From his consistently outstanding work, I have
seen extraordinary presence of mind, clarity of
thought and a life experience portrayed; played out
in the talented works of one, under whose
observation and thoughtful investigation, no detail
has escaped. Now, in his own words, I’m pleased to
introduce the Debut Press Featured Writer for
November 2007 —
Bernard de Silva
“A fully Australian vintage, from a melding of local
ingredients, the blend distilled by experience, is
thoughtfully mellowed by age, yet retains enough
original ‘roughness’ to present a hint of the obtuse
along with a distinct lingering rum bouquet”, is
Bernard de Silva’s usual self assessment...
Born into a rural environment in the of Northern
Queensland bush, he has always retained an
affinity to the country scene, its customs, characters,
traditions and way of life, through a period he
defines as likely being, ‘the finest years of the
planet’. His philosophy of life, has always been, ‘
one must live it…to know it’.
A comparative newcomer to writing, taking up the
pen only in this new millennium, his varied
interests, shared with the wider cross section of
humanity of different culture, creed and station,
granted him the more vast insight into life in
general and a true appreciation of Nature, so
essential to the serious writer. A keen eye for detail
and perspective, lends weight to his conviction that
the writer is a source of perpetuation for history,
heritage, literacy and expression and that, in
writing for enjoyment, the author should also
write, to be enjoyed…
seen extraordinary presence of mind, clarity of
thought and a life experience portrayed; played out
in the talented works of one, under whose
observation and thoughtful investigation, no detail
has escaped. Now, in his own words, I’m pleased to
introduce the Debut Press Featured Writer for
November 2007 —
Bernard de Silva
“A fully Australian vintage, from a melding of local
ingredients, the blend distilled by experience, is
thoughtfully mellowed by age, yet retains enough
original ‘roughness’ to present a hint of the obtuse
along with a distinct lingering rum bouquet”, is
Bernard de Silva’s usual self assessment...
Born into a rural environment in the of Northern
Queensland bush, he has always retained an
affinity to the country scene, its customs, characters,
traditions and way of life, through a period he
defines as likely being, ‘the finest years of the
planet’. His philosophy of life, has always been, ‘
one must live it…to know it’.
A comparative newcomer to writing, taking up the
pen only in this new millennium, his varied
interests, shared with the wider cross section of
humanity of different culture, creed and station,
granted him the more vast insight into life in
general and a true appreciation of Nature, so
essential to the serious writer. A keen eye for detail
and perspective, lends weight to his conviction that
the writer is a source of perpetuation for history,
heritage, literacy and expression and that, in
writing for enjoyment, the author should also
write, to be enjoyed…
Dawn by the Stream
There's a tranquil time before full daylight,
round the stream below the hill,
Grey mists rising, from earth bound waters,
as the gentle breeze blows chill.
Pale rose rays of sunlight creeping silent,
over treetops make their way,
The world in silence, hushed and waiting,
for the onward march of day.
The mists fading swiftly from the waters,
the soft shadows disappear,
The slopes, the reeds, bathed in sunlight,
water sparkling far and near.
The sounds of a new day's grand arrival,
a swelling chorus all around,
heralding the wondrous gifts of nature,
mother earth's awakening sound.
The glistening jewels of moist dewdrops,
on the grasses fade from sight,
A freshening breeze and warm sunlight,
dry the remnants of the night.
The kingfisher from reed beds watching,
poised ready to take flight,
A patch of bold colour in the greenness,
cobalt feathers shining bright.
Small fishes circling about the shallows,
ducklings hiding yet unseen,
Butterflies wing like a dancing pageant,
through this glade serene.
All this a picture, drawn of the mind's eye,
beauty etched upon the brain,
A reflection of the world's eternal glory,
sights I may never see again.
[C.] Copyright: Bernard de Silva.
___________________________________
"WHEN HARD MEN WEEP"
Who remembers the deeds of the warrior,
when the bugles have faded away,
Or shares remorse, in hours of darkness,
thoughts, light abates through the day.
Perhaps better treated those swiftly taken,
long revered, by those left behind,
Removed, from dread confusion remaining,
within each aging warrior mind.
And deeds condoned, deemed fit in conflict,
re-lived, with ample time to reflect,
Too often seem less moral, an indictment,
whenever analyzed circumspect.
That guilt each mind imposes, now drawn,
from memory, which conscience fears,
Self retribution, dread medium for suffering,
moves once hard men, too often to tears.
[C].Copyright: Bernard de Silva..
There's a tranquil time before full daylight,
round the stream below the hill,
Grey mists rising, from earth bound waters,
as the gentle breeze blows chill.
Pale rose rays of sunlight creeping silent,
over treetops make their way,
The world in silence, hushed and waiting,
for the onward march of day.
The mists fading swiftly from the waters,
the soft shadows disappear,
The slopes, the reeds, bathed in sunlight,
water sparkling far and near.
The sounds of a new day's grand arrival,
a swelling chorus all around,
heralding the wondrous gifts of nature,
mother earth's awakening sound.
The glistening jewels of moist dewdrops,
on the grasses fade from sight,
A freshening breeze and warm sunlight,
dry the remnants of the night.
The kingfisher from reed beds watching,
poised ready to take flight,
A patch of bold colour in the greenness,
cobalt feathers shining bright.
Small fishes circling about the shallows,
ducklings hiding yet unseen,
Butterflies wing like a dancing pageant,
through this glade serene.
All this a picture, drawn of the mind's eye,
beauty etched upon the brain,
A reflection of the world's eternal glory,
sights I may never see again.
[C.] Copyright: Bernard de Silva.
___________________________________
"WHEN HARD MEN WEEP"
Who remembers the deeds of the warrior,
when the bugles have faded away,
Or shares remorse, in hours of darkness,
thoughts, light abates through the day.
Perhaps better treated those swiftly taken,
long revered, by those left behind,
Removed, from dread confusion remaining,
within each aging warrior mind.
And deeds condoned, deemed fit in conflict,
re-lived, with ample time to reflect,
Too often seem less moral, an indictment,
whenever analyzed circumspect.
That guilt each mind imposes, now drawn,
from memory, which conscience fears,
Self retribution, dread medium for suffering,
moves once hard men, too often to tears.
[C].Copyright: Bernard de Silva..
| Bernard de Silva - Featured Writer Uncommon Poet |
© LMC 2007
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© LMC 2008
| www.uncommonpoet.com |