A Poet�s


of the Mind


The Eagle

The Flag

of Your

in the Sky

The Lilly

of Your



Rod Walford – Archive

 Rod’s biography page

A Poet’s Heart

A poet’s heart’s an endless thing,
Ubiquitous, encompassing.
It knows no bound nor borderline,
Or darkness where it may not shine.

A poet’s heart’s a joyful thing,
It likes to laugh, and loves to sing.
It lifts the spirit, holds it high,
Then dances like a firefly.

A poet’s heart’s a fragile thing,
As brittle as a monarch’s wing.
That flutters on a breath of air,
The secrets of its soul to bare.

A poet’s heart’s a vicious thing,
Its bite is like a hornet’s sting.
For it will strike just as and when
It feels the censure of its pen.

A poet’s heart’s a caring thing,
Both empathy and hope to bring.
A sunbeam’s touch it can impart
To mollify the saddened heart.

A poet’s heart’s a timeless thing,
Whose ancient bell sustains its ring.
That through the years, it may adorn
Those generations yet unborn.

Copyright  ©2000 by Rod Walford. All rights reserved.

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In sheepdog trials, your father won, whilst mother worked the sheep;
Together they have gifted you with assets buried deep,
A handsome face, intelligence, agility and speed,
With heart so true and loyal, such a credit to your breed.

Your paw-pads crunching softly on the icy grass
The frost-hung beech hedge in the moonlight basks
The silver light of moon deflecting
Dances in your eyes, reflecting

Such faith in lovely eyes, which like bright amber, shine
As the coal-black sheen of your coat at brushing time.
Ah! how your handsome features mirror images of night!
With your cloak of darkest charcoal, and your blaze of snowy white.

Yet, what is it that endears you so, that quality so treasured?
That great unspoken attribute, alas, so oft unmeasured,
But loyalty, the priceless gift revered above all other
Which neither time can render mute nor earthly distance smother.

In summer’s careful warmth, ‘midst June’s orchestral sound
We walked and ran together, field and woodland all around,
In pedigree you stand as one of England’s finest breed
Empowered by the instinct so exemplified by deed.

As golden crown of setting sun dropped slowly from the skies
You would sit and tell me stories with your telepathic eyes
No words were ever needed, and none were ever said,
But you always got the message through before you went to bed!

Now destiny and circumstance, those pruning tools of time,
Combined to part us sooner than did any plans of mine;
I grieve that we were miles apart when you were laid to rest
But in my heart you’ll always be just what you were – the best!

As Omar once reminded us, the moving finger writes,
And I look back on our friendship over countless days and nights
It is my hope, it is my prayer, the day we meet again,
We’ll run in those Eternal fields, my faithful, dear old Ben . . .

Copyright  ©1999 by Rod Walford. All rights reserved.

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The Confines of the Mind

What predatory forces find
The fissured confines of the mind!
Where gnarled hobgoblin’s sharpened pick
With sins long past, does conscience prick.

In inglenooks with balustrades
Where ghosts sip tainted lemonades;
With poisoned darts they irk and needle,
Spook and startle, twist and wheedle.

Oh! How those visions, dark and ghoulish
Haunt the wakes of actions foolish.
Wherein black spectres of regret
In wraith-like form, their vengeance get.

They feed on notions of the lustful
Drink betrayal’s wine distrustful,
Yet unassuaged, their appetites
Will prey in dark, tormenting nights.

For none escape their gruesome hand;
s no perfect land.
Its battleground, in truth must lie
In human mind . . . not earth or sky.

How certain he must end in tears
Who takes no counsel of the years;
Nor heeds the words of sages past
Who fathomed how man
s die was cast.

So bitter come the tempter
s thanks
For those who dwell within his ranks
In selfish quest, for their tomorrow
Comes in darkness . . . draped with sorrow.

Copyright  ©1999 by Rod Walford. All rights reserved.

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Deception, like a viper, lurks
‘Neath every stone of human works;
In all the fields of our endeavour
Lies his agenda . . . subtle . . . clever.

His motive, as a virus, spreads
And infiltrates ambitious heads;
Corruption’s spectrum knows no bounds,
No refuge from its baying hounds.

Scheming, plotting, cunning minds
Devising minefields of all kinds
That honest man and learned scholar
Be parted from their hard-won dollar.

And who has not yet felt his bite?
His plans are laid both day and night;
He knows no shame, nor feels remorse
But through your veins, hot blood shall course.

Short lived, the serpent’s profit gained,
His hands shall be forever stained;
Yet ne’er will reconcile his goal
To gain the world . . . he sold his soul.

Copyright  ©1999 by Rod Walford. All rights reserved.
First place – Write Now Magazine, October 1999 Poetry Competition

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The Eagle

I took my thoughts and gave them to the eagle
She soared into a sky of pale blue;
From sun kissed wings, and talons bright as silver,
She cast them to the wind in search of you.

Then thunderclouds caressed them into raindrops,
That fell, and sparkled softly, like champagne;
So you would know when I was thinking of you,
My thoughts, my tears, would touch you in the rain.

