Readings bring focus and set a theme in a ceremony, Poetry is an expression of the soul, the heart and the mind.

As a Funeral Celebrant, I have created this HUGE collection of poems and readings – see FUNERAL POEMS & READINGS – INDEX

I have alphabetically categorised & indexed over 700 poems & readings,  the Index alone goes for 28 pages listing over 130 categories spreading to over 500 pages, but more are added regularly.

You might consider a reading or a particular poem as being specifically for a wedding, or specifically for a funeral,  but love has a language of its own.

Some are my own.

  • CONDITIONS OF USE
  • The sole purpose of this collection is to help people find the right reading for a ceremony. Let others know where you found it.
  • If you don’t find what you seek, let me know
  • If you have a poem or reading you would like added, send it to me.
  • Always cite the author but if you see an item that is incorrectly cited, please let me know immediately so that it can be corrected.
  • This collection is subject to Copyright and I do not give any permission for my collection, its concept or its format to be published by others.

Lou Szymkow – Funeral Celebrant.

 +61 (0) 457 00 1922      lou@alifecelebrant.com.au


Each of the following is an expression of Love, inspiration, friendship, loss, joy, and invoking memory and emotion.

HOW TO CHOOSE?

Step 1

When choosing readings or a poem for a funeral or memorial, the following may assist:

  1. What single word or subject describes or links to their persona, passion, love or character?
    • e.g. car, mother, train, teacher, boat etc.
  2. Does it bring to mind, a love, a passion, hobby, career, vision, aspiration, or activity that the person was known for, or enjoyed?
  3. Will it reflect the character and/or your love in tribute?
  4. Will the choice honour them and/or their wishes?
  5. What is it about the character of the person you wish to remember?
  6. Would the person have chosen it, & enjoyed it?
  7. What role did they play in your life?
  8. Will the audience understand and connect with the reading/poem?
  9. Will it add and enhance the service?
  10. Will it help the grieving?
  11. Should it be Religious or Secular (non-religious)?

Step 2

  • Search the INDEX for the subject or
  • Just press CTRL F on your keyboard and search for the word or subject.

NB: Private Ceremonies hold a copyright exemption but the author must always be cited, and this collation holds its own copyright 2017, 2018, 2019, 2020, 2021, 2022, 2023, 2024.


TOP OF PAGE                               HOME


FUNERAL POEMS & READINGS – INDEX

ABORIGINAL

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT OF COUNTRY

ACHIEVEMENT & SUCCES

ACTORS & THEATRE

A DIFFICULT LIFE / ISOLATED/LONERS

ADDICTION & ALCOHOLISM

AGING

ALZHEIMER’S

ANGELS

ANGELS : Quotes About Angels

ANIMALS – see PETS & FURRY FAMILY MEMBERS (including dogs, cats & others).

ARTISTS

ASHES: CASTING / SPREADING OF ASHES

AUSTRALIANA

AVIATION (PILOTS & FLYERS)

BABIES & INFANTS

BALLET & BALLERINA’S

see also: DANCE

BEER LOVERS

BIBLE READINGS & RELIGIOUS VERSE – see PRAYERS, BIBLE & RELIGIOUS

BIKER & MOTORBIKES

BINGO

BIRDS

BLESSINGS

See also PRAYERS, BIBLE & RELIGIOUS

BOARD GAMES

BOATS & SAILING & THE SEA – SAILORS & SAILING 

BOWLING (Lawn)

BRICKLAYERS

BROTHERS

BUDDHISM

BUILDER

BUSH & BUSH PEOPLE see also COUNTRY, FARMING & THE LAND

BUSINESS – see ENTREPRENEUR & BUSINESS

CANDLES

CARAVANERS

CAREFREE

CAR ENTHUSIAST & PETROL HEADS

CARPENTER

CELEBRITIES & PEOPLE OF INFLUENCE

CHILDREN

CHRISTMAS

CLOCKS

COUNTRY, FARMING & THE LAND

CRICKET

CYCLISTS

DAD/FATHER/GRANDFATHER

DANCE

see also: BALLET & BALLERINA’S

DARTS

DEMENTIA

DIFFICULT LIFE / ISOLATED/LONERS

DISABILITY & PARALYSIS

DOCTOR WHO

DOGS, CATS & OTHER FURRY FAMILY MEMBERS

DRIVING

ENTREPRENEUR & BUSINESS

FAMILY

FARMERS & FARMING – see COUNTRY, FARMING & THE LAND

FATHER/GRANDFATHER

FIRE FIGHTERS

FISHING

FLOWERS & ROSES

FOOTBALL, SOCCER & RUGBY

FORGIVENESS

FRIEND

GARBAGE COLLECTORS. 

GARDENS & GARDENERS

GOLFER

GRANDFATHER/FATHER

GRANDMOTHER / NANNA

GRIEF & LOSS

GRIEF QUOTES

HIPPY / HIPPIES

HORSES & HORSE LOVERS

HOSPITALIZED

INDIGENOUS

INDIGENOUS/CHRISTIAN PRAYERS

IRISH BLESSINGS

JOCKEYS, PUNTERS & HORSE RACING

KNITTING

LEAVING & LETTING GO

LIFE & DEATH

LOVE & MARRIAGE 

MARATHON

MATES

LONERS/ISOLATED/A DIFFICULT LIFE

MEMORIES

MEN

MENTAL ILLNESS

MILITARY  & RETURNED SERVICES

MINING & MINERS

MOTHER

See also: WOMEN

MUSICALS

MUSIC, MUSICIANS & SINGERS,

NAVY

NON-RELIGIOUS

PAGAN

PARENTS & PARENTING

PARTY

PETS, DOGS & FURRY FAMILY MEMBERS (including dogs, cats & others)

PHOTOS & PHOTOGRAPHY

POLICE

POLISH LINKS

PRAYERS, BIBLE & RELIGIOUS

PRISONERS / GAOL / JAIL

PUNTERS

QUOTES

REBELS

REFEREE

REFLECTION & EDUCATION

RELIGIOUS – CHRISTIAN

RETURNED SERVICES –

RETURNING

RODEO

ROSES  see – FLOWERS & ROSES

SAILORS & SAILING 

SCIENCE – DONATION OF BODY TO MEDICAL RESEARCH

SCOTLAND

SCOUTS

SEA – see BOATS & SAILING & THE SEA

SEAMSTRESS

SHEDS

SHIPS – see BOATS & SAILING & THE SEA

SHOOTING

SISTERS

SOLDIERS – SEE MILITARY

SON

SPECIAL NEEDS & PEOPLE WITH A DISABILITY

SPECIAL INTEREST POEM

SPORTS & ATHLETES

See also:

STAR TREK

SUBMARINES – SUBMARINERS

SUICIDE

SURFING/SURFERS

TEACHERS & EDUCATORS

TERMINAL ILLNESS

TRAINS & LOCOMOTIVES

TRAVEL

TRUCKIES & DRIVERS

UNTIL WE MEET AGAIN POEMS

WATERWAYS & RIVERS

WELCOME TO COUNTRY

WINE

WOMEN

OTHER SOURCES & IDEAS


TOP OF PAGE                               HOME


ACKNOWLEDGEMENT OF COUNTRY

Welcome to Country and an Acknowledgement of Country both recognise the unique position of Aboriginal/Indigenous people in Australian culture and history and show respect for Aboriginal people. Both protocols precede an activity.

Acknowledgement of Country’ by Jonathan Hill

Jonathan Hill is an indigenous poet living in New South Wales.

Today we stand in footsteps millennia old.
May we acknowledge the traditional owners
whose cultures and customs have nurtured,
and continue to nurture, this land,
since men and women
awoke from the great dream.
We honour the presence of these ancestors
who reside in the imagination of this land
and whose irrepressible spirituality
flows through all creation.

Blue Mountains & south-eastern New South Wales, including Camden, Goulburn and the Southern Highlands:

  1. I would like to acknowledge that the Gundangara people who were the original custodians of the land on which we meet today. We pay our respects to elders past and present, and acknowledge the aboriginal people for their custodianship of this land.…or
  2. Before we begin proceedings, I would like to acknowledge the Traditional Custodians of the land on which we meet today, the Gundangara, I would like to pay my respects to the Elders past, present and future and pay my respects to all Aboriginal People here today, wherever you may come from.

Map

This map will help in identifying the ‘country’ :  aboriginal map of Australia
More information can be obtained from Aboriginal Land Councils

Nepean and Blacktown areas including Narangyngy

  1. I would like to acknowledge that the Darug people who were the original custodians of the land on which we meet today. We pay our respects to elders past and present, and acknowledge the aboriginal people for their custodianship of this land.… or
  2. Before we begin proceedings, I would like to acknowledge the Traditional Custodians of the land on which we meet today, the Darug people. I would like to pay my respects to the Elders past, present and future and pay my respects to all Aboriginal People here today, wherever you may come from.

Requirement

Only an Elder from the locality can offer a ‘Welcome to Country’ but others may offer an Acknowledgement of Country.
There is no legal requirement but it is respectful to offer an acknowledgment.

Samples As A Guide:

  1. Before we begin proceedings, I would like to acknowledge the Traditional Owners of the land on which we meet today (Include the name of the People and their Nation here). I would like to pay my respects to the Elders past, present and future and pay my respects to all Aboriginal People here today, wherever you may come from.
  2. I would like to acknowledge the _________________________ people, who are the traditional custodians of this land. I would also like to pay my respects to Elders past and present of the ___________________ nation, and I extend that respect to other indigenous people who are present.
  3. I would like to acknowledge the traditional custodians of the land on which we meet today and pay my respects to the Elders past and present.
  4. I would like to acknowledge that we meet on Aboriginal land, the land of the  ____________________ people of the ___________________ nation. I like to pay respect to their Elders past and present.

Shoalhaven & South Coast

  1. I would like to acknowledge that the Djuwin (Yuin) people who were the original custodians of the land on which we meet today, We pay our respects to elders past and present, and acknowledge the Aboriginal people for their custodianship of this land.… or
  2. Before we begin proceedings, I would like to acknowledge the Traditional Custodians of the land on which we meet today, the Djuwin (Yuin). I would like to pay my respects to the Elders past, present and future and pay my respects to all Aboriginal People here today, wherever you may come from.
  3. I begin by acknowledging that we meet today on the unceded lands of the, Djuwin (Yuin) people who have a deep spiritual connection with their country, and I acknowledge others across whose lands we have travelled to be here today. I pay my respects to the Elders past, present and future for their wisdom and knowledge, and I offer my respect to all Aboriginal People here today, from wherever you have travelled.
  4. I’d like to begin by acknowledging that we meet today on the unceded lands of the, Djuwin (Yuin) people and acknowledge others across whose lands we have travelled. I pay my respects to the Elders past, present and future for their wisdom and knowledge, and I offer my respect to all Aboriginal People here today, wherever you may come from.

TOP OF PAGE                               HOME


ACHIEVEMENT & SUCCESS

‘Success’ in the heart and soul and not just in the deeds.

In choosing a poem to reflect on success, consider how they, lived and what was important to them or what they considered success. A poem on parenting, race cars, fishing etc. might be indicative of the person’s love, life and ambitions.

A Song of Living

by Amelia Josephine Burr

Because I have loved life, I shall have no sorrow to die.
I have sent up my gladness on wings, to be lost in the blue of the sky.
I have run and leaped with the rain, I have taken the wind to my breast.
My cheek like a drowsy child to the face of the earth I have pressed.
Because I have loved life, I shall have no sorrow to die.
I have kissed young love on the lips, I have heard her song to the end.
I have struck my hand like a seal in the loyal hand of a friend.
I have known the peace of heaven, the comfort of work done well.
I have longed for death in the darkness and risen alive out of hell.
Because I have loved life, I shall have no sorrow to die.
I give a share of my soul to the world where my course is run.
I know that another shall finish the task I must leave undone.
I know that no flower, nor flint was in vain on the path I trod.
As one looks on a face through a window,
through life, I have looked on God.
Because I have loved life, I shall have no sorrow to die.

Success

by Bessie Anderson Stanley (1904)

He has achieved success
who has lived well,
laughed often, and loved much;

who has enjoyed the trust of
pure women,

the respect of intelligent men and
the love of little children;

who has filled his niche and accomplished his task;

who has left the world better than he found it
whether by an improved poppy,
a perfect poem or a rescued soul;

who has never lacked appreciation of Earth’s beauty
or failed to express it;

who has always looked for the best in others and
given them the best he had;

whose life was an inspiration;
whose memory a benediction.

