wayne visser | Wayne Visser

July 1, 2018

How the Mighty Have Fallen

All through the sapling days
Of dark and dappling haze
You stretched for skies
Of perfect blue

Up to refracted rays
All through protracted days
You reached for highs
And so you grew

Until you broke the night
At last unyoked the light
Like living prose
You stood so tall

Until the gale’s grey might
Ripped through your sail’s green height
And as you rose
So did you fall

Book

Wishing Leaves: Favourite Nature Poems

This creative collection, now in its 3rd edition, brings together nature poems by Wayne Visser, celebrating the diversity, beauty and ever-changing moods of our planet. The anthology includes many old favourites like “I Think I Was a Tree Once” and “A Bug’s Life”, as well as brand new poems like “Monet’s Dream” and “The Environmentalist”. Then as we turned our faces to the moon / Our hands entwined, our hearts in sync, in tune / We felt the fingers of the silken breeze / And made our wishes on the falling leaves / A gust of wind set off a whispered sigh / Among the trees that leaned against the sky. Buy the paper book / Buy the e-book.

July 1, 2018

Gentle Storm

Upon a clear and frosty autumn morn
I found myself caught in a gentle storm
No lightening flashed across the azure sky
No thunder rolled and all the ground was dry
No rain or snow, no whisper of a breeze
And yet a shower fell beneath the trees

Swooping and swirling
Drifting and diving
Wafting and weaving
Floating and flirting

And while the leaf-drops all around me fell
I stood entranced by nature’s silent spell
Kaleidoscopic colours filled the air
And mesmerised, all I could do was stare
A light-and-motion dance that left me high
A tempest raging quiet as a sigh

Book

Wishing Leaves: Favourite Nature Poems

July 1, 2018

A Future Worth Fighting For

“This is war!”
So my son tells me
And my daughter agrees
But I have some questions
I don’t really like wars
Or making enemies
So tell me …

If this is war
What are we fighting for?

We are fighting for the earth:
For the birds of the air
And the fish of the sea
For the sick in the villages
And the hungry in the cities

If this is war
Where are the battlefields?

The planet is our battlefield:
The smoky plains of the skies
And the murky streams of the oceans
The burning lungs of the forests
And the aching hearts of the people

If this is war
Who is the enemy?

The enemy is our separation:
Hiding behind fences of politics
And sheltering in dugouts of religion
Lurking under shadows of economics
And camouflaged in masks of progress

If this is war
Who are our allies?

Our allies are ordinary people:
The luminous tribes of the South
And the caring villages of the North
The rising tides in the East
And the changing winds in the West

If this is war
What are the weapons?

The weapons are our faith:
Our fortress of courage to hope
And our bedrock of belief in justice
Our wellspring of creativity for solutions
And our fire of passion for change

If this is war
Where is the battle?

The battle is where you are:
Around the fires of your homesteads
And the tables of your boardrooms
In the aisles of your supermarkets
And on the wires of your networks

If this is war
Who are the losers?

The losers are prejudice and vice:
For judgement is the father of fear
And power is the mother of pride
For hatred is the child of ignorance
And greed is the orphan of isolation

If this is war
Who are the winners?

The winners are life and love:
For diversity flourishes with freedom
And hope blooms with compassion
For development spreads with peace
And purpose calls to us all

This is war then!
So my children tell me
And I for one believe them
I still don’t like the talk of battles
But I think they are right
The future – their future –
Is worth fighting for

Book

Wishing Leaves: Favourite Nature Poems

June 24, 2018April 15, 2022

In the Game

Every day, you’re in the game
You’re dodging and dribbling, blocking and shooting
Rooting for the team, the change
From attack to defense, on the counter
From the back to the scoring zone
Your fans, your friends, your family
Are shouting your name, counting
The hoops, the scoops, the victories.

Every day, you’re taking the hits
You’re collecting the knocks, the bruises
From losers, when life won’t play fair
You share the defeats, the repeats
The scares and the shake-downs
The days when scoring is rare
When the flare in extinguished
Yet still you bounce back, rise again.

Every day, you’re playing for keeps
You’re ducking and diving, weaving and scheming
Dreaming of making your shots, the aim
Is so crucial, grace of the movement
From eye to hand, hand to hoop
We whoop in your triumph, your successes
For win or lose, it matters not
What matters is the game, going far
And in our eyes, you’re always a star.

Book

String, Donuts, Bubbles and Me: Favourite Philosophical Poems

This creative collection, now in its 3rd edition, brings together philosophical poems by Wayne Visser. In this anthology, he muses on subjects ranging from space, angels and destiny to time, science and meaning in life. According to scientists / The world’s made of string / That buzzes and fuzzes / Or some such strange thing / It’s also a donut / That curls round a hole / With middles and riddles / Just like a fish bowl / And there’s no mistaking / It’s more than 3-D / With twenty or plenty / Dimensions unseen / Still others insist / It’s really a bubble / That’s popping and bopping / Through the lenses of Hubble. Buy the paper book / Buy the e-book.

June 24, 2018April 23, 2022

Children At A Funeral

The shadow moved across the sun
And turned my world a pallid grey
The tide of mourning had begun
And then I saw the children play

They did not soothe my aching grief
They did not make the burden light
But as they played, I felt relief
A candle glowing in my night

The steady rain began to fall
And washed the poison from death’s sting
A sea of faces paid respect
And then I heard the children sing

They did not take my loss away
They did not turn the bitter sweet
But as they sang, I glimpsed a ray
A cycle turning, now complete

The rumbling storm brought lashing hail
Like pounding fists upon my heart
My anger rose to howling gale
And then I heard the children laugh

They did not dry my veil of tears
They did not make my dark skies blue
But as they laughed, I took a breath
And gained the strength to start anew.