A kind thought, like a smile, is given freely,
And springs from somewhere deep within the soul;
Your thoughts, to me, are more than gold and silver,
They give me hope, and strength, and make me whole.

For kindred spirits, distance has no story,
And time can do no damage to their cause;
From earth
s first dawn until its dying glory,
Their hopes and dreams entwine, as mine and yours.

Copyright  ©1998 by Rod Walford. All rights reserved.

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The Flag

Come, all who rise to greet each dawn in disaffected manner,
Yet daily walk in favour born of freedom
s sovereign banner;
Then ponder well your shield of Union flag and Southern Cross,
And edge in gilt the men who built her mast of tragic loss.

See her ride the wind with pride! She draws her halyards tauter,
In proud salute to those who bore her far across the water.
Her tribute to her sons and daughters, conscious of her price.
And those she lost, who paid her cost in blood . . . and sacrifice.

Beneath the verdant canopies of Asia
s long campaign
The Kiwi footprint once was found where now it walks again.
Not river
s flow nor sunsets glow its memory could erase
For one, its image long will carry, ‘til his final days.

Just one more Kiwi soldier with his sworn allegiance true
To banner starred and spangled bright on sea of royal blue.
In dire threat from forces dark and of his own perdition,
The politicians backed his cause � with verbal ammunition.

As from their lofty corridors of self-perceived noblesse,
They gambled with the lives of men in Asia
s game of chess.
That you and I should live the joy of countless peaceful dawns,
Is not our debt to knights or kings, but courage of the pawns.

Ah, – courage? Yes, they talk of her, in eloquent oration.
Such plausible magniloquence concerning State and Nation.
Yet were they present with him in that bloodstained Asian river
With bayonet fixed, emotions mixed, and stomach churning quiver?

Alas – not so, it seems as though, the protocols of war
Dictate that they be far away upon a leeward shore;
Too far to see the jungle vast, nor feel its stifling heat;
Or hear the sub-machine gun blast its grim staccato beat.

As on that fateful day, patrolling waist deep in the slime,
Reality became his nightmare in a trice of time;
That fiery flash of ambush scattered all upon the scene
And stilled the heart of his best friend, who was a Royal Marine.

Who would no more the trial endure of suppurating sore,
The gauntlet of malaria, and leeches by the score,
Nor threat of rodent’s poisoned bite, nor sting of eyes infected;
He’d done his job, for them, for us, his duty as directed.

Now if the orators perchance to knock on Heaven
s door,
God grant it may be opened by a child of East Timor.
In battle past, the die was cast, but democratic right
Died in procrastination
s bloody never-ending night.

And so the child may lead them where the mists of time enshroud
A land where all men dwell in peace below a long white cloud.
Wherein her heroes gather still, in hallowed dawn parade.
They wonder sometimes . . . is it worth the sacrifice they made?

Behold these men assembled here beneath the Standard
s mast.
Beside each one, a vacant place, without a shadow cast.
Where souls of comrades lost abide, by human eye unseen;
One Kiwi, one Australian and . . . a British Royal Marine.

Copyright  ©1999 by Rod Walford. All rights reserved.

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The Garden of Your Heart

Oh, mystery of life! You ever deepen with the rolling years;
Your vast arrayed enigmas are as endless as man
s tears
Shed for his own kind, that not one soul of millions passed
Had found the key that would unlock the secret spell you cast.

Our scientists, philosophers, astronomers and kings
All strive to find the reasons for man
s endless sufferings;
Whilst writers, poets, lyricists combine to paint the scene
The hunger and the wars go on, abhorrent and obscene.

Will man discover answers that will right the human race
In faint, ethereal signals beaming down from outer space?
And will those answers terminate the warlord
s bloody lust;
Or feed the child dying in Sudan
s hot sun-baked dust?

Incessant drive to interfere with natur
e’s manufacture
To feed the earth with chemicals and change genetic structure
Beware! The cold, grey fingers rise – of sickness and fatigue;
The haunting, spectral legacies of the Corporates and their greed.

Consider – interstellar quest is fraught with human error
Better far, to look within to end this reign of terror;
To contemplate, and understand the Great Designer
s plan
And see that what is needed is to change the heart of man.

When the forces of the darkness, and the forces of the Light
Clash daily in your conscience, urging sanity to flight;
When the claws of doubt are tearing at the fabric of your soul
And deny you right of access in the pursuit of your goal;

Then turn your searchlight inwards to the core of your foundation
Rekindle there the fire of Life, and banish condemnation
Re-plant the seeds of right and truth in the garden of your heart;
For never seed has starved nor died where love has played its part.

Copyright  ©1999 by Rod Walford. All rights reserved.

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Ice Castles in the Sky

Oh! you elected minions, who in your towers of ivory repose
Insulated by cocoons woven from broken threads of promised intent;
Twisting words with eloquence to suit your purpose
As it bends and sways in the fickle draught of self-indulgence.

You dwell among the ramparts of power and control
Treading the dark corridors of deception and trickery;
Behind the iron-barred portcullis of the fortress of bureaucracy
Where well meaning hearts, fast hardened in the dollar’s white-hot forge
Become as tempered steel – a sword to strike at freedom’s hard won shield.
What misguided force is it that seeks to govern the human spirit?
Never will it surrender to the intrusive microchip, nor become slave to oppressive dictates.