The Joy Of Achievement

by Pratheek Praveen Kumar in Calm Reflections

Very sweet indeed is the joy of achievement,
A joy that is truly God-sent,
Something that causes us to be happy for long,
And causes us to break out in song.

The joy of a job well done,
Is the best of joys under the Sun,
Anyone would rather have it indeed,
To eternal happiness does it lead.

Rare indeed is this particular joy,
We cannot it lend or buy,
Something that comes after hard work,
For a hard worker everywhere it does lurk.

The fruit of tiresome years,
That comes amidst apprehensions and fears,
It is sweeter than any known fruit,
A hard worker it does properly suit.

A joy sweet it indeed is,
It causes one to have a feeling of bliss,
Something that is rarer than gold,
That gives joy untold.

What Is Success?

A variation of ‘Success’ by Bessie Anderson Stanley (1904)

That Man is a Success
Who has lived well,
laughed often and loved much;
Who has gained the respect of intelligent men
and the love of children;
Who has filled his niche
and accomplished his task;
Who leaves the world better than he found it,
whether by improved poppy, a perfect poem,
or a rescued soul;
Who never lacked appreciation of earth’s beauty
or failed to express it.
Who looked for the best in others
and gave the best he had.

And finally, to know that even one life has breathed easier because you have lived;
This is success


TOP OF PAGE                               HOME


ACTORS & THEATRE

 Actors…

By Nestor David Armas Jan 2013, © okpoet

You tell me three little words;
I reply with four smaller words,
You smile at me;
I laugh with glee,
We share a moment or two
But we hide many things through
And through from each other
Wonder sometimes why we even bother,
Don’t know who’s going to speak up first
I’m parched from talking got to quench my thirst,
We walk away to our own little planet
Etch a sketch shaken we don’t plan it,
What we’ll say next
Lies shallow deep fabricated text,
How long can we keep this up
You’re half empty I’m half full brimming cup
Of false interchanges amongst us
The world outside can’t join this circus,
Always putting on a show improvising
We wear masks to keep from disguising
Our deep dark truths threatening to be sieved,
We are the greatest actors to have ever lived…

All the World’s a Stage

By William Shakespeare, “As You Like It,” Act II, Scene VII

All the world’s a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances; And one man in his time plays many parts, His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant, Mewling and puking in the nurse’s arms;
Then the whining school-boy, with his satchel And shining morning face, creeping like snail Unwillingly to school. And then the lover, Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress’ eyebrow. Then a soldier, Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard, Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel, Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon’s mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lin’d, With eyes severe and beard of formal cut, Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper’d pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side,
His youthful hose, well sav’d, a world too wide For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice, Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion;
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans every thing.

Ballad Of Dead Actors

–I. M. Edward John Henley (1861-1898)

Where are the passions they essayed,
And where the tears they made to flow?
Where the wild humours they portrayed
For laughing worlds to see and know?
Othello’s wrath and Juliet’s woe?
Sir Peter’s whims and Timon’s gall?
And Millamant and Romeo?
Into the night go one and all.

Where are the braveries, fresh or frayed?
The plumes, the armours–friend and foe?
The cloth of gold, the rare brocade,
The mantles glittering to and fro?
The pomp, the pride, the royal show?
The cries of war and festival?
The youth, the grace, the charm, the glow?
Into the night go one and all.

The curtain falls, the play is played:
The Beggar packs beside the Beau;
The Monarch troops, and troops the Maid;
The Thunder huddles with the Snow.
Where are the revellers high and low?
The clashing swords?  The lover’s call?
The dancers gleaming row on row?
Into the night go one and all.

Envoy

Prince, in one common overthrow
The Hero tumbles with the Thrall:
As dust that drives, as straws that blow,
Into the night go one and all.

The Tempest (extract)

by William Shakespeare

Our revels now are ended. These our actors,
As I foretold you, were all spirits, and
Are melted into air, into thin air:
And like the baseless fabric of this vision,
The cloud-capp’d towers, The gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Yes, all which it inherit, shall dissolve,
and like this insubstantial pageant faded,
leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff
As dreams are made on, and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep. 


TOP OF PAGE                               HOME


ADDICTION & ALCOHOLISM

see also BEER LOVERS

Addiction Took Another Soul

© Natausha Henry

Published: December 2008

She puts it to her lips with ease,
just hurting deep inside.
Tried to hide the pain away,
to get that one last high.
She sees the lights over head,
one by one they pass,
going down an empty hall,
they’re trying to save her fast.
She hears them say, oh no, we’ve failed,
we’ve lost another one.
This addiction took another soul,
it started out with fun.
Now her friends and family sit above her flower covered grave.
She floats above and cries to herself,
all I did was crave.
Now there’s a hand reaching for me.
It’s time to say goodbye.
This disease just got one more.
Promise me, don’t cry.

Alcohol’s Promise to You

by Author Unknown

I have some promises I’ll make to you
If you will do what I want you to do.
The more that you consume of me
The more your losses will surely be.
Here are the promises to you I make
And I promise the promises never to break.
I promise to take your money, your home
And all you can get in the way of a loan.
I’ll take your character, your reputation to
Your good name, I’ll take from you.
Your friends I’ll take from you one day
Your family from you I’ll turn away.
I’ll take your car, I’ll take your wealth
I’ll take your job, I’ll take your health.
I’ll take your watch, I’ll take your chair
I’ll cause you to stay out in the rain.
I’ll take your credit, I’ll take your bail
I’ll cause to sleep in a dirty jail.
I’ll cause you regret, remorse and pain
I’ll cause your name to go down in shame.
I’ll bring you misery, I’ll bring you woe
I’ll bring you trouble more than you know.
I’ll take your clothes and pawn them too
The necessities of Life, I’ll take from you.
I’ll take from you the days, I’ll take from you the years
I’ll double the flow of your bitter tears.
I’ll take your heart, give you one of stone
I’ll cause you to walk through life alone.
I’ll take away your desires to live aright
Your light of day, I’ll turn to night.
I’ll cause you to dishonour your mother and dad
I’ll take away all the pleasure you could have had.
I’ll turn your love for your friends to hate
Your desire to repent will come too late.
Your road to despair for you I’ll pave
I’ll cause you to fill a premature grave.
I’ll put you in an institution for the insane
Your normal thinking will go down the drain.
I’ll cause you to murder your very best friend
I’ll trouble your mind to the very end.
I’ll bring you contention, I’ll bring you strife
I’ll finish with you by taking your life

Demons

By Tammy M Darby Dec 2013

****’s demons are everywhere
If I could only convince you to see
Drinking gin and tonic with style
Sipping haughtily on lemon and tea

Their distorted evil frightening faces
Are masked from human sight
As they pass you with indifference
Grinning and nodding
Moving left to right

However
Without warning
As their vicious appetites call
Growing hungry for souls
In the silence of the night
They gobble up foolish sinners they encounter
That disappear forever from sight

So the next time you have the desire to dine in the  evening
Take a  moment or a second or two
Remember faces are not all they seem
A demon may be sipping a martini,
While smiling and sitting right next to you

Heroin Addiction

BY Delaney Farrell

“Funny, I don’t remember no good dope days. I remember walking for miles in a dope fiend haze. I remember sleeping in houses that had no electric. I remember being called a junkie, but I couldn’t accept it. I remember hanging out in abandos that were empty and dark. I remember shooting up in the bathroom and falling out at the park. I remember nodding out in front of my sisters kid. I remember not remembering half of the things that I did. I remember the dope man’s time frame, just ten more minutes. I remember those days being so sick that I just wanted to end it. I remember the birthdays and holiday celebrations. All the things I missed during my incarceration. I remember overdosing on my bedroom floor. I remember my sisters cry and my dad having to break down the door. I remember the look on his face when I opened my eyes, thinking today was the day that his baby had died. I remember blaming myself when my mom decided to leave. I remember the guilt I felt in my chest making it hard to breathe. I remember caring so much but not knowing how to show it. and I know to this day that she probably don’t even know it. I remember feeling like I lost all hope. I remember giving up my body for the next bag of dope. I remember only causing pain, destruction and harm. I remember the track marks the needles left on my arm. I remember watching the slow break up of my home. I remember thinking my family would be better off if I just left them alone. I remember looking in the mirror at my sickly completion. I remember not recognizing myself in my own Damn reflection. I remember constantly obsessing over my next score but what I remember most is getting down on my knees and asking God to save me cuz I don’t want to do this no more!!!”

My Son (Addiction)

By Marie Antoinette

Don’t know if this is appropriate
I wrote it for a similar situation…

I will not cast the first stone
I have none in my hand
Even though your life at times
Was not how I had planned

When you are a boy I dreamed
Of the man you would become
But life had other plans for you
With challenges more than one

When you spiralled down and more
I longed for a reverse
I’d have given my right arm
For your pain to disperse

It wasn’t easy watching you
Of that I won’t deny
And I’m not ashamed to say
That there were times I cried

Life gave you many challenges
Too many to be fair
I only wish in all those times
I could have been right there

Although I didn’t understand
I still told everyone
With a love that’s undenied
I’d say ‘That is my son’ you

Pray, Don’t Find Fault

By Rama Muthukrishnan

Pray don’t find fault with the man who limps
or stumbles along the road,
unless you have worn the shoes he wears
or struggled beneath his load.
There may be tacks in his shoes that hurt,
though hidden away from view,
or the burden he bears, placed on your back
might cause you to stumble too.
Don’t sneer at the man who’s down today
unless you have felt the blow
that caused his fall or felt the shame
that only the fallen know.
You may be strong, but still the blows
that were his if dealt to you,
in the selfsame way, at the selfsame time,
might cause you to stagger too.
Don’t be too harsh with the man who sins
or pelt him with word or stone,
unless you are sure, yea, doubly sure,
that you have no sins of your own
for you know perhaps if the tempter’s voice
should whisper as softly to you
as it did to him when he went astray,
it might cause you to stumble too.

The Demon In A Bottle

by Author Unknown

When life can seem unbearable, and you feel you just can’t cope.
You look for a solution to try and give you hope.
Many find salvation, through friends and family,
It may be good for others, but it wasn’t good for me.
I found mine in a bottle, well least that’s what I thought
People tried to help me, but to stubborn to be taught.
It gave me lot’s of confidence, to cope with life outside,
But then the demon’s gripped me, and there was nowhere left to hide.
Hiding in a bottle, is such a lonely place, waking up hungover with the day ahead to face.
But once you’ve drunk the first one, the problems they seem less.
But by the sixth or seventh, you’re really in a mess.
You’re on a downward spiral, heading for the floor,
One bottle used to solve it, but you now need more and more.
In life we’re dealt a hand of cards, my hand held too much black.
I played the cards held badly, and there was no turning back.
I’ve gone too far for help now, though many may have tried,
Some have given up on me, others stayed and cried.
I have much guilt inside of me, for the suffering I have brought,
People did their best for me and solutions they have sought.
So, I hope I leave a message, a lesson I can send,
I knew where I was heading; soon coming to an end.
No one could have stopped me, no guilt for you to bear,
And it did bring me some comfort, to know that you were there.

The Lost Drink

by Andrew Barton ‘Banjo’ Paterson, From book: Saltbush Bill, J.P. and Other Verses

I have spent the night in the watchhouse –
My head was the size of three –
So I went and asked the chemist
To fix up a drink for me;
And he brewed it from various bottles
With soda and plenty of ice,
With something that smelt like lemon,
And something that seemed like spice.

It fell on my parching palate
Like dew on a sun-baked plain,
And my system began to flourish
Like the grass in a soft Spring rain;
It wandered throughout my being,
Suffusing my soul with rest,
And I felt as I “scoffed” that liquid
That life had a new-found zest.

I have been on the razzle-dazzle
Full many a time since then
I never could get the chemist
To brew that drink again.
He says he’s forgotten the notion –
Twas only by chance it came –
He’s tried me with various liquids
But oh! They are not the same.

We have sought, but we sort it vainly,
The one last drink divine;
We have sampled his various bottles,
But somehow they don’t combine:
Yet I know when I cross the river
And stand on the Golden Shore
I shall meet with an angel – chemist
Who’ll brew me that drink once more

They Took You Away

© by Aimee Fox, Published: January 2014

I was 25, you were only 28.
A thousand times we tried to help you,
But we were still too late.

