gold and green

as far as eye can see.

Suddenly a wind whips up

turning fields of green and gold

into a wanton madness

while the air becomes quite cold.



A voice from there behind me

( or maybe in my brain )

Reminds me that this highlights life

-  its beauty and its pain.

A quietude pervades

And senses come to task

But why so many differences

Still I want to ask.


I walk the short way back to sea

and gaze with awe and wonder

as waves lap gently on the shore

no beauty torn asunder.

The sea now like a sheet of glass

the sky above is blue

the clouds on the horizon

take on a gentler  hue.



I cannot tell you now,

what this has meant to me

except that there’s a balance

between the land and sea.

But  if as we might realize

this balance reflects life

it behoves us all to recognize

There’s good times - while there’s strife.



Love life and all  it's seasons

Rejoice in good and fair

Find how to cross the greatest troughs

that life oft brings to bear.

It's coming through the darkest hours

that gives us courage more,

To  find our feet and then stand up

to step through each new door.



© Anne N Byam 2011





A mansion stands serenely

in a leafy quiet street

Oaken door so welcoming

Spring garden so replete.

Façade of cream and tinged with gold

Old columns towering tall,

Victorian architecture

Behind a garden wall.


“Welcome” shows the sign

Nearby a list of rules

As visitors step inside

to cool tiled vestibules.

Moving further down

Ornate high ceilinged hall,

Small sounds of aged confusion

Upon most ears would fall.


Suddenly a change

The parlours now behind

A green door out of place

Beside a bamboo blind.

Opening that door,

the sounds and cries strike home,

Assaulting senses into shock

the sudden screams and moans.


Mostly all are eighty plus

Their minds no longer here

Dementia reigns in their sweet souls

Relief will not appear.

Heads are lowered onto plates

They do their best to eat.

The staff are always kindly

But little time, is hard to beat.


The eyes that stare from faces withered

Show minds don’t comprehend

Who is who, or what is what

Each day the same descends.

Sometimes one hears great protest

A memory that’s arisen

From scattered thoughts inside the mind

The cries of feared oblivion.


On taking leave of such a place

Sadness – is not the word.

Sheer despair gives rise to prayer

and that it may be heard.

That these dear souls just fall asleep

Go home to meet their Lord

Protected, whole, forever more

From dementia’s vicious sword.



© Anne N. Byam  2008



I dedicate the above poem to
my mother who is 99 years of age & has dementia.
She is in high care in a Nursing Home
in Camberwell - a suburb of Melbourne.
I have described the nursing home
as realistically as possible - it is a magnificent old Victorian
mansion.   Casual passers-by outside, could not know
what lies behind the closed doors.

< º ö º > 

It started rather quietly a decision had been made

to buy a new computer the ground work to be laid.

I did my research diligently went cross eyed in the process

Wanted to keep my old SE It all seemed such a mess.


Out there doing puter deals walking fit to burst

Back and forth – my legs are gone - arthritis does its worst.

Never fret – I’m not complaining Have decided on a ripper

package that was wheeled and dealed - now feeling rather chipper.


The dust is piling high as my pets indulge in play fight,

I wipe it off – it comes right back fast as the speed of light.

The ironing’s stacked up to the roof - I’m looking for a lady

to do at least two hours of it, might stop me going crazy.


Meantime out the back there’s tons and tons of wood

A new fence being constructed (and as only here it could)

The fence is doubly difficult as the land is cut in steps

And sleepers need to be installed before the fence is set.


The garden’s disappeared, the mud is ankle deep

The dog comes in with dirty feet, a bath bucket we do keep

to wash those dirty paws there’s enough around and more

without being down on hands & knees scrubbing, washing floors.


And now there is the story of the poor old dead oak tree

It’s split right down the middle and is a sight to see.

Not to mention threat which has freaked the neighbours out

But it seems to be quite stable … Until the weather turns about !!


If it goes, it’s mainly pointed Direct at our chimney

We have tried to bring it down but it won’t budge you see.

So it’s men with block and tackle  and chainsaws one two three

To invade what once was garden and bring down that old tree.


The Computer comes next week And that brings on a bout

of thinking where to put it, I’m working that one out.

