August 12 2014

A Poetic Reflection on Robin Williams’ Death


Robin Williams (1951-2014)

Another sad and tragic case
Of outward smiles and funny face
Hiding a pain no one could hear
Over the laughter, praise and cheers

Two times divorced would take their toll
Depression, drugs and alcohol
He slipped into a darker hole
He’d gained the world but lost his soul

But wipe away the comic mask
And deeper questions there you’ll ask
Is what this world will call “success”
Enough to cover up our mess?

The crowd’s applause his talent brought
His breathless death has now made naught
He has escaped only to run
Before an audience of One

Farewell Robin, you made me laugh
But now I’ll weep on your behalf


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August 12 2013

Without a Thumb – a poem for Matt Salter



A poem for Matthew Salter
By Simon Camilleri (12/8/2013)


Without a thumb, is life that bad?

Does it really disable?

The corporate myth that “thumbs are great”

I’d say is just a fable.


Sure scientists may claim that Man

is more evolved, proposing

that we would still be like the apes

without our thumbs opposing.


But I say “bah!” What do they know?

They’ve never lived without them!

Until they try a thumb-free life

I’ll continue to doubt them.


They could (like some) shatter their thumb

and if they did I’d wager

they’d soon discover life thumbless

is nothing really major.


Sure, you can’t grip, things tend to slip,

and doorknobs are an issue.

True, jars stay jarred cos lids are hard

without that thumby tissue.


Sure, you feel hexed when trying to text

and pens are also tricky,

And standing at the urinal

It’s hard to hold your…keys or other such items you might be holding while standing at the urinal.


And don’t begin to think you’ll win

if “Thumb Wars” is declared.

But still it’s true, the cons are few.

You shouldn’t really care.


See thumbs were useful long ago

in times now in the past.

You needed them to throw a spear,

but that need didn’t last.


In Roman times at colosseums

your thumbs had need worth noting.

Thumbs up was life. Thumbs down was death.

No thumbs was donkey voting.


In times Shakespearian you’d bite

your thumb to pick a fight.

Since then it has evolved across

two digits to the right.


And in more recent times people

used thumbs to go hitch hiking.

But now with global warming those

without a car are biking.


Even now babies don’t need thumbs

to suck them til they tire.

We’ve now replaced God-given thumbs

with plastic pacifier!


So you can see, without a thumb

your life won’t really change.

Sure, if you tried to be The Fonz,

your catch cry might look strange,


But generally, you will be fine.

In fact life can be greater!

Who cares if you can’t count to 5.

Just use a calculator.



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July 24 2013

death – a poem

Jesus tombstone















a poem by Simon Camilleri

I’m not afraid of death

I have no fear to take that final breath

I have no need to clasp

And clammer to hold my life within my grasp

Death has no sting

When your life is held by life’s King

See, I have already faced

My death when Jesus died in my place

He died my death for me

Exhausting my sin’s deserved death penalty

What could I do

But repent from my allegiance to

The sin that caused his death

Opening my empty hands to receive this gift

In the blinking of an eye

My life estranged from Life did die

And it was then

That my new life was born again

And so I now fear not

That my body will one day begin to rot

My end already came

My death certificate already framed

My funeral is done

And now my everlasting afterlife has come

And though I still

In some sense live in wait until

Jesus returns again

I do not live in fear of the end

When I farewell mortality’s strife

I won’t face death – but more and better life

So now I am free to live

A life where I am free to give

Free to bless

With blissful self-forgetfulness

Without a thought

Of holding on to what I’ve bought

For Jesus’ sacrifice

Has bought my life and paid the price

That I could never pay

And so for him I live today and every day

Free of fear

Even as death draws daily near

“Jesus shared in our humanity so that by his death

he might break the power of him who holds the power of death — that is, the devil —

and free those who all their lives were held in slavery by their fear of death.”

(Hebrews 2:14-15)


“Listen, I tell you a mystery:

We will not all sleep, but we will all be changed –

in a flash, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet.

For the trumpet will sound, the dead will be raised imperishable, and we will be changed.

For the perishable must clothe itself with the imperishable, and the mortal with immortality.

When the perishable has been clothed with the imperishable, and the mortal with immortality,

then the saying that is written will come true: “Death has been swallowed up in victory.”

Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting?

The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law.

But thanks be to God! He gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.”

(1 Corinthians 15:51-57)


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July 18 2013

Fear Full Circle



The fear of God
is the beginning of wisdom…
(Proverbs 9:10)

The wisdom of God

is the gospel of Jesus…
(1 Corinthians 1:24)

The gospel of Jesus

is the perfection of love…
(Romans 5:8)

The perfection of love

is the end of fear.
(1 John 4:18)




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December 17 2012


End of the World

A poem by Simon Camilleri (17/12/12)


There are many thoughts how the world might end.
Some look at why. Some look at when.

Some look at where the signs you’ll find.
Some look at who is left behind.

Some point to nuclear explosions.
Some point to warming of the oceans.

Some say a virus like Bird Flu
Will one day come and then we’re through.

Some say that we should look to space,
A meteor might end our race.

Or aliens may soon attack,
So make sure your bunker is stacked.

Some say the sun will cause our end.
But chill… it’s a billion years til then.

For me, when thinking ‘bout the end
The one on whom I can depend,

Is he who made the stars in space,
And he who made the human race.

The one who can cure all disease
Can also walk on warming seas.

The one who started all creation
Is where I’ll get my information.

Jesus did say the end will come.
When he returns, then all is done.