You told us everything was ok,
But we could see your body and mind starting to decay.

I prayed to God that I would help you if he would save you,
But now I will never see that day.

You were so brave, and I continued to pray,
But then came that day when the angels took you away.

I felt my heart stop beating,
Like I was floating on air.
All I could do was stand there.
Then I realized those screams I was hearing were coming from me.
I just couldn’t stop; they had to let me be.

They say it will get easier,
But I don’t think that’s true
Because every day I cry more for you.

Now we have to try and live without you.
It’s the hardest thing we have had to go through.

We love and miss you more than you will ever know.
I hope you are happy now, if only you could let us know.

We will never let you go from our hearts and soul.
One day we will be together again, our family, whole.

White Horse

“In memory of my brother Simmo”
Glenn Austin Simpson – 11 April 1969 to 07 January 2000- Aged just 30.
©Andrea Stokes (nee Simpson) June 2000

The union
Behold my friend, I’m Heroin
Known by all as the destroyer of men
From where I came, no one knows
A far away place where poppies grow

I came to this country without getting caught
And since that day, have been hunted and sought
Whole nations have gathered to plot my destruction
They call me the breeder of crime and corruption.

I am more potent than whisky, more deadly than wine,
Yes, I am the scourge of all mankind.
My little white grains are nothing but waste,
I am soft and fluffy yet bitter to taste.

I am white, I am brown but deadly to use,
For once you’re addicted, I really abuse.
I am known in Thailand, Iraq and Iran
I am welcome in Turkey and been to Japan.

In plastic bags I make my way
To men in offices and children at play,
From Leaders of States to the lowest of bum,
From the richest estate to the lowest of scum.

I’ll take a rich man and make him poor,
I’ll take a virgin and make her a whore,
Make a beautiful woman forget her looks,
Make an honours’ student forget his books.

I can make you steal, lie, borrow or beg.
Then search for a vein in your arm or your leg.
I’m known to be selfish and fill you with greed,
And that’s regardless your religion or creed.

My gift is illusion, my blessing is fake.
Only heartbreak and death follow my wake.
I am the kiss of death to all I touch.
I start as a gift but end up a crutch.

My friends are many, but I’m loyal to none
All who know me will come undone.
Some think of me as just a toy
But wise men know, my aim’s to destroy.
Run from me if you wish, I will never give chase
For sooner or later, you’ll return for a taste!
Once in your bloodstream you’ll think me not mean
You’ll praise me as ‘master’, then nod in a dream.

You’ve heard my warning, but no doubt take no heed.
Put your foot in the stirrups, mount this great steed,
Get right in the saddle, hold on real well
For this white horse heroin only takes you to hell.


TOP OF PAGE                               HOME


 A DIFFICULT LIFE / ISOLATED/LONERS

A Difficult Life (When I Am Gone)

by Mrs Lyman Hancock

When I have come to the end of my journey
And I travel my last weary mile,
Just forget if you can, that I ever frowned
And remember only the smile.

Forget unkind words I have spoken
Remember some good that I’ve done
Forget that I ever had heartache
And remember I had loads of fun.

Forget that I’ve stumbled and blundered
And sometimes fell by the way.
Remember that I have fought some hard battles,
Yet won at the end of the day.

Then forget to grieve for my going
I would not have you sad for a day
But in summer just gather some flowers
And remember the place where I lay

And come in the shade of the evening
When the sun paints the sky in the west
Stand for a few moments beside me
And remember only my best.

A Grumpy Old Man

by Tony Jennett

I’m old and I’m bitter, with nothing to fear
So I hope I offend you by bending your ear.
It’s my one joy in life – you can like it or not
No answer in edgeways? I don’t give a jot
I’ve railed and I’ve raved since my dotage began
It’s my privilage ‘cos I’m a grumpy old man

And as I grow older; it’s life I suppose:
But more and more things just get right up my nose
Like young mums with their kids and their stupid wee dollies
Who chat; blocking the aisles with their damned shopping trolleys
I barge my way past; just as rough as I can
So the bitches will know I’m a grumpy old man

And those tear-arse young drivers who must overtake
Then go at speeds lower than I want to make
No tail-gating for me and I don’t use my horn
But I heartily wish that they’d never been born
And I see hades open to eat car or van
That did it, because I’m a grumpy old man

And I hate all those worthies who avert their eyes
Because I’ve forgotten to zip up my flies
I excuse myself saying ‘It’s quite plain to see
‘ I’ll have far less bother the next time I pee
‘In the human race maybe I’m just ‘Also ran’
‘But I don’t give a toss – I’m a gumpy old man’

There’s food down my shirt-front and some in my beard
Cos I eat off my knee and I don’t think it’s weird
When I lounge in my armchair while watching the telly
And my food drips unheeded all over my belly
It’s a trait of the aged from here to Japan;
A perk just for being a Grumpy old man

I go apoplectic to hear people say
‘Awesome’ and ‘Wicked’ and ‘Have a nice day’
The poor English language is brought to it’s knees
And falls prostrate and screaming with phrases like these
They should be wrapped up neatly and flushed down the pan
But nobody heeds me: a grumpy old man

At my death just cremate me; I’m hoping to save
Somebody the labour of digging my grave
Set my ashes in concrete and on the urn write
‘ Here’s a rebel whose aim was to put the world right
‘ He failed but what better memorial than
‘A farewell salute to a grumpy old man’

Beyond

by Author Unknown

We trust that beyond absence there is a presence.
That beyond the pain there can be healing.
That beyond the brokenness there can be wholeness.
That beyond the anger there may be peace.
That beyond the hurting there may be forgiveness.
That beyond the silence there may be the word.
That beyond the word there may be understanding.
That through understanding there is love.

Birth Is A Beginning

by Alvin Fine

Birth is a beginning
And death a destination
But life is a journey
A going – a growing
From stage to stage
From childhood to maturity
And youth to age.
From Innocence to awareness
And ignorance to knowing;
From foolishness to discretion
And then perhaps to wisdom.
From weakness to strength
Or strength to weakness
And, often, back again.
From health to sickness
And back we pray, to health again.
From offence to forgiveness.
From loneliness to love,
From joy to gratitude.
From pain to compassion.
And grief to understanding.
From fear to faith.
From defeat to defeat to defeat –
Until, looking backward or ahead,
We see that victory lies
Not as some big place along the way,
But in having made the journey,
stage by stage,
A sacred pilgrimage.
Birth is a beginning
And death a destination.
But life is a journey,
A sacred pilgrimage
Made stage by stage
To life everlasting.

Don’t Judge Me

by Kathleen Wilson

Don’t judge me, for I am just like you.
I can feel, I can love, and I can cry too.

Don’t curse me, for I have done you no wrong.
I only want the acceptance I have needed for so long.

Don’t laugh at me, for I am not laughing with you.
I see you’re laughing at me why is this true?

I may not even be who you think I am,
or even who you want me to be.
You wish for me to be more like you,
Why can’t you be more like me?

We both are made by one in the same.
We grew to be different, I’m not to blame.

Don’t judge me for I am just like you.
I can feel, I can love, and I can cry too.


If I Had A Voice

by Caroline Wilkes (in her book entitled ‘Messages’)

If I had a voice now
It would be loving
And I would say thank you for all of your care.
If I had a voice now
I’d want to tell you
I’m sorry for not always wanting to be there.
My life, it confused you, it did so to me.
But I am released now and my heart is free.
The heart that was hidden beneath all the pain,
It felt so much more than I could explain.
And if I had a voice now,
I’d say out loud
I love you, I wish that I’d made that clear.
And in my lifetime
I need you to know
That I was much more than I did appear.
These are things that I’d say through choice…
if I had a chance and if I had a voice.


Solitary Man

by Robert Edgar Burns

Sometimes I feel like a solitary man.
Under the night sky writing what I can.
No one else is moving or driving cars.
The world belongs to me under the stars.

While pondering in my solitude
Without a thought or plan,
Thoughts jump into the mind
Of this solitary man.

I don’t know where they come from.
They are just my own surprise.
Sometimes I’d swear that they have come
Through a different set of eyes.

In prison I know that solitary
Can drive a person mad.
But in those I once sent there,
For the solitude they seem glad.

The Lord needed His solitude
For at one time forty days.
And again when in the garden,
Where for the souls of men He prayed.

So in my time of solitude
I also have time to pray.
It’s when I feel the closest,
To Him in my night each day!

The Cocoon & the Butterfly

by Author Unknown

A man found a cocoon one day a small opening appeared as the man watched. He sat there and watched the soon to be butterfly for several hours as it struggled to force it’s body through the little hole.
Then it seemed to stop making any progress. It appeared as if it had gotten as far as it could and could go no farther. Then the man decided to help the butterfly.
He took a pair of scissors and snipped the remaining bit of the cocoon. The butterfly then emerged easily.
Something was strange here. The butterfly had a swollen body and shrivelled wings. The man continued to watch the butterfly because he expected at any moment the wings would enlarge and expand to be able to support the body which would contact in time.
Neither Happened.
In fact the butterfly spent the rest of its life crawling around with a swollen body and wings that couldn’t fly.
What the man in his kindness and haste did not understand was that the restricting cocoon and the struggle required for the butterfly to get through the small opening of the cocoon are God’s way of forcing fluid from the body of the butterfly into it’s wings so that it would be ready for flight once it achieved its freedom from the cocoon.
Sometimes struggles are exactly what we need in our life.
If God allowed us to go through all our life without obstacles that would cripple us.
We would not be as strong as what we could have been.
We would never fly.
I asked for strength…..and God gave me difficulties to make me strong.
I asked for wisdom….and God gave me problems to solve.
I asked for prosperity….and God gave me brains and brawn to work.
I asked for courage….and God gave me danger to overcome.
I asked for love….and God gave me troubled people to help out.
I asked for favours….and God gave me opportunities.
I received nothing I wanted….I received everything I needed!
May God Bless You.

Man in the Mirror

1934-By Dale Wimbrow (1895-1954),

When you get what you want in your struggle for wealth
And the world makes you King for a day,
Then go to the mirror and look at yourself,
And see what that guy has to say.
For it isn’t your Father, or Mother, or Wife,
Who judgement upon you must pass.
The feller whose verdict counts most in your life
Is the guy staring back from the glass.
He’s the feller to please, never mind all the rest,
For he’s with you clear up to the end,
And you’ve passed your most dangerous, difficult test
If the guy in the glass is your friend.
You can fool the whole world down the pathway of years,
And get pats on the back as you pass,
But your final reward will be heartaches and tears
If you’ve cheated the guy in the glass.
He’s the fellow to please, never mind all the rest
For he’s with you clear up to the end
And you’ve passed your most dangerous, difficult test
If the man in the glass is your friend

The Next Place

By Warren Hanson

The next place that I go
Will be as peaceful and familiar
As a sleepy summer Sunday
And a sweet, untroubled mind.
And yet . . .
It won’t be anything like any place I’ve ever been. . .
Or seen. . . or even dreamed of
In the place I leave behind.
I won’t know where I’m going,
And I won’t know where I’ve been
As I tumble through the always
And look back toward the when.
I’ll glide beyond the rainbows.
I’ll drift above the sky.
I’ll fly into the wonder, without ever wondering why.
I won’t remember getting there.
Somehow I’ll just arrive.
But I’ll know that I belong there
And will feel much more alive
Than I have ever felt before.
I will be absolutely free of the things that I held onto
That were holding onto me.
The next place that I go
Will be so quiet and so still
That the whispered song of sweet belonging will rise up to fill
The listening sky with joyful silence,
And with unheard harmonies
Of music made by no one playing,
Like a hush upon breeze.
There will be no room for darkness in that place of living light,
Where an ever-dawning morning pushes back the dying night.
The very air will fill with brilliance, as the brightly shining sun
And the moon and half a million stars are married into one.
The next place that I go Won’t really be a place at all.
There won’t be any seasons —
Winter, summer, spring or fall —
Nor a Monday, Nor a Friday,
Nor December, Nor July.
And the seconds will be standing still. . .
While hours hurry by.
I will not be a boy or girl,
A woman or man.
I’ll simply be just, simply, me.
No worse or better than.
My skin will not be dark or light.
I won’t be fat or tall.
The body I once lived in
Won’t be part of me at all.
I will finally be perfect.
I will be without a flaw.
I will never make one more mistake,
Or break the smallest law.
And the me that was impatient,
Or was angry, or unkind,
Will simply be a memory.
The me I left behind.
I will travel empty-handed.
There is not a single thing
I have collected in my life
That I would ever want to bring Except. . .
The love of those who loved me,
And the warmth of those who cared.
The happiness and memories
And magic that we shared.
Though I will know the joy of solitude. . .
I’ll never be alone. I’ll be embraced
By all the family and friends I’ve ever known.
Although I might not see their faces,
All our hearts will beat as one,
And the circle of our spirits
Will shine brighter than the sun.
I will cherish all the friendship I was fortunate to find,
All love and all the laughter in the place I leave behind.
All these good things will go with me.
They will make my spirit glow.
And that light will shine forever In the next place that I g

Time Will Ease The Hurt

By Bruce B Wilmer

The sadness of the present days
Is locked and set in time.
And moving to the future
Is a slow and painful climb.