Not to mention all the goods I’ve got in old SE

Things I didn’t know I had and now might want, you see.


Quit laughing all you puter geeks I know I sound a dunce,

But I’ve decided to run the two, computers both at once.

At least I have a run round chair to get from there to here

And make things very simple (?) a lovely leather piece of gear.


Well, that’s about the story folks, an update if you will

Tell you what, not far these days from my Valium pill.

I see it all before me heaps of work and months to do it

but what the heck – that is life,  and I know we’ll all get through it.


© Anne N. Byam 




~ Six Years On ~


The changes

have been many,

since that fateful day

When terror called

upon the earth

and caused

the world to pay

So dearly with lost lives,

maiming and destruction

Ground Zero

as it's known now

 in memorial



The horror was felt

when on the World’s door

an evil knocked,

never seen before

Nine One One –

the day we stopped

and watched disbelieving

as two towers dropped

to the earth below

– a ghastly sight

would for years haunt dreams

in the dead of the night.


There were fathers and mothers,

hundreds of men

Who had wanted to be

with their families again.

Women and children,

no mercy shown

by despicable hatred

and evil mayhem.


Six Years have gone by,

but strong faith has arisen

To confront this evil

with all of our might

A constant call upon God

to show us the way

To an understanding of what was,

and is right.

The true meaning of courage,

more desire to pray

for a much safer world,

one glorious day.


© Anne N. Byam




This has been written from experience and is simply a little

light hearted fun.   I hope a few 'secretaries' out there

 recognise the scenario and have a giggle at it.


Today's 'office' is vastly different to

that of 20 years ago.    I had some wonderful bosses

and superbly great interesting times as a secretary.   

A couple of bosses were horrid, but I don’t

reflect on those, only on the good times.    ANB    






~ The Secretary Bird ~



Woe is me, the Secretar-ee

Or PA - a fancy description,

for a general gopher to all of those men,

Each day I have a conniption !

At the urgency, panic and mayhem

from the males in the office surrounds.

With their frantic discussions tearing the air,

Frustration and ire abounds.


“This has to go out by the end of the day”

Does a life depend on that mail ?

It will be completed on time and well done,

But 5 sees the boss do a bail.  

And who gets the blame if he’s not there to sign,

Why - little ole me of course,

Because I am supposed to remember it all,

And from him there is just vague remorse.


Then comes the pay day, I have to exact

all the taxes, super and money,

I’m popular then – they’ve got cash in their kick,

Some even say “thank you, my honey”.

But that is short lived as they whiz through the door

on the way to the pub down the street,

To mull over again what happened that day,

And who next to corporately beat.


Five days a week, from nine until five,

and often much longer than that,

For the secretary true – it’s part of her job,

She rarely has time for a chat.

After hours might see the champagne come out

on those “lets all have a drink” occasions,

And a toast is raised by the boss who is primed,

by a luncheon that day with some Asians.


This is the time to beat a retreat,

before the going gets rough,

The jokes become rude, the champagne corks fly,

Being a secretary sometimes is tough !!

If the boss is really a good true blue guy,

He will look after his minder and mentor,

And make sure she’s away from lascivious eyes

Doing most that he can to protect her.


That all being said, most times it’s not bad,

appreciation often is shown,

At the end of the day, when leaving for home,

A good secretary makes sure she is known

As very efficient and displaying style;

She will hint that there’s better to come,

And yes she is loved, valued and admired,

When all has been said and is done.  


©  Anne N. Byam   May 2006.




Gazing out a window

Upon a leaden sky

Brings to mind the times I miss

and happiness gone by.


Waiting by the window

For what I am not sure

Behind a lacy curtain

for a knock upon my door.


Memories are the visitors

That wish to enter in

Do I welcome them, or not

The tears will then begin.


I know there will be more than that

My heart will break with pain

With yearning and a fervent wish

To be loving you again.


Arms, you’d wrap around me

In my reverie bitter sweet

So strong but gentle was your touch

If only I could greet …


You standing there again for me

A smile upon your face

Perhaps you will, I can but hope

In time – another place ?


Gazing out the window

Upon a leaden sky

Suddenly a sunbeam

Pushes through as if to pry.