Book

Life in Transit: Favourite Travel & Tribute Poems

This creative collection, now in its 2nd edition, brings together travel and tribute poems by Wayne Visser. The anthology pays tribute to the likes of Nelson Mandela, Maya Angelou, Barack Obama, Antoni Gaudí & Leonardo da Vinci, and reflects on travels ranging from China and South Africa to Ecuador and Russia. Life is lived in the in-between / In transit / Between coming and going / Between staying and moving on / Between here and there / And what we call home / What we call settled or contented / Is merely a resting place / A station for refuelling / A nexus for reconnecting / A junction for changing direction. Buy the paper book / Buy the e-book.

June 24, 2018

Life Goes On

Life goes on
But do not say that nothing has changed
For a beautiful light has gone from this world
Leaving a black spot on the sun of my days

Life goes on
But do not act like nothing is out of place
For a silver strand has been cut from life’s web
Leaving a loose thread in the weave of my love

Life goes on
But do not think that nothing is lost
For an incredible story has come to an end
Leaving an empty space in the stars of my sky

Life goes on
And so will I, given time and given space
For the light and the love and the story live on
Leaving a luminous trail to guide my ways.

Book

Life in Transit: Favourite Travel & Tribute Poems

May 6, 2018

Kaleidoscope

Kaleidoscope colours carpet the ground –
A palette of yellow, red, green and brown.
Splashes of sunshine transform the prosaic;
Layers of leaf-paint reveal the mosaic.

A blustery breeze
Tugs at the trees;
Somehow they know
They must let go
With spiral flutters
As autumn mutters
And makes her bed
With tear-leaves shed.

Her blanket soon fades, leached pale by the cold
Her leaves disappear, consumed by the mould
She falls into slumber and dreaming, she yearns
For the colours of spring – the kaleidoscope turns.

Book

Wishing Leaves: Favourite Nature Poems

May 6, 2018

I Think I Was A Tree Once

I think I was a tree once,
A long, long time ago.
It doesn’t help to question;
It’s something I just know.

I feel it when I’m swaying,
While gentle breezes blow,
And when my feet are rooted,
I feel the earth below

I fall with leaves of autumn –
My time for letting go;
I sleep with dreams of winter
Beneath the fallen snow;
I blossom in the springtime –
An iridescent show;
I bask in rays of summer –
Filled with an inner glow.

I feel the sap within me,
While silently it flows,
And as I reach for sunlight,
I feel my spirit grows.

I walk among the forest
When I am most alone
And there, among my kindred,
I know that I’ve come home.

Book

Wishing Leaves: Favourite Nature Poems

May 6, 2018

Wishing Leaves

We sat upon the bench that autumn night
And basked beneath the moon’s cool silver light,
While waves of traffic lapped the park’s green shore
And squirrel’s rushed to fill their acorn store.

A gust of wind set off a whispered sigh
Among the trees that leaned against the sky;
We listened hard to catch their secret words
Between the chirping chatter of the birds.

Then as we turned our faces to the moon –
Our hands entwined; our hearts in sync, in tune –
We felt the fingers of the silken breeze
And made our wishes on the falling leaves.

Book

Wishing Leaves: Favourite Nature Poems

May 6, 2018

What Lies Beneath

You see me –
and seeing, you think that you know me.
But you do not know me,
any more than you know the mysteries of a galaxy
from seeing its image projected on a screen.

What you see is not an illusion,
but neither is it the full picture –
for it lacks colour, and depth, and movement.
What you see is a dull facsimile of me,
a spark of fire extinguished to grey ash
in the act of capture.

For I am so much more than you see –
and also so much less.

I walk around with a hurricane of thoughts
swirling and flashing in my head;
yet not a single hair
will you see out of place.

I climb and swoop across skies of ecstasy,
gliding on wings of beauty;
yet all the world will see
is the steady plod of my feet.

I stumble blindly in tunnel mazes
of grief and self-loathing;
yet I will greet you with a smile
on my sad-clown face.

I radiate with love so bright
that I must have swallowed a supernova;
yet the world will never be scorched
by the sun of my desire.

You hear me –
and hearing, you believe that you understand me.
But you do not understand me,
any more than you understand the secrets of elephants
from listening to the trembling air.

What you hear is not a lie,
but neither is it the whole truth –
for it lacks history, and nuance, and narrative.
What you hear is a distant echo of me,
a burst of song faded to a faint pulse
in the moment of listening.

For I am so much more than you hear –
and also so much less.

I weave stories so enchanting
they would leave generations spellbound;
yet you are treated only to the silence
of my vellum-bound heart.

I ache with pain so buried
that screams cannot penetrate the abyss;
yet the world will never eavesdrop
on the black well of my loss.

I sing melodies that spontaneously erupt
into a million iridescent butterflies;
yet you will not sense even a flap
of those winking wings.

I translate the noisy babble of nonsense
into sacred books of wisdom;
yet the world will never whisper the words
on the pages of my soul.

You see me –
but if you would know me,
only look in the mirror.
For your covert storms and boundless firmament,
your dark tunnels and explosive love –
these are a truer reflection of me
than the mask I wear for all the world
(and you) to see.

You hear me –
but if you would understand me,
only listen to your heart’s song.
For your magic spells and silent screams,
your winged symphonies and wise parchments –
these are a clearer intonation of me
than the script I voice for all the world
(and you) to hear.