But all the feelings that are now
So vivid and so real
Can’t hold their fresh intensity
As time begins to heal.

No wound so deep will ever go
Entirely away
Yet every hurt becomes
A little less from day to day.

Nothing can erase the painful
Imprints on your mind
But there are softer memories
That time will let you find.

Though your heart won’t let the sadness
Simply slide away
The echoes will diminish
Even though the memories stay.


TOP OF PAGE                               HOME


Today

by author unknown

There are two days in every week about which we should not worry,
two days which should be kept free from fear and apprehension.
One of these days is Yesterday
with its mistakes and cares, its faults and blunders, its aches and pains.
Yesterday has passed forever beyond our control.
All the money in the world cannot bring back Yesterday.
We cannot undo a single act we performed;
we cannot erase a single word we said.
Yesterday is gone.
The other day we should not worry about is Tomorrow
with its possible adversities, its burdens, its large promise and poor performance. Tomorrow is beyond our immediate control.
Tomorrow’s sun will rise, either in splendour or behind a mask of clouds –
but it will rise.
Until it does, we have no stake in Tomorrow, for it is yet unborn.
This leaves only one day – Today.
Any man can fight the battles of just one day.
It is only when you and I add the burdens of those two awful eternities – Yesterday and tomorrow that we break down.
It is not the experience of Today that drives men mad –
it is remorse and bitterness for something which happened Yesterday
and the dread of what Tomorrow may bring.


When I Am Gone

by Mrs. Lyman Hancock   

When I come to the end of my journey
And I travel my last weary mile
Just forget if you can, that I ever frowned
And remember only the smile

Forget unkind words I have spoken
Remember some good I have done
Forget that I ever had heartache
And remember I’ve had loads of fun

Forget that I’ve stumbled and blundered
And sometimes fell by the way
Remember I have fought some hard battles
And won, ere the close of the day

Then forget to grieve for my going
I would not have you sad for a day
But in summer just gather some flowers
And remember the place where I lay

And come in the shade of evening
When the sun paints the sky in the west
Stand for a few moments beside me
And remember only my best


TOP OF PAGE                               HOME


AGING

How To Grow Old

By Bertrand Russell

The best way to overcome it [the fear of death]—so at least it seems to me—is to make your interests gradually wider and more impersonal, until bit by bit the walls of the ego recede, and your life becomes increasingly merged in the universal life. An individual human existence should be like a river: small at first, narrowly contained within its banks, and rushing passionately past rocks and over waterfalls. Gradually the river grows wider, the banks recede, the waters flow more quietly, and in the end, without any visible break, they become merged in the sea, and painlessly lose their individual being. The man who, in old age, can see his life in this way, will not suffer from the fear of death, since the things he cares for will continue. And if, with the decay of vitality, weariness increases, the thought of rest will not be unwelcome. I should wish to die while still at work, knowing that others will carry on what I can no longer do and content in the thought that what was possible has been done.

ARTISTS

On Being an Artist

By Copyright @ 2014 by Noelle Kocot

Saturn seems habitual,
The way it rages in the sky
When we’re not looking.
On this note, the trees still sing
To me, and I long for this
Mottled world. Patterns
Of the lamplight on this leather,
The sun, listening.
My brother, my sister,
I was born to tell you certain
Things, even if no one
Really listens. Give it back
To me, as the bird takes up
The whole sky, ruined with
Nightfall. If I can remember
The words in the storm,
I will be well enough to sit
Here with you a little while.

Vincent (lyrics)

Writer/s: Don McLean
Publisher: Universal Music Publishing Group

Starry, starry night
Paint your palette blue and grey
Look out on a summer’s day
With eyes that know the darkness in my soul
Shadows on the hills
Sketch the trees and the daffodils
Catch the breeze and the winter chills
In colours on the snowy linen land

Now I understand
What you tried to say to me
And how you suffered for your sanity
And how you tried to set them free
They would not listen, they did not know how
Perhaps they’ll listen now

Starry, starry night
Flaming flowers that brightly blaze
Swirling clouds in violet haze
Reflect in Vincent’s eyes of china blue
Colours changing hue
Morning fields of amber grain
Weathered faces lined in pain
Are soothed beneath the artist’s loving hand

Now I understand
What you tried to say to me
And how you suffered for your sanity
And how you tried to set them free
They would not listen, they did not know how
Perhaps they’ll listen now

For they could not love you
But still your love was true
And when no hope was left in sight
On that starry, starry night
You took your life, as lovers often do
But I could have told you, Vincent
This world was never meant for one
As beautiful as you

Starry, starry night
Portraits hung in empty halls
Frameless heads on nameless walls
With eyes that watch the world and can’t forget
Like the strangers that you’ve met
The ragged men in the ragged clothes
The silver thorn, a bloody rose
Lie crushed and broken on the virgin snow

Now I think I know
What you tried to say to me
And how you suffered for your sanity
And how you tried to set them free
They would not listen, they’re not listening still
Perhaps they never will


TOP OF PAGE                               HOME


ALZHEIMER’S

see also:

Afterglow

By Helen Lowrie Marshall

I’d like the memory of me
To be a happy one.
I’d like to leave an afterglow
Of smiles when day is done.

I’d like to leave an echo
Whispering softly down the ways,
Of happy times and laughing times
And bright and sunny days.

I’d like the tears of those who grieve,
To dry before the sun
Of happy memories I leave
Behind – when day is done.

Alzheimer’s (When I am Gone)

by Mrs. Lyman Hancock   

When I come to the end of my journey
And I travel my last weary mile,
Just forget if you can any frowns –
And remember only my smile.

Forget any dark words spoken,
But remember the good I have done.
Forget that there ever was heartache,
Just remember the laughter and fun.

Forget that I stumbled and blundered
And sometimes fell by the way;
Remember when people are hurting,
They don’t always mean what they say.

So do not grieve for my going,
And feel you forever must cry
But in summer just gather some flowers
And come to the place where I lie.

And then in the shade of the evening,
When the sun paints the sky in the west;
Stand for a moment beside me –
And remember only my best.

Alzheimers

By Dick Underwood, from his Dreams of the Soul anthology

You didn’t die just recently,
You died some time ago.
Although your body stayed a while,
And didn’t really know.

For you had got Alzheimer’s,
You failed to comprehend.
Your body went on living.
But your mind had reached its end.

So we’ve already said, “Goodbye”,
To the person that we knew.
The person that we truly loved,
The person that was you.

And so we meet again today,
To toast your body’s end.
For it was true and faithful,
Until right at the end.

And so, when we remember,
We’ll think of all the rest.
We’ll concentrate on earlier,
And remember all the best.

For in the real scheme of things,
Your illness wasn’t long.
Compared to all the happiness,
You brought your whole life long.

We think of you as yesterday,
When you were fit and well.
And when we’re asked about you,
It’s those things that we’ll tell.

And so we meet in remembrance,
Of a mind so fit and true.
We’re here to pay our last respects
To say that, “We love you”.

Am Always With You

by author unknown

When I am gone, release me, let me go.
I have so many things to see and do,
You mustn’t tie yourself to me with too many tears,
But be thankful we had so many good years.
I gave you my love, and you can only guess
How much you’ve given me in happiness.
I thank you for the love that you have shown,
But now it is time I travelled on alone.
So grieve for me a while, if grieve you must
Then let your grief be comforted by trust
That it is only for a while that we must part,
So treasure the memories within your heart.
I won’t be far away for life goes on.
And if you need me, call and I will come.
Though you can’t see or touch me, I will be near
And if you listen with your heart, you’ll hear
All my love around you soft and clear
And then, when you come this way alone,
I’ll greet you with a smile and a “Welcome Home”.

At Rest

By Author Unknown

Think of me as one at rest,
For me, no need to weep,
I have no pain, no troubled thoughts,
For I am just at peace.

The living, thinking me that was,
is now forever still,
And life goes on without me,
as time forever will.

If your heart is heavy now,
because I’ve gone away,
Dwell not long upon it friend,
for none of us can stay.

To those friends who liked me,
I sincerely thank you all,
and those of you that loved me,
well, I thank you most of all.

For in my fleeting lifespan,
as time went rushing by
I found some time to hesitate,
to laugh, to love, to cry.

It matters not when time began,
or if time will ever cease
For I was here, I used it all
and now I am at peace.

Do Not Ask Me to Remember

By Owen Darnell

Do not ask me to remember,
Don’t try to make me understand,
Let me rest and know you’re with me,
Kiss my cheek and hold my hand.
I’m confused beyond your concept,
I am sad and sick and lost.
All I know is that I need you
To be with me at all cost.
Do not lose your patience with me,
Do not scold or curse or cry.
I can’t help the way I’m acting,
Can’t be different though I try.
Just remember that I need you,
That the best of me is gone,
Please don’t fail to stand beside me,
Love me ’til my life is done.

Free

An adaptation of the poem “I’m Free” by Janice M. Fair-Salters

Don’t grieve for me, for now I’m free
I could not stay another day, to laugh or love
I’ve now found peace at the end of the day.
If my parting has left a void, then fill it with remembered joy
My love shared, a laugh, a kiss
No sorrow
Only the sunshine of tomorrow
My Life has been full – I savoured much; family, good times, a loved one’s touch
Lift up your heart and share with me,
God wanted me now, He set me free

I Am at Peace

By Jennifer Alderton

There was a time when I was free
To live my life in harmony,
Before the illness, which blighted me,
Swept faces and places from my mind,
People I loved from my memory.

Remember me as I used to be.
Think of me; remember my smile,
The love we shared; linger awhile.
I am at Peace now, I am me.
At rest for all eternity.

I’m Free

By Janice M. Fair-Salters

Don’t grieve for me, for now I’m free,
I’m following the path God laid for me.
I took his hand when I heard his call,
I turned my back and left it all.

I could not stay another day,
To laugh, to love, to work, to play.
Tasks left undone must stay that way,
I’ve found that peace at the close of the day.

If my parting has left a void,
Then fill it with remembered joy.
A friendship shared, a laugh, a kiss,
Ah yes, these things I too will miss.

Be not burdened with times of sorrow,
I wish you the sunshine of tomorrow.
My Life’s been full, I savoured much,
Good friends, good times, a loved one’s touch,

Perhaps my time seemed all too brief,
Don’t lengthen it now with undue grief.
Lift up your heart and share with me,
God wanted me now, He set me free.

The Memory Of Me

An adaptation, author unknown, of the poem ‘Afterglow’ by Helen Lowrie Marshall

I’d like the memory of me
to be a happy one.
I’d like to leave an afterglow
of smiles when life is done.
I’d like to leave an echo
whispering softly down the ways,
Of happy times and laughing times
and bright and sunny days.
I’d like the tears of those who grieve,
to dry before the sun
of happy memories
that I leave when life is done.
You didn’t die just recently,
You died some time ago.
Although your body stayed a while,
And didn’t really know.
For you had got Alzheimer’s,
You failed to comprehend.
Your body went on living.
But your mind had reached its end.
So we’ve already said, “Goodbye”,
To the person that we knew.
The person that we truly loved,
The person that was, “You”.
And so, we meet again today,
To toast your bodies end.
For it was true and faithful,
Until right at the end.
And so, when we remember,
We’ll think of all the rest.
We’ll concentrate on earlier,
And remember all the best.
For in the real scheme of things,
Your illness wasn’t long.
Compared to all the happiness,
You brought your whole life long.
We think of you as yesterday,
When you were fit and well.
And when we’re asked about you,
It’s those things that we’ll tell.
And so, we meet in ‘membrance,
Of a mind so fit and true.
We’re here to pay our last respects
To say that, “We love you”.