Freedom? She will ride high in her victory, as sure as there is only one true flight.
As the arrow, straight from the bow flies, so the words from the hearts of the just shall penetrate the transparent walls of your ice castles in the sky.
Your crystalline fragments shall fall, shattered in ignominy,
And the root of all evil be exposed for its true worth.

Ah! That you and I are one in spirit.
Fellow poets, and seekers of the truth, that we may see the secrets of the impostor, and thus protect our world of shared beauty.
Let us rejoice in our unity, and be secure in empathy, yes, and stronger still.
That we may know our spirit will be carried to a place far beyond the melting remnants of the ice castles in the sky.

Copyright  ©1999 by Rod Walford. All rights reserved.

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The Lilly

Oh, elegant flower, how noble you tower
Your poise and your grace you display;
To catch by and by the beholder’s eye
Reflecting the new light of day.

Your bloom tells the story of nature’s full glory
The hand that designed you could only be Truth;
For only the power that conceived the first hour
Could so gift you with eternal youth.

There is none can compare with your beauty so rare
With your ball gown so verdant and fine;
Your complexion of white puts all darkness to flight;
Your creation a matter divine.

Your symmetry sings and your petals are wings
Lifting your gaze to the skies;
Caressed by the breeze, you acknowledge the trees
As they whisper enchanted replies.

Whilst the dewdrops adorn your perfection of form
And you bask in your spotlight of gold;
I reflect on the pleasure you give beyond measure
To those with the time to behold.

As I ponder the mystery of your ancestral history
I stand humbled by feelings sublime;
You have changed not in time, since the Genesis line
Was first drawn on the vast sands of time.

Your magic is told in great stories of old
In manifold mention you feature;
But you reached highest glory in scriptural story
Crowned queen above all by the Teacher.

“For I say unto you that even Solomon in all his glory
is not arrayed like one of these” Luke 12 v27.

Copyright  ©1999 by Rod Walford. All rights reserved.

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Reflections of Your Heart

Fonder grows the love that glows in absence’s lonely light,
I count the days ‘til you will rest safe in my arms at night;
In times as these, when life decrees that we must be apart
I glimpse, in nature’s glory, true reflections of your heart.

As summer’s evening falls, and the soft horizon calls
The golden sun to rest within her endless wings of blue,
Her burning heart will sleep beneath the nightfall’s starry keep;
Across the ocean deep, she heralds twilight’s purple hue.

The sun-kissed breeze so calming as it brushes ‘gainst my cheek;
The jewel-spangled beams that play their games of hide and seek;
Remind me of your sweet caress, and strolls along the sand,
The tender warmth of your soft lips, the touch of your dear hand.

The last rays kiss the leaves that shimmer in the trees so tall,
As dappled shadows dance around your picture on the wall;
The sweet songbird, she calls to me, her evening hymn to share,
Then father time begins to chime his haunting mellow air.

As echoes of the night-time steal away the seagull’s cries;
The rolling song of lapping surf is hushed by mist that lies
In valleys gowned with heather that slope down to sandy shores;
This little piece of heaven is forever mine and yours.

Though all these years has nature shed her colours o’er the scene,
A home without a heart is like a girl without a dream;
When you alone safe home return, to cradle in my arms,
Our souls shall rest in true love blessed with nature’s tranquil charms.

Copyright  ©1999 by Rod Walford. All rights reserved.

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Time suspended . . . self reflected . . . mirror on the wall;
Within your naked form grows warm desire to bare your soul.
And as your misty eyes perchance allow your gaze to fall
Would you incline the thief of time to give back what he stole?

The symmetry – that curve of figure, one time blessed with youthful vigor
Now, perhaps, those hourglass contours seem less well defined;
Where nature’s yearly course has clashed with life’s demanding rigor
Your soul alone retains your beauty in its timeless mind.

Ah! Sweet forest of delight, soft secret garden of creation;
Within your warm allure is formed the seed of life renewed.
But damn him straight to hell who shall abuse it with elation,
For sure the hand of vengeance counts his evil deeds accrued.

How sharp was barbed the arrow that has pierced your childhood
Illusions shipwrecked on the storm-bound oceans of your life.
Oh, woman! that your love may conquer nightmare
s chilling screams,
And find safe haven from betrayal
s deadly knife!

How diverse – the winds of fate where chance has dealt your hand,
If beauty, poise and grace elude your outward glance;
Then count yourself no less a part of all that nature planned;
s heartfelt understanding highlights your romance.

What pen shall e’er encompass all your wishes and desires?
What man can truly comprehend the longings of your heart?
Who can know Utopia’s dream that oft your mind conspires
To shield your child from evil – and its wicked poisoned dart?

Your life shall have its pain and grief and sorrow,
Wise hearts still get broken, and well-meaning fingers burned;
Surely then, your sun shall rise tomorrow
Newly borne on wings of lessons learned.

Copyright ©1999 by Rod Walford. All rights reserved.

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