Impudently dancing

upon my window pane

It beckons to me “Come outside

Before it starts to rain"


My heart feels so much lighter

My pain is going to sleep

These memories passed and fading

Still – they are mine to keep.


The leaden sky is blue now

The sunshine, it has won

The warm and nurturing light

It’s magic it has spun.


I smile a little smile now

My love is here with me

His face and eyes alight with joy

In a happy memory.


© Anne N. Byam 2005.







                                     Black back drops

                             dead lights scattered like old bones,

                             Splashes here and there

                             of colours, green, red, blue

                             on bits of wood.

                             Of what purpose will they be ?


                             An octet of persons

                             striving to begin

                             Such as a babe in taking

                             his first steps across the floor.

                             They stand

                             on rickety stairs,

                             Bare block steps on stage.


                             Tiny side lights, masquerading

                             as though at Grand Opera

                             Sit winking

                             and are chided for impertinence

                             by their surroundings.


                             Three globes blaze harshly

                              from above

                              A far cry from the lighting

                              on an opening night.

                              There is no spirit of falseness

                              in this tiny place.


                              The players, how they play,

                              to one another.

                              Learning as they go

                              with warmth and laughter.

                              Direction calls “Project -

                              There is an audience out there”.


                              This audience

                              they’ll play too when they arrive,

                              in their own interpretation

                              and private understanding.

                              But wait,

                              there must be no presumption.

                              This is only the rehearsal.


                                              © Anne N. Byam 




** Theatre Masks by Marja






When evening clouds

are touched with pink

across the widest sky

The worker stops then 

for a drink

of beer, and maybe asks just why,

he is so lucky living here,

where all extremes do meet

to blend with infinite result

amid the Summer Heat -

 ............. that is Australia. 


When leaves turn brown

and red and gold

slight chill pervades the air,

and beach forgotten, it's too cold

for playing, staying there.

The serious takes over

as the fiscal end draws near,

and faces frown a little

yet - still there is good cheer

 ........... that is Australia. 


And then to Winter up and down

the coast and all across,

the land is having different climes

a coin one could toss.

To choose to play on snowy slopes

or warm in northern sun

in any case the fires are lit,

keeping Winter on the run

 .......... that is Australia.


She is a land of beauty

in a rough and unkept way,

Is wild, unbroken, challenging,

yet such colourful array

of blossom, budding freshness,

and warmer weather brings

the paler now, but eager face

her people feeling Spring. 

 ........... that is Australia.


For after all, this land is heralded

mostly in this season 

A newness, yet untarnished Spring

of faith and love and reason

To be living for the friendship 

of a good mate or of land,

of people greeted warmly and

with an open hand

to share the riches we alone

enjoy, of freedom taken

By living in this land of warmth

unfolding, we awaken

 .......... to Australia.  


© Anne N. Byam  


Artwork by Anne Byam 2005 




A Perfect Rose




Faded, forgotten

In an old book

Pressed and preserved

for a bitter sweet look.

A once perfect rose

It was blood red it seems

In the first days of love,

with all of loves dreams.


How old is this rose ?

No one seems to know,

The book is well used

and of love that will show.

Lovers who held

the rose in it’s splendour

were happy to love

and then to remember.


The days when the rose

was perfect in look

Preserved so tenderly

In the page of a book.

The colour now faded

The leaves now long gone

Yet the beauty once there,

Somehow lives on.


- - - - -


A perfect red rose

Is blooming today,

in the garden with friends

of exquisite array.

The promise of hope

as it nods in the breeze

is a blessing to all

As long as one sees.


It’s beauty again

through it’s all too short life,

prompting us - give away,

troubles and strife

How could it not,

with it’s beauty so rare,

Remind us to live,

with loving and care.


A perfect red rose

in a garden aglow

with other perfections

and beauty to show

the greatest of blessings

the purest of sight,

A single sweet rose

to perfume the night.