The Mum I Love

By Author Unknown

What’s on her mind?
I cannot tell
The mum of mine
I knew so well.

What does she see
When she looks at me?
Not the daughter she loved.
How can that be?

No loving looks
No shared delights
Just confused days
And shattered nights.

All skills lost
No logic mind
How can nature
Be so unkind?

What can I do?
I must endure
To help her feel
Safe and secure.
When I look at her
She isn’t there
The mum in my heart
I love so dear.

Two Mothers Remembered

by Joann Snow Duncanson

I had two Mothers – two Mothers I claim
Two different people, yet with the same name.
Two separate women, diverse by design,
But I loved them both because they were mine.
The first was the Mother who carried me here,
Gave birth and nurtured and launched my career.
She was the one whose features I bear,
Complete with the facial expressions I wear.
She gave me her love, which follows me yet,
Along with the examples in life that she set.
As I got older, she somehow younger grew,
And we’d laugh as just Mothers and daughters should do.
But then came the time that her mind clouded so,
And I sensed that the Mother I knew would soon go.
So quickly she changed and turned into the other,
A stranger who dressed in the clothes of my Mother.
Oh, she looked the same, at least at arm’s length,
But now she was the child and I was her strength.
We’d come full circle, we women three,
My Mother the first, the second and me.
And if my own children should come to a day,
When a new Mother comes and the old goes away,
I’d ask of them nothing that I didn’t do.
Love both of your Mothers as both have loved you.


TOP OF PAGE                               HOME


ANGELS

An Angel

by Author Unknown

An angel lived among us,
A gift from God above.
She showered us with kindness
And shared with us her love.
She cherished every moment
With the man who was her life;
Walking hand in hand together,
Facing life with all its strife.
She loved her children dearly,
Each one a different way,
Nestled close within her heart.
Though, now, she’s far away.
She’s gone to live with Jesus.
(or She’s gone to live in another place)
But, she’s here with us, today,
Smiling down on every one of us,
And telling us she’s O.K.

Angels Poem

Author Unknown

When I have no one to turn to
And I am feeling kind of low,
When there is no one to talk to
And nowhere I want to go,
I search deep within myself
It is the love inside my heart
That lets me know my Angels are there
Even though we are miles apart.

A smile then appears upon my face
And the sun begins to shine.
I hear a voice, so soft and sweet
Saying, “Everything will be just fine”
It may seem that I am alone
But I am never by myself at all,
Whenever I need my Angels near
All I have to do is call.

An Angel’s love is always true
On that you can depend.
They will always stand behind you
And will always be your friend.
Through darkest hours and brightest days
Our Angels see us through
They smile when we are happy,
and will cry when we are blue.

Thanks for being my Angel my friend
I will be there for you until the end.

A Prayer For Angels

I prayed for Angels to guard you night and day.
I prayed they would hover and keep harm away.
If you hear the swish of wings or feel a gentle touch.
know God heard my prayer today
and loves you very much.

Live as if you were to die tomorrow.
Learn as if you were to live forever.

Don’t Cry For Me

© Deborah Garcia Gaitan

Don’t cry for me.
I will be okay.
Heaven is my home now,
and this is where I’ll stay.
Don’t cry for me.
I’m where I belong.
I want you to be happy
and try to stay strong.
Don’t cry for me.
It was just my time,
but I will see you someday
on the other side.
Don’t cry for me.
I am not alone.
The angels are with me
to welcome me home.
Don’t cry for me,
for I have no fear.
All my pain is gone,
and Jesus took my tears.
Don’t cry for me.
This is not the end.
I’ll be waiting here for you
when we meet again.

Touched by an Angel

by Maya Angelou

We, unaccustomed to courage
exiles from delight
live coiled in shells of loneliness
until love leaves its high holy temple
and comes into our sight
to liberate us into life.
Love arrives
and in its train come ecstasies
old memories of pleasure
ancient histories of pain.
Yet if we are bold,
love strikes away the chains of fear
from our souls.
We are weaned from our timidity
In the flush of love’s light
we dare be brave
And suddenly we see
that love costs all we are
and will ever be.
Yet it is only love
which sets us free.


TOP OF PAGE                               HOME


ANGELS : Quotes About Angels

“Music is well said to be the speech of angels.”
– Thomas Carlyle, Scottish philosopher

“It is by suffering that human beings become angels.” 
– Victor Hugo, French poet and dramatist

“All God’s angels come to us disguised.” 
– James Russell Lowell, American poet

“Angels can fly because they carry no burdens.” 
– Eileen Elias Freeman, American author

“The golden moments in the stream of life rush past us and we see nothing but sand; the angels come to visit us, and we only know them when they are gone.”
– George Eliot, English novelist

“While we are sleeping, angels have conversations with our souls.” 
– Author Unknown

“It is not known precisely where angels dwell — whether in the air, the void, or the planets. It has not been God’s pleasure that we should be informed of their abode.”
– Voltaire, French philosopher

“We are each of us angels with only one wing, and we can only fly by embracing one another.” – Luciano de Crescenzo, Italian writer and engineer

“The wings of angels are often found on the backs of the least likely people.” 
– Eric Honeycutt

“I feel that there is an angel inside me whom I am constantly shocking.”
– Jean Cocteau, French writer

“Make yourself familiar with the angels, and behold them frequently in spirit; for, without being seen, they are present with you.”
– Saint Francis de Sales

“I saw the angel in the marble and carved until I set him free.”
– Michelangelo, Italian artist


TOP OF PAGE                               HOME


ANIMALS – SEE PETS & FURRY FAMILY MEMBERS (including dogs, cats & others)

 

ASHES: CASTING / SPREADING OF ASHES

Afterglow

By Helen Lowrie Marshall

I’d like the memory of me
To be a happy one.
I’d like to leave an afterglow
Of smiles when day is done.

I’d like to leave an echo
Whispering softly down the ways,
Of happy times and laughing times
And bright and sunny days.

I’d like the tears of those who grieve,
To dry before the sun
Of happy memories I leave
Behind – when day is done.

Am Always With You

by author unknown

When I am gone, release me, let me go.
I have so many things to see and do,
You mustn’t tie yourself to me with too many tears,
But be thankful we had so many good years.
I gave you my love, and you can only guess
How much you’ve given me in happiness.
I thank you for the love that you have shown,
But now it is time I travelled on alone.
So grieve for me a while, if grieve you must
Then let your grief be comforted by trust
That it is only for a while that we must part,
So treasure the memories within your heart.
I won’t be far away for life goes on.
And if you need me, call and I will come.
Though you can’t see or touch me, I will be near
And if you listen with your heart, you’ll hear
All my love around you soft and clear
And then, when you come this way alone,
I’ll greet you with a smile and a “Welcome Home”.

 

Ashes to the Sky

By lou Szymkow 2024

I loved you so deeply but you left me so suddenly
I cried a thousand tears and still love you after all these years

But I am left staring at the vesse,l that urn that holds your remains
As it looks glares back at me, holding me in chains

You took my heart with you when you left me in pain
But It is time for my heart, for me to regain
to make me whole once more
to seek my own life and to set through a door

My tears can no longer fall,
my life can no longer stall
I will also remember you as you will stay in my recovering heart
But it is time that I finally began to make a new life’s start

I will spread your ashes into the wild
I will close my eyes and remember you still for a while
The joy and love that we shared
The life we held so dear conquering all we dared
A life that was full of hope and aspiration
I have spent my life in your love and dedication

It is time now for us to part
I’ll remember you but I’ll be alright,
Go now to the sky and finally be free
It is time for me also, to finally be me

 

He is Gone  (Remember Me)

by David Harkin (variation of ‘She is Gone’)

You can shed tears that he is gone
or you can smile because he has lived.

You can close your eyes and pray that he will come back
or you can open your eyes and see all he has left.

Your heart can be empty because you can’t see him
or you can be full of the love you shared.

You can turn your back on tomorrow and live yesterday
or you can be happy for tomorrow because of yesterday.

You can remember him and only that he’s gone
or you can cherish his memory and let it live on.

You can cry and close your mind,
be empty and turn your back

or you can do what he would want:
smile, open your eyes, love and go on.

Take Me To Some High Place

By Ewan McColl

Take me to some high place Of heather, rock or ling Scatter my dust and ashes Feed me to the wind So that I will be Part of all you see The air you are breathing I’ll be part of the curlew’s cry And the soring hawk The blue milkwort And the sundew hung with diamonds I’ll be riding the gentle wind That blows through your hair Reminding you of how we shared In the joy of living

The Whispers in the Wind

by Jon Arno

 

The leaves they dance, the leaves they fall. The whisper of the wind.
One more season, one more year. The change, it now begins.
For many years, your presence felt. The trees prepare to sleep
As I wonder at your work, your voice begins to speak

The trees, they bow as you approach. Your power now displayed
I close my eyes and drift away, my thoughts of life replayed
Breaking through the whistling wind another I do hear
Who is this you’ve brought with you? Whose memories I hold dear

It’s me my love, I’ve heard your thoughts….I sought and found a way
Please tell me where you’ve been my love. What do you have to say?
My time did come…I had to leave…so much you do not know
What power brings you now to me…on winds that billows blow?

I only came to say hello… to see you one more time
Times did change…I did move on…another love is mine.
Listen to the words I say …and cherish memories all
I’ve thought of you so many times…your memories often call

The wind it blows I must now leave…But hear these words my love
Enjoy your life…Do all you can…Until your journeys done
Your voice will speak to her one day when winter winds do blow
The voice within the whispered wind…only she will know

One day the leaves will dance and fall and she will think of you
Your life will be remembered then…the voice will then be you.
The leaves they dance, the leaves they fall the whisper of the wind.
One more season…one more year…..the change…it now begins


AUSTRALIANA 

A Pub with No Beer

Sung by Slim Dusty; Songwriters: Gordon Noel Parsons
A Pub with No Beer lyrics © EMI Music Publishing

It’s lonesome away, from your kindred and all
By the campfire at night, where the wild dingoes call
But there’s nothing so lonesome, so morbid or drear
Than to stand in a bar, of a pub with no beer
Now the publicans anxious, for the quota to come
There’s a faraway look, on the face of the bum
The maids gone all cranky , and the cooks acting queer
What a terrible place, is a pub with no beer
Then the stockman rides up, with his dry dusty throat
He breasts up to the bar, pulls a wad from his coat
But the smile on has face, quickly turns to a sneer
When the barman said sadly, the pubs got no beer
There’s a dog on the v’randah, for his master he waits
But the boss is inside, drinking wine with his mates
He hurries for cover, and cringes with fear
Its no place for a dog, round a pub with no beer
Old Billy the blacksmith, first time in his life
Has gone home cold sober, to his darling wife
He walks in the kitchen, she says your early my dear
But he breaks down and tells her, the pubs got no beer

Home Among the Gum Trees

Songwriters: Robert Alexander Brown / Walter Edward Johnson

Home Among the Gum Trees lyrics © O/B/O Apra Amcos
I’ve been around the world
A couple of times or maybe more
I’ve seen the sights, I’ve had delights
On every foreign shore
But when my mates all ask me
The place that I adore
I tell them right away
Give me a home among the gumtrees
With lots of plum trees
A sheep or two, a k-kangaroo
A clothesline out the back
Verandah out the front
And an old rocking chair
You can see me in the kitchen
Cooking up a roast
Or Vegemite on toast
Just you and me, a cup of tea
And later on, we’ll settle down
And go out on the porch
And watch the possums play
There’s a Safeways up the corner
And a Woolies down the street
And a brand new place they’ve opened up
Where they regulate the heat
But I’d trade them all tomorrow
For a little bush retreat
Where the kookaburras call
Some people like their houses
With fences all around
Others live in mansions
And some beneath the ground
But me I like the bush you know
With rabbits running round
And a pumpkin vine out the back

I Love This Land Australia

By Francis Duggan

I love this Land Australia of gum and wattle tree
This vast and sunlit Continent is home from home for me
And though I come from a distant Land when I have had my day
Than underneath Australian soil where better place to lay.