There will be those who claim it’s near,
But on this point Jesus is clear…

Earthquakes and wars and global strife
Will just be part of normal life.

They are the birthpains, they are signs,
But they don’t tell us dates or times.

When Jesus’ plans are fully done
It’s only then that he will come.

But though no one knows when he’ll visit,
When that day comes you will not miss it.

It won’t be secret, won’t be small.
It will be clearly seen by all.

All people will before him stand
And he will judge the hearts of man.

And all that matters in the end
Is whether he is foe or friend.

The words of Jesus I find heavy,
But they are clear so we’ll be ready.

His authority I believe is true.
But that is me, what about you?

Each “end of the world” prophecy
Promotes some life philosophy.

Whether it comes from space or us,
Or at the return of Jesus,

Whether it’s caused by warming seas,
Each theory has its priorities.

The world will end. You should think about how.
It will effect how you live now.



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September 16 2011



a poem by Simon Camilleri

I want to blog.
My mind is clogged
With thoughts and essays pending.
An epic thesis.
Creative pieces.
The list is never ending.

I want to blog.
My brain’s a fog.
I hope one day I’ll find
Sufficient time
To post online
The library in my mind.


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April 29 2010

Let Us Know Well The Cross – A Poem

A poem by Simon Camilleri (29/4/10)

Let us know well the Good News
Else the Cross be seen as just wood.

Let us know well God’s Mercy
Else the Good News cease to be good.

Let us know well God’s Judgement
Else God’s Mercy cease to be needed.

Let us know well our sinfulness
Else God’s Judgement cease to be heeded.

Let us know well God’s Glory
Else our sinfulness cease to be grave.

And let us know well the Cross of Christ
Else God’s Glory cease to be displayed.


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March 19 2010

Love Hate Relationship – A Poem

This is a poem I was inspired to write after attending an evening listening to the teaching of Sy Rogers.

God put his finger on an area of my life where I was holding on to a lot of bitterness. Well, to be frank, I was holding on to hate.

As I prayed and tried to just “give it to God” I realized I wasn’t able to let it go so easily. My hate, I realized, was actually very important to me, and couldn’t simply be thrown away like a used tissue. As I reflected on this relationship I had with my hate, this poem emerged….

A poem by Simon Camilleri 18/3/2010

I love my hate
I hold it close
It keeps me warm
It holds my tears
My broken heart
It shields from pain
Ensuring it won’t break again

My hate’s my friend
It sits with me
It hears my tale
It nods its head
It does not judge
It does not speak
It seethes for me when I am weak

It understands
It validates
It justifies
It advocates
It stands with me
Against the throng
Alone acknowledging the wrong

How could I
Sacrifice my hate?
How could I
Give up such a friend?
To let it go
Says I admit
That there was no real cause for it.

The only way
I could let go
Would be if God
Replaced my hate
It plays too much
A vital role
Its loss would leave too great a hole

God waits to see
What I will do
Will he be my
Hate’s substitute?
Will he be my true advocate?
Will I trust him more than my hate?


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February 24 2010

The Single Bed – A Poem

The Single Bed

a poem by Simon Camilleri  24/11/09

I only need a single bed.
Why would I buy a double?
Having such room for someone else
Would only lead to trouble.

I know some people like the space.
They like to sprawl and stretch,
But then you’d need a King-sized bed
When finally you get hitched!

And so, since now I sleep alone,
I’ll go to bed and dream.
Sleeping soundly in my single,
Looking forward to my Queen.


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February 24 2010

Vincenza’s Vespa – A Poem

Vincenza’s Vespa

a poem by Simon Camilleri  7/4/08

Vincenza’s fuel efficient, two-wheeled, sleek and stylish Vespa

zooms around the city ducking and weaving between trams and traffic jams

parking wherever it wants and flying away without leaving a trace

A black buzzing beauty

But the girl sitting on her brown leather back is not named Vincenza.

Vincenza was my grandma

She left us money that she had stored in her house over decades.

As a secret hope might be stored away in one’s heart,

this money grew and grew

but was never used to fulfil its intended dream.

In the end it had to be cleaned from the mouse poo and dust that had built up around it

and finally it was distributed to all the grandchildren.

It came with a solemn warning

This is a gift from Vincenza

Carry with it her dreams

Time passed

and Vincenza’s gift was placed in an account that could not be touched

There it was stored, as a dream of happiness might be stored away in a lover’s heart,

and there it grew.

Vincenza’s gift was safe and secure

whilst the world outside fell to pieces.

The lover’s separated

and after seven months, the girl insisted on taking her share

She had a right, she said

And all at once Vincenza’s gift became something that was mine and hers

Something that should be split in half

to maintain consistency with the state of our hearts.

Vincenza and her dreams were forgotten

and her gift was broken in two.

The money, for that is all it was now, was quickly spent

To pay back debts and deal with financial insecurities

and also to buy a shiny new Vespa.

Now a year and a half has passed

And the Vespa still buzzes around the city

An occasionally painful reminder to me of Vincenza’s gift,

and her unfulfilled dreams,

and that broken solemn warning

and it all stinks

as the mouse poo and dust begins to build once more

For the girl never steers that Vespa in the direction of Vincenza’s son and his wife

Who still live and breath and love her like a daughter

Or Vincenza’s grandson

Who still tries to keep safe that dream of happiness

that was once stored away in a lover’s heart

And though she was there when Vincenza’s spirit breathed its last

And though she was there when Vincenza’s body was laid to rest in the ground

She doesn’t even steer that Vespa in the direction of Vincenza’s graveside

To at least say thank you for the ride.


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