© Anne N. Byam




 Photo & art enhancement by Anne Byam 2004




I have nothing at all against India
Many wonderful people live there
But what's with "you're patched thru to India"
I think that the question is fair.
Amex and GE to name but two
of the multitude companies off shore
with their customer service and who knows what else
Could this practice be shoddy and poor ?
Taking unfair advantage of hard working folk
Paying salaries one eighth their worth
Sorry me maties, this ain't no joke.
Makes one ask " hey, what on earth"
Is happening now to all our jobs
Where do the unemployed go
Here in the West where we've been so laid back
Our own apathy starting to show ?.
Or is it promoted by pure greed
of big business involved in it all
And if these global manouvres continue
Will it result in a big big downfall ?
Asian countries are indeed renowned
for producing beautiful works
toiling so hard for such little reward
Surely a question here lurks.
Is it our own fault, this state of affairs
that has evolved right out of the blue.
What's really behind it - wondering now
Think I'll just leave the answer to you.

(c) Anne Byam 2005






I have a good friend,

and that I've been told

is the best thing to have

while we're growing old.

To have of a family

through good times and bad

to be there when needed

when life seems quite mad.


There'll always be someone

around, who will share

a burden or two

or a laugh here and there

But what of souls longing

and hearts aching need.

when lonely the hours,

where does the road lead ?


It winds, it meanders

seems not to go straight

the signposts point onwards

towards ones own fate

Of what does fate bring

Can we ever sit back

for a time in surrender

To see what we lack.


How can we better

this state of affairs

there are millions of theories

but few of us dares

To live life full of loving

with courage and strength

to reach out and touch

to extend our full length.


To know and to face

disappointment and pain

to fall on our faces

and get up again.

And look for the rainbow,

to reach for the sun,

to take a few chances

before day is done.


In truth, introspection

is good for the soul

Lessons are needed

for us to be whole.

And daily we look

around us and see

that Blessings ARE shared,

by you and by me.



(C) Anne N. Byam








Plagued with plagiarism,

I steal the words with query,

“Is this the Winter of our Discontent”

My plague is only one

of illegality.

A minor problem

compared to other plagues.


Take note all those of us

who eat each day, take note -

Of the older man;

the younger lad

the man and wife with children.

All simply seeking life,

a basic such as food would do.


Yet still we are more fortunate

than those of other places

We watch and yes, we give,

in charity,

while other people die

from that which we are

minorly afflicted.


Gloom you say - not so,

I steal more words, for

“Where there’s life there’s hope”,

and hope and dreams

and selfless acts of charity,

will crank the wheel around

to start again,

our new and better world

just around that corner.


©  Anne N. Byam




Dog – my dog,

How patient you are,

When human frailties show

So protective, loyal and true

You always seem to know.


You cannot speak

although you try,

I know what you convey

Your liquid eyes, so full of love,

Take my pain away.


The happy times on grasses green

with toys up in the air,

Joyous leaping,

Did I hear you laugh ?

We are such a pair.


Joined forever

dog and me,

Devotion unexplained,

Some don’t understand it,

Yet nothing here is feigned.


At night his head

upon my lap

Content and restful sleep

closes eyes, appears to drift

Yet still a vigil keeps.


Stay with me awhile

my dog,

We will enjoy the sun

Before your calling – going home

Your final race be run.


Wag that tail my beauty

Show us happiness

Teach us how

to live a life

Filled with tenderness.


Companion ever faithful

Companion ever true

At my side

you walk with pride,

And I’m proud

– just knowing you.



© Anne N. Byam



All Artwork on this page with the exception
of that on "The Rehearsal" is my own - from
photographs and/or sketches etc.

" The Beginning "


Near the river I stood

Lost and alone

No one to love me

Nowhere to call home.

Pondering the past

The good and the bad

The latter was foremost

Making me sad.


My tears flowed

When the memories came,

I went to move on

Walk away from the pain.

The notes of a songbird

Maybe a thrush

Reached to my ears

From somewhere in the brush.


It stopped me again

I looked all around

Saw something glistening

Right there on the ground.

The forest fell silent

The songbird had ceased

his glorious melody

My discomfort increased.


I stooped and picked up

The shiny gold pin

'Twas a  sweet little angel

With one tiny wing.

So shiny and bright

Almost warm in my palm

The songbird resumed

His beautiful psalm.


One tiny gold angel

One very small bird

That's all that I had

In this very strange world.

A peace came upon me

I walked on at length

Two tiny things

Had renewed all my strength.


Had given me solace

Where there had been none

I resolved then and there

My life - just begun.


© Anne N. Byam - 2004



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