I love this Land Australia home of the kangaroo
Of echidna and wombat, platypus and cockatoo
Of lorikeet and rosella, koala, possum and emu
And other unusual birds and animals as I’ve mentioned just a few.

I like Australian people if poor man make good they say
The man he is a battler, good on him anyway,
In Land of wedge tailed eagle there’s rooom to spread one’s wings
And in the lucky country the battler is a king.

I love this Land Australia it’s home from home for me,
Home of the kookaburra and gum and wattle tree
And bell bird and bell magpie who through the Winter sing
A Winter oft times milder than Ireland in the Spring.

I love this Land Australia of sunshine and bird song
And with each passing day my love for this great Country grow more strong
And though I come from a distant Land when I have had my day
Than underneath Australian soil where better place to lay.

I Still Call Australia Home

Lyrics By Peter Allen

I’ve been to cities that never close down
From New York to Rio and old London town
But no matter how far or how wide I roam
I still call Australia home

I’m always traveling, I love being free
And so I keep leaving the sun and the sea
But my heart lies waiting over the foam
I still call Australia home

All the sons and daughters spinning ’round the world
Away from their family and friends
But as the world gets older and colder
It’s good to know where your journey ends

But someday we’ll all be together once more
When all of the ships come back to the shore
Then I realise something I’ve always known
I still call Australia home

(But no matter how far or wide I roam)
I still call Australia
I still call Australia
I still call Australia home

(But no matter how far or wide I roam)
Oh I still call Australia
I still call Australia
I still call Australia home

My Country

© 1904 Dorothea MacKellar

The love of field and coppice, of green and shaded lanes,
Of ordered woods and gardens is running in your veins.
Strong love of grey-blue distance, brown streams and soft, dim skies-
I know but cannot share it, my love is otherwise.

I love a sunburnt country, a land of sweeping plains,
Of ragged mountain ranges, of droughts and flooding rains.
I love her far horizons, I love her jewel-sea,
Her beauty and her terror- the wide brown land for me!

The stark white ring-barked forests, all tragic to the moon,
The sapphire-misted mountains, the hot gold hush of noon,
Green tangle of the brushes where lithe lianas coil,
And orchids deck the tree-tops, and ferns the warm dark soil.

Core of my heart, my country! Her pitiless blue sky,
When, sick at heart, around us we see the cattle die –
But then the grey clouds gather, and we can bless again
The drumming of an army, the steady soaking rain.

Core of my heart, my country! Land of the rainbow gold,
For flood and fire and famine she pays us back threefold.
Over the thirsty paddocks, watch, after many days,
The filmy veil of greenness that thickens as we gaze.

An opal-hearted country, a wilful, lavish land –
All you who have not loved her, you will not understand –
Though earth holds many splendours, wherever I may die,
I know to what brown country my homing thoughts will fly.

Tenterfield Saddler

By Peter Allen
Songwriter: Peter Woolnough Allen

Tenterfield Saddler lyrics © Warner/Chappell Music, Inc, Carlin America Inc

The late George Wallno
Worked on high street and lived on manners
Fifty two years he sat on his verandah, made his saddles
And if you had questions about sheep or flowers or doves
You just asked the saddler, he lived without sin
They’re building a library for him

Time is a traveller
Tenterfield saddler
Turn your head
Right again jackaroo, think I see kangaroo up ahead

The son of George Wallno went off and got married and had a war baby
But something was wrong and it’s easier to drink than go crazy
And if there were questions about why the end was so sad
Well George had no answers about why her son ever has need of a gun

Time is a traveller
Tenterfield saddler
Turn your head
Right again jackaroo, think I see kangaroo up ahead

The grandson of George has been all around the world and lives no special place
Changed his last name and he married a girl with an interesting face
He’d almost forgotten them both because of the life that he leads
There’s nowhere for George and his library or the son with his gun to belong
Except in this song

Time is a traveller
Tenterfield saddler
Turn your head
Right again jackaroo, think I see kangaroo up ahead

Time is a meddler
Tenterfield saddler
Make a bet
Fly away cockatoo
Down on the ground
Emu up ahead

Time is a traveler
Tenterfield saddler
Turn your head
Right again jackaroo, think I see kangaroo up ahead

Time is a medler
Tenterfield saddler
Make your bet
Fly away cockatoo
Down on the ground
Emu up ahead oh
Time is a traveler
Tenterfield saddler
Turn your head
Right again jackaroo, think I see kangaroo up ahead, oh

 


TOP OF PAGE                               HOME


test

AVIATION (PILOTS & FLYERS)

A Pilot’s Prayer

By Patrick Phillips

When this life I’m in is done,
and at the gates I stand,
my hope is that I answer all
the questions on command.
I doubt I’ll be asked of my fame,
or all the things I knew.
Instead, did I witness the rainbows
on rainy days I flew.
The hours logged, the status reached,
the ratings will not matter.
Did I notice the sun’s rays
on the lakes that scattered.
Or what about the droplets clear,
that spread across my screen?
And the twinkling eyes of student pilots keen?
How fast, how far, how much, how high?
I won’t be asked these things.
But did I take the time to watch
the moonbeams wash my wings?
And did I see the patchwork fields
the mirrored lakes below?
Or the mountains high and velvet hills?
Of these did I behold?
And when the goals are reached at last.
When all the flying’s done.
I’ll answer with no regret – Indeed! I had some fun.
So when these things are asked of me,
and I can reach no higher.
My prayer this day with hands extended, please welcome home this Flyer.

Fly

Sung by by Celine Dion; Songwriters: Goldman, Jean jacques/Galdston, Philip Edward/Romanelli, r. ; Published by Lyrics © EMI Music Publishing, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC

Fly, fly little wing
Fly beyond imagining
The softest cloud, the whitest dove
Upon the wind of heaven’s love
Past the planets and the stars
Leave this lonely world of ours
Escape the sorrow and the pain
And fly again
Fly, fly precious one
Your endless journey has begun
Take your gentle happiness
Far too beautiful for this
Cross over to the other shore
There is peace forevermore
But hold this mem’ry bittersweet
Until we meet
Fly, fly do not fear
Don’t waste a breath, don’t shed a tear
Your heart is pure, your soul is free
Be on your way, don’t wait for me
Above the universe you’ll climb
On beyond the hands of time
The moon will rise, the sun will set
But I won’t forget
Fly, fly little wing
Fly where only angels sing
Fly away, the time is right
Go now, find the light

Freedom of Flight

by Author Unknown

Silver winged of steel
Buckled up
Cocooned in a cabin
No phones, no emails, no Internet
Racing down the runway
Soaring high above the ground
Distant specks of life
Winged of steel climbs though the skies
Clouds below, clouds above
Seat reclines, put in my earphones, close my eyes
I lose myself, soothed by the motion of the flight
Just a seat, a window, sky, music
Suspended, moving above the earth
Windswept heights
Countries, oceans, mountains, forests
Dawn to dusk
Smooth and turbulent
Dancing through life’s path in the skies
My breath of Serenity

High Flight

By John Gillespie Magee, Jr

Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of earth,
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I’ve climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
Of sun-split clouds, –and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of –Wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Hov’ring there
I’ve chased the shouting wind along, and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air…
Up, up the long, delirious, burning blue
I’ve topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace
Where never lark or even eagle flew —
And, while with silent lifting mind I’ve trod
The high untrespassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.

Last Flight

I hope there is a place, way up in the sky,
Where flyers can go when they have to die.

A place where a guy can buy a cold beer
For a friend and a comrade, whose memory is dear,
A place where no doctor or lawyer can tread,
Nor a management clone would ere be caught dead,
Just a quaint little place where a lady could go
And be safe and protected by the men she would know.

There must be a place where old flyers go,
When their paining is finished and their airspeed gets low,
Where the whiskey is old and the women are young,
and Songs about flying and dying are sung,
Where you’d see all the fellows who’d flown west before,
And they’d call out your name as you came through the door,
Who would buy you a drink, if your thirst should be bad,
And relate to the others: “He was quite a good lad.”

And then through the mist you’d spot an old guy
You had not seen in years though he’d taught you to fly,
He’d nod his old head, and grin ear to ear,
And say; “Welcome, my son. I’m pleased that you’re here.
For this is the place where the true flyers come
When their journey is over and the war has been won.
They’ve come here at last to be safe and alone,
From the government clerks and the management clone.
Politicians and lawyers, the Feds and the noise,
Where all hours are happy and these good ‘ol boys
Can relax with a cool one, and a well deserved rest,
This is Heaven, my son . . . You’ve passed your last test.”

Prayer For A Pilot

By Cecil Roberts

Lord of Sea and Earth and Air,
Listen to the Pilot’s prayer–
Send him wind that’s steady and strong,
Grant that his engine sings the song
Of flawless tone, by which he knows
It shall not fail him where he goes;
Landing, gliding, in curve, half-roll–
Grant him, O Lord, a full control,
That he may learn in heights of Heaven
The rapture altitude has given,
That he shall know the joy they feel
Who ride Thy realms on Birds of Steel.

Silver Wings

By Author Unknown

I have seen the birth of dawn and the sunset die
And rode my steed, the thunder; across the sky.

I have lived among the towering heights
and known a thousand; Nay a million endless,
wondrous delights.

And beyond the swirling mists on high
I have rolled and zoomed far above
enveloped in the golden glory
of my one, my love.

So how do you say, good bye to a pair of silver wings,
a sunlit sky and oh, so many things?

After all these joys I have known , how do you say adieu?
I know not my friend. Do you?

Take Flight

By Amitav Radiance

Dreams within you take flight
Embraced with the wingspan
To wander the high skies
And deliver messages of love
Shower from high above
Stars that you have plucked
Glittering with your generosity

The Winds Will Carry You

By C. JoyBell C

I have come to accept the feeling of not knowing where I am going.
And I have trained myself to love it.
Because it is only when we are suspended in mid-air with no landing in sight, that we force our wings to unravel and alas begin our flight.
And as we fly, we still may not know where we are going to.
But the miracle is in the unfolding of the wings.
You may not know where you’re going,
but you know that so long as you spread your wings,
the winds will carry you.


TOP OF PAGE                               HOME


BABIES & INFANTS

 A Baby

by author unknown

A baby will make love stronger
Days shorter,
Nights longer,
Bankroll smaller,
Clothes shabbier,
The past forgotten,
And the future worth living for.
Author Unknown
A Mother’s Wish
I hope my child looks back on today
And sees a mother who had time to play.
There will be years for cleaning and cooking,
But children grow up when you’re not looking.
Tomorrow I’ll do all the chores you can mention
But today, my baby needs time and attention.
So settle down cobwebs; dust go to sleep,
I’m cuddling my baby, and babies don’t keep.

A Parent’s Wish

by author unknown

We wish you a childhood full of fun and games
And we wish you memories that have little pain.
We wish you to learn by making mistakes.
We wish you to love and never to hate.
We wish you the strength to make up your own mind
But we wish that your heart will be gentle and kind.
We wish you to reach out when a friend needs a hand
And we wish you to help him face life’s demand.
We wish your life brings you some ups and some downs.
But we wish you will smile much more than you’ll frown.
We wish you will taste life’s ‘Sweet smell of success’.
Only to find no replacement for true love and happiness.
We wish life will teach you to stand on your own.
But we wish you to know that you’re never alone.
We wish you success in all that you do.
And we hope that all your dreams will come true.
But the one thing above and beyond all of this
Is the love that is felt by your ‘Parents’ Wish’

A Poem for Parents

by author unknown

There are little eyes upon you,
And they are watching night and day;
There are little ears that quickly
Take in every word you say.
There are little hands all eager
To do everything you do;
And a little boy who’s dreaming
Of the day he’ll be like you.
You’re the little fellow’s idol;
You’re the wisest of the wise;
In his little mind, about you
No suspicions ever rise.
He believes in you devotedly,
Holds that all you say and do,
He will say and do in your way
When he’s grown up like you.
There’s a wide-eyed little fellow
Who believes you’re always right;
And his ears are always open,
And he watches day and night.
You are setting an example
Every day in all you do;
For the little boy who’s waiting
To grow up to be just like you.

Angel Wings

By author unknown

A precious angel slipped away, no one heard a cry.
No time for Dad and Mommy to sing me lullabies.
My time with you was much too short. I had to leave too soon,
But love had joined us as I grew inside my Mommy’s womb.

