Friday, June 1, 2018




We are all born to dance,
it’s in the genes of every human tribe.
Dancing rids us of pent-up and other emotions,
relieving our body and soul through natural motions.

There’s folk dancing, square dancing, line dancing.
The dance style may vary from times to times,
and the next generation will do it their way.
There’s the twostep, foxtrot, bebop, twist, and the rap,
yet, in Vienna all still love to waltz, they say.

You can dance on your toes in ballet or tap,
or squat like the Cossacks in a Russian steppe.
You can dance the bolero with a partner dear.
It also takes two to tango, and you can still
folk dance the mazurka in Poland I hear.

And I …

When the summer heat’s gone and
autumn rains are relentlessly pelting down,
reviving arid countryside, and unleashing my ecstasy,
I happily do my own dance in the rain,
until I’m soaked to the skin and nearly drown …
©Jellie N. Wyckelsma.
Inverloch, Victoria, Australia. 27/03/2018


When so in love,
unknown emotions rush through the veins,
like ocean waves formed by a tsunami
hitting the shores.

The heart won’t listen to reason,
ignores all logic, and determinately
dissociates itself from the brain.

Heart rate accelerates.
Eyes are blind, like flying foxes at night.
Ears muted, their drums slain silent.
Hormones running out of control.

Love’s on an emotional wildfire ride,
weathering storms that
relentlessly beat solid rock mountains.
Too crazy for words to describe …

Yet, seemingly making
the impossible possible.

At the end of the ride I pray
that it was lasting Love that
to my heart found its way.
©Jellie N. Wyckelsma.  
Inverloch, Victoria, Australia . 04/04/2018


Time, conveniently accepted by man,
as an anchor in life’s worldly ways,
only made visible by a watch or a clock,
but Time’s true concept we cannot unlock.

Time is master of its own destiny,
arriving, as always instantly on time,
then travels on into eternity,
challenging us time and again
to solve its mystery.

Desperately we try to hang onto Time,
as our most precious commodity,
yet, it slips through our fingers furiously fast.
Will we ever understand and accept the fact
we have no control over Time?
Time will remain master of its own destiny.
Time won’t, and can’t last.
©Jellie N.Wyckelsma.
Inverloch, Victoria. Australia. 21/03/2018


JELLIE NEELTJE WYCKELSMA NÉE WESTRA: Born in the Netherlands in 1935, Jellie migrated to Australia in 1958. She is a retired Teacher/Librarian, and now resides in Inverloch, Victoria. She speaks five languages and has stories and poems published in both Dutch and English in various journals and anthologies, in Australia and in The Netherlands. She considers herself a full time ‘hobby’ writer. Ever since she mastered the ‘Three Rs’, she have been interested in writing, strongly encouraged by her teacher parents, who were successful authors of children’s books and plays in The Netherlands. Jellie is actively involved in the Bass Coast Writers Inc, a group she co-founded, and the Fish Creek Quills Writing Group. She is the co-author of two anthologies of poetry: She’s Apples and She Ate a Bowl of Poetry.  She wrote and self-published two novels and five novellas. In 2014 a book of poems Life’s a Bra Strap went into print, followed by Flowers of the Soul in 2017. In 2015 she wrote the history of the Anderson Inlet Probus Group. Jellie is blessed with a loving husband, two children, three grandchildren and one great-grandchild.

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