It wove its way within our hearts, in all our hopes and dreams,
Until the very purest love became my tiny wings.
Although I could not stay with you, I knew right from the start,
That once you felt your angel’s love, you’d keep me in your hearts.

I’m just a little angel but my time was not in vain.
As dark clouds that surround you give way unto the sun,
My precious parents you will see that any heart will sing,
If only for a moment it is brushed by angel wings.

Asleep

by Wendy Sisson

Slumber sweetly little one
Upon your dusty bed.
The earth be both your blanket
And pillow for your head.

When the long, dark night is over
And heaven begins its reign
I promise you my darling
I will see you again.

Committal Prayer For A Baby

Lord God, ever caring and gentle
We commit to your love this little one,
Quickened to life for so short a time.
Enfold him in eternal life.
We pray for his parents
Who are saddened by the loss of their child.
Give them courage
And help them in their pain and grief.
May they all meet one day
In the joy and peace of your Kingdom.
We ask this through Christ our Lord.
Amen

Fingerprints

By Tom Krause

Your fingerprints are on my heart.
Fingerprints that teach me about caring.
Fingerprints that teach me about love.
Fingerprints that teach me about courage.
Fingerprints that teach me about hope.
Fingerprints that bring me closer to my loved ones.
Fingerprints that bring me closer to myself.
In the time I cared for you my whole life changed —
never to be the same again
All this from tiny fingerprints that touch my heart.
You will live in my heart forever – never to be forgotten.
I will always love you.
You are my child.


TOP OF PAGE                               HOME


Footprints

by author unknown

“Walk a little slower Daddy” said a child so small,
“I’m following in your footsteps and I don’t want to fall.
Sometimes your steps are very fast,
Sometimes they’re hard to see;
So walk a little slower Daddy,
For you are leading me.
Someday when I’m all grown up,
You’re what I want to be;
Then I will have a little child
Who’ll want to follow me.
And I would want to lead just right,
And know that I was true;
So walk a little slower Daddy,
For I must follow you.

Gently Now

by author unknown

Lamb, tiger,
Panda and Ted,
Are all ready
To go to bed.

Gently now,
Lay them down.
Cover them warm
Without a sound.

Off we go,
Away we creep,
Quiet as mice
To let them sleep.

Goodbye Little One

By Ruth Van Gramberg

My little one, you filled my world,
Heaven sent to me a sunbeam in a darkened room.
A gift from God to see Your smile, so sweet and tender
You touched my very soul
You helped me grow, strong and tall
That was your little role.
You had to go, your time was right, cold emptiness you leave
A life so short, so pure, so loved, hearts you touched – now grieve.
It is some greater puzzle – I can never understand
I was a mother, a parent for a while – I felt so grand
Now all that’s left are memories
Framed in black and white
And this pain, deep and tearing
When you flew away from sight
But my little one, my pretty one, when I see the stars above
You will always shine the brightest in the heaven of our love.

I Want You To Be Happy

by author unknown

I want you to be happy.
I want you to fill your heart with feelings of wonder and to be full of courage and hope.
I want you to have the type of friendship that is a treasure – and the kind of love that is beautiful forever.
I wish you contentment: the sweet, quiet, inner kind that comes around and never goes away.
I want you to have hopes and have them all come true.
I want you to have a real understanding of how unique and rare you truly are.
I want to remind you that the sun may disappear for a while, but it never forgets to shine.
May the words you listen to say the things you need to hear.
And may a cheerful face lovingly look back at you when you happen to glance in your mirror.
I wish you the insight to see your inner and outer beauty.
I wish you sweet dreams.
I want you to have times when you feel like singing and dancing and laughing out loud.
I want you to be able to make your good times better and your hard times easier to handle.
I wish I could find a way to tell you – in untold ways – how important you are to me.
Of all the things I’ll be wishing for, wherever you are and whatever I may do,
there will never be a day in my life when I won’t be wishing for the best… for you.

If

by Rudyard Kipling

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream – and not make dreams your master;
If you can think – and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools.
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings – nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And – which is more – you’ll be a Man, my son!

Little Snowdrop

by author unknown

The world may never notice
If a Snowdrop doesn’t bloom
Or even pause to wonder
If the petals fall too soon
But every life that ever forms
Or ever comes to be
Touches the world in some small way
For all eternity
The little one we longed for
Was swiftly here and gone
But the love that was then planted
Is a light that still shines on
And though our arms are empty
Our hearts know what to do

Mother’s Heart

by author unknown

I loved you from the very start,
You stole my breath, embraced my heart.
Our life together had just begun,
You’re part of me my little one.

As mother with child, each day I grew,
My mind was filled with thoughts of you.
I’d daydream of the things we’d share,
Like late-night bottles and teddy bears.
Like first steps and skinned knees,
Like bedtime stories and ABC’s.

I thought of things you’d want to know,
Like how birds fly and flowers grow.
I thought of lessons I’d need to share,
Like standing tall and playing fair.

When I first saw your precious face,
I prayed your life be touched with grace.
I thanked the angels from above,
And promised you unending love.

Each night I lay you down to sleep,
I gently kiss your head and cheek.
I count your little fingers and toes;
I memorize your eyes and nose.
I linger at your nursery door,
And each day I love you more.
Through misty eyes, I dim the light,
I whisper “I Love You” every night.

I loved you from the very start,
You stole my breath, embraced my heart.
As mother and child our journey’s begun,
My heart’s yours forever, my little one.


TOP OF PAGE                               HOME


Night Night Mummy – See You Later

by author unknown

At seven o’clock every evening, my Mum tucks me up in my bed.
I’m nice and snug in my ‘jamas, beside me my faithful old Ted.
I always nod off very quickly – before Mum has turned out the light,
But when it’s her bedtime much later, well then I wake up for the night.
For there’s no time of day I like better, than the hours between midnight and three,
For Mum hasn’t got any housework and can give her attention to me.
And when I start yelling and shouting, Mum knows that she has to be quick
For the night when she leaves me to grizzle, is the night I decide to be sick.
But Mum can’t mind in the slightest, at being my playmate ’til two –
She’d normally spend this time sleeping, for she’s nothing much better to do.
Some nights she mixes a cocktail, from the bottles she keeps on the shelf,
Which sometimes she gives me to swallow – and sometimes she gulps down
herself!
And if in the morning I’m sleepy, and feel in the need of a perk,
I can have forty winks in my pushchair, while Mummy gets on with her work.
But nothing’s as nice as the night time. And nothing can equal the pleasure
Of finding it’s four in the morning and being Mum’s wide-awake treasure!

On The Night You Were Born

by Nancy Tilman.

The moon smiled with such wonder
That the stars peeked in to see you
And the night wind whispered,
“Life will never be the same.”
Because there had never been anyone like you…ever in the world.
So enchanted with you were the wind and the rain
That they whispered the sound of your wonderful name.
It sailed through the farmland
High on the breeze…
Over the ocean…
And through the trees…
Until everyone heard it
And everyone knew
Of the one and only ever you.
Not once had there been such eyes,
Such a nose,
Such silly, wiggly, wonderful toes.
When the polar bears heard,
They danced until dawn.
From faraway places,
The geese flew home.
The moon stayed up until
Morning next day.
And none of the ladybugs flew away.
So whenever you doubt just how special you are
And you wonder who loves you, how much and how far,
Listen for geese honking high in the sky.
(They’re singing a song to remember you by.)
Or notice the bears asleep at the zoo.
(It’s because they’ve been dancing all night for you!)
Or drift off to sleep to the sound of the wind.
(Listen closely…it’s whispering your name again!)
If the moon stays up until morning one day,
Or a ladybug lands and decides to stay,
Or a little bird sits at your window awhile,
It’s because they’re all hoping to see you smile…
For never before in story or rhyme
(not even once upon a time)
Has the world ever known a you, my friend,
And it never will, not ever again…
Heaven blew every trumpet
And played every horn
On the wonderful, marvelous
Night you were born.”

Our little ones

By Frank Doolan

But we lose a little ones
It’s hard to understand
We’re indigenous Australians
Just living in our land
The plane we feel is real
Its ongoing and its hurts
We would rather give ourselves
back to Mother Earth

Instead we have to give
A tiny, child so dear
There’s confusion and some anger
More than a touch of fear
The road ahead seems so uncertain
Pot holed, winding and long
We will try to draw together
Together we’ll be strong
The great spirit takes a little one
We don’t understand
It’s hard to believe
It’s part of a bigger plan
Our culture is based on sharing
We will share this pain
We’ll talk through it together
We won’t accuse or blame
Maybe the good ones get taken
Before they get too old
Cause even the Creator knows
They’re worth twice the weight in gold

So Nearly Beautiful

Author unknown

Sometimes I feel lonely
Others I feel fine
Sometimes I need comfort
Others I need time

Our time was so limited
And with so much pain
For as I was holding you
Only your body remained

You left us at birth
In more ways than one
To join our maker little angel
For he needed another one

Your name stands for sunshine
And that is what you are
For every time the sun shines
You will not be far

Love always, Mummy

Still Sleeping

By Leonard Clarke (edited)

I carried you in hope for many months,
Remembered that close hour when we made you.
Often felt you kick and move, as you slowly grew within me.
Wondered what you would look like when your wet head emerged,
Girl or boy, and what glad moment I should hear your birth cry.
You came; you did not cry.
You did not breathe.
They will say you did not live,
but you lived for us all of the time.
In the dark chamber of my womb,
and when we think of you now,
We know that for us you are “born still’.
We shall carry you with us forever.
Our child, you were always ours, you are ours now.
Death and life are the same mysteries.

Stillborn

by Leonard Clark

I carried you in hope,
the long nine months of my term,
remembered that close hour when we made you,
often felt you kick and move
as slowly you grew within me,
wondered what you would look like
when your wet head emerged,
girl or boy, and at what glad moment
I should hear your birth cry,
and I welcoming you
with all you needed of warmth and food;
we had a home waiting for you.
After my strong labourings,
sweat cooled on my limbs,
my small cries merging with the summer air,
you came. You did not cry.
You did not breathe.
We had not expected this;
it seems your birth had no meaning,
Or had you rejected us?
They will say that you did not live,
register you as stillborn.
but you lived for me all that time
in the dark chamber of my womb,
and when I think of you now,
perfect in your little death,
I know that for me you are born still;
I shall carry you with me forever,
my child, you were always mine,
you are mine now.
Death and life are the same mysteries

Sweet Baby Girl/Boy

By author unknown

Sweet Baby Girl (Boy) in heaven above,
God sent you to us with much love,
Not knowing what pain it would cause.
I deal with it just because.
The few moments I had you in my arms,
Will last me ‘til the end of time,
‘Til I see and know you were really mine.
All my love I send to you,
In hopes you won’t be blue.
Oh, my sweet girl (boy),
Look down on me,
Take this pain and set me free.
I long to see you in the future,
To hold you and kiss you,
And show you I really missed you.


TOP OF PAGE                               HOME


The Letting Go

By Dorothy McRae McMahon

This little life touched the earth very lightly,
leaving his/her fragile footsteps in our hearts,
but unable to hold them to the ground.
His/her spirit has now spread his/her wings and joined universal life
in the mysteries of procreation,
beyond our understanding or our holding.

He/she did not leave us through lack of love,
nor because there was more that we should have done to sustain life,
or because of choices.
The miracle is that this brief time with us
was for the creation of love.

Our pain in letting go is the honouring of the love
which began in us
and which is now carried forth into all the winds of the skies
and the tides of the seas,
into the shining of the sun
and the gentle light of the moon.
It is travelling with the tiny life of (name),
in whatever form he/she now exist,
even if his/her existence only lies within us,
in the deepest reaches of our souls.

Through baby’s eyes

By author unknown

I didn’t expect a brass band,
With welcome mat unfurled.
To be on hand when I arrived,
In this confusing world.
Nor did I expect a doctor;
To hold me by the feet,
Then quickly turn me upside down,
And spank me on the seat.
At first I wasn’t quite prepared,
For this enormous place,
Nor for the funny characters,
That I would have to face.
But soon I learned to get my way,
By looking sweet and shy,
And when I wanted to be held,
To make a fuss and cry.
I’ve found it really doesn’t take,
Much difficulty or guile.
To wrap them round my finger;
All I need to do is smile.

Wishes

By author unknown

Wishing you many smiles and happy times to come.
May life’s adventures be exciting and sweet
Filled with love from the friends that you’ll meet
You’ll soon grow up for time does fly
So cherish each moment as it goes by
From crawling and walking,
To toddling and talking
There’s no knowing what you’ll do next
There’s a threshold to cross and a wide open door
And a wonderful world for you to explore
Sleep with the moonbeams and play in the sun
Let your life be a long one and filled with fun
May today and tomorrow and all days hereafter
Be days that are happy and filled with your laughter.

Your Memory Will Grow

By Author unknown

Although we didn’t get the chance,
to take your tiny hand
And lead you through the childhood
which together we had planned
And though there really wasn’t chance to show you all the love
Now sent to you abundantly borne upwards by the dove
Remember, Darling that your tiny heart must know
That we will always treasure you
and your memory will grow.


TOP OF PAGE                               HOME


BALLET & BALLERINA’S

A Ballerina’s Dance

By Hunter Dasten

Her feet float above the stage
as if carried by some unseen force.
From my view among the generally admitted
I can hardly make out the details of her face.
But those graceful movements are so alluring
each subtle step, precise, and all consuming.

She is the most vulnerable of all artists,
performing a dance that demands every emotion soak through her skin.
Each fluid movement pulls from the reservoir of her experience.
Trained from a young age to move agilely across the stage,
bearing the weight of the world upon her shoulders;
My Ballerina has more heart than anyone else on earth.

his reckless transparency, on the stage, is her glory.
Yet in the average corner of existence
this susceptibility to the sun’s rays
would leave one suffering the harshest burns.
My Ballerina hurdles from one emotional extreme to another
with the cyclical tensing and relaxing of each muscle.
My Ballerina is a martyr for her art, and a saint among the flock.

Ballerina’s Poem

by Miranda Snow

Never will I be covered in tattoos
My legs and toes shall forever stay bruised.
I’ll never paint or carry a tune
Forever and ever, I’ll wear a tutu.

I won’t dye my hair pink or blue
My piercings will stay as the simple two
Nails cut short and hair in a bun
In ballet, this must be done.

Pink tights by the mound
Bobby pins all around
Leotards on the floor
Pointe shoes by the door.

Toes taped so tightly
Smiling big and brightly
Red lipstick adding to her beauty
The dancer moves so smoothly.

Turned out from my hips
No words coming from my lips
I dance sweetly to the sound
Ooh ballet, to you, I am bound.

Full of grace, never haste
Filling perfectly my costume of lace
Ever so sweet, my dancing feet
Step after step, I repeat and repeat.

Obtaining perfection is my key
It’s what I strive for, it’s all that defines me
Pushing harder and harder to reach my goal
It’s what I live for, ballet is my soul.

My toes may bleed
And my knees, grow weak
But I’ll never stop dancing…
Not until I reach my peak.

Pirouette, Pirouette
Dancer’s silhouette
Practicing at dusk
Dedication is a must.

Stretching my limbs
Choreographing on a whim
Always aiming to be stronger
To hold my arabesque longer.

When I do finally reach that triple pirouette
and all is done and all is set
I put myself back into class
Aiming for a fourth, to be better than the last.

This is the life of a dancer en pointe
Risking the health of her feet, legs and joints
Just for that one perfect moment on stage
Where the ballerina stands tall and all are amazed.

Haste Thee, Nymph

by John Milton

Haste thee, Nymph, and bring with thee
Jest, and youthful Jollity,
Quips and cranks and wanton wiles,
Nods and becks and wreathed smiles
Such as hang on Hebe’s cheek,
And love to live in dimple sleek;
Sport that wrinkled Care derides,
And Laughter holding both his sides.
Come, and trip it, as you go,
On the light fantastic toe;
And in thy right hand lead with thee
The mountain-nymph, sweet Liberty;
And, if I give thee honour due,
Mirth, admit me of thy crew,
To live with her, and live with thee,
In unreproved pleasures free …

 

Left Wanting More

By © Caren Krutsinger

magical mystical cosmos
surrounds the ballerina
as her toes tap out
a sublime story

a daintiness
usually preserved
for white roses
surrounds her essence

compelling, captivating
mysterious soul self
resonates from the ballerina
as she pirouettes around the stage

crescent moon has nothing
on this beauty; she takes me hostage
leaving me in a limp, expectant state
wanting more….

 

They Who Dance

by Marjorie Allen Seiffert

The feet of dancers
Shine with mirth,
Their hearts are vibrant as bells:

The air flows by them
Divided like water
Cut by a gleaming ship.

Triumphantly their bodies sing,
Their eyes are blind
With music.

They move through threatening ghosts
Feeling them cool as mist
On their brows.

They who dance
Find infinite golden floors
Beneath their feet.

BEER LOVERS

See also ALCOHOL & ADDICTION

A Pub Without Beer

The original poem by Dan Sheahan, 1944

It is lonely away from your kindred and all
In the bushland at night when the warrigals call,
It is sad by the sea where the wild breakers boom,
Or to look on a grave and contemplate doom,
But there’s nothing on earth half as lonely and drear
As to stand in the bar of a pub without beer

Madam with her needles sits still by the door,
The boss smokes in silence, he is joking no more,
There’s a faraway look on the face of the bum,
While the barmaid looks down at the paint on her thumb,
The cook has gone cranky and the yardman is queer,
Oh, a terrible place is a pub without beer.

Once it stood by the wayside all stately and proud,
‘Twas a home to the loafer a joy to the crowd,
Now all silent the rooftree that often times rang
When the navvys were paid and the cane cutters sang,
Some are sleeping their last in a land far from here.
Oh, a terrible place is a pub without beer.

They can hang to their coupons for sugar and tea,
And the shortage of sandshoes does not worry me,
And though benzine and razors be both frozen stiff,
What is wrong with the horse and the old fashioned ziff,
‘Mid the worries of war there’s but one thing I fear,
‘Tis to stand in the bar of a pub without beer.

Oh, you brew of brown barley, what charm is shine,
‘Neath thy spell men grow happy and cease to repine,
The cowards become brave and the weak become strong
The dour and the grumpy burst forth into song,
If there’s aught to resemble high heaven down here,
‘Tis the place of joy where they ladle out beer.

Beer

By Asther Dela Fuente Jul 2010

When you’re bored and have nothing to do,
Everyone’s busy except the only you.
Don’t be afraid, you have nothing to fear,
Just sit down and grab a beer.

If you’re pissed and all you have is anger.
Be careful, ‘cos it a letter away from danger.
And if taking it to someone will make you a queer,
Just relax and grab a beer

There are times when you feel so lonely.
Problems come again and again slowly.
Don’t feel bad, not now, my dear,
Just sit down and have a beer.

When you’re sad, down and sorry,
Just chill – you have nothing to worry.
Think that the end of the road is near,
So, just relax and grab a beer.

Beer won’t make you cry, Beer won’t leave you
Beer don’t get pregnant, Beer can pleasure you
Beer can make your life better,
Beer’s a good way to save water.

Sometimes in life, trouble knocks on your door,
Remember that troubles are what solution’s for.
Today might be blurry but tomorrow’s gonna be clear,
So, just sit down and have a beer.

Beer Is Just Fine

Roy Pett,  (Copyright ©16/10/2017 for a contest Sponsored by Thvia Shetley.

Without any doubt or fear
my favourite drink is surely beer,
anything from pale, to brown ale
in fact any beer that’s on sale,
never halves, only pints or larger
stout, bitter, Smooth or golden lager,
wonderful taste of malt and hops
produced from ripe natural crops,
must be drunk cold never warm
drinking good beer will do no harm,
beer surely doesn’t cause a beer belly
drink too much makes you very silly,
you can keep your spirits and wine
a good pint of beer to me is just fine,
beer is drunk north, south, east and west
every Country thinks their beers the best.

Pub With No Beer

Slim Dusty’s version of the original poem by Dan Sheahan,

It’s lonesome away from your kindred and all
By the campfire at night where the wild dingos call
But there’s nothin’ so lonesome, so dull or so drear
Than to stand in the bar of a pub with no beer

Now the publican’s anxious tor the quota to come
There’s a faraway look on the face of the bum
A The maid’s gone all cranky and the cook’s acting queer
What a terrible place is a pub with no beer

The stockman rides up with his dry, dusty throat
He breasts up to the bar, pulls a wad from his coat
But the smile on his face quickly turns to a sneer
When the barman says suddenly: “The pub’s got no beer!”

There’s a dog on the verandah, for his masters waits
But the boss is inside drinking wine with his mates
He hurries for cover and he cringes in tear
It’s no place tor a dog round a pub with no beer

Then in comes the swagman all covered with flies
He throws down his roll, wipes the sweat from his eyes
But when he is told he say, “What’s this I hear?
I’ve trudged fifty flamin’ miles to a pub with no beer?”

Old Billy, the blacksmith, the first time in his life
Has gone home cold sober to his darling wife
He walks in the kitchen: she says:

“You’re early, me dear”

Then he breaks down and tells her that the pub’s got no beer

It’s lonesome away from your kindred and all
By the campfire at night where the wild dingos call
But there’s nothin‘ so lonesome, so dull or so drear
Then to stand in the bar of a pub with no beer.

Put The Keg On My Coffin

By Chris Trapper (song lyrics)

(CHORUS):

Put the keg on my coffin
And think of me every so often
Have a losers day parade for all my friends
Drink up life like a river
‘Til the pizza man delivers
And smile and know I loved you ’til the end

Here’s what you do when my time comes to pass
Charlie told me through the reflection in his glass
Don’t waste time praying
‘Cause I’m never coming back
Just throw a party in my name

(CHORUS)

Here’s what to write on the stone over my grave
His friends were earned and not a penny saved
Don’t waste time crying
‘Cause you too are on your way
To meet me at the pawn shop in the sky

(CHORUS)

The Beer Prayer

Our lager, which art in barrels,
Hallowed be Thy drink,
Thy will be drunk, (I will be drunk),
At home as I am in the tavern.
Give us this day our foamy head,
And forgive us our spillages,
As we forgive those who spill against us,
And lead us not to incarceration,
But deliver us from hangovers,
For thine is the beer, The bitter and the lager,
Forever and ever,
Barmen.

The Golden Age of Beer

By John F McCullagh Feb 2015

Blessed are we all to live in a time
when the love of Craft beer exceeds that for wine.
Hops, malt and barley all now rule the day
When brewed up together in a nice I.P.A.
Who cares if some hipsters choose to babble away
about hints of oak in some obscure Chardonnay.
We are no longer limited to our father’s Budweiser.
The vast choice of beers would astound those old timers!
Cherry Wheat, pumpkin, and Oktoberfest
You’ll fall down on your face ere you’ve tried all the rest.
As Ben Franklin stated wittily and succinctly”
“Beer is the proof God meant man to be happy.”


TOP OF PAGE                               HOME


BIBLE READINGS  & RELIGIOUS

After Biblical Readings, the reader commonly says

“This is the Word of the Lord”. To which, the Guests respond with : “Thanks be to God”.



TOP OF PAGE                               HOME


BIKER & MOTORBIKES

A Biker Funeral

Dedicated to Tripp , By –IronBoltBruce

http://ldrlongdistancerider.com/bikers_rights_motorcycle/rightsriders0187.php

Sunday morning early comes
This sweltering summer’s day;
Chrome and coffee polished off
As bike and rider wake,

And rumble off to clubhouse for
A changing of the brew;
Black vests in formation–fast
and tight–a loud tribute.

Iron horses, hundreds strong,
Come thund’ring through the gate;
Sleeping souls on notice, fallen
Biker nears his fate.

A mile of gleaming metal lines
The circle and the park;
Out of saddles, boots hit brick
And make for chapel’s heart.

Members of the Club stand post,
Proud brothers in the wind;
Shaded eyes the tears disguise,
And loss they feel within.

Friends and family pay respects
To biker and his mate;
Praises made and prayers raised,
Blues legends resonate.

Final words and kisses, then
The pipes’ Amazing Grace;
Souls of bike and rider seek
Eternal resting place.

Sunday morning early comes
This sweltering summer’s day;
One more rider, Heaven bound,
Roars through the Pearly Gates.

Another Biker Who Has Gone Down

Written by Connie Starren

I’m sorry, friends, that I can’t be with you here today.
If you’re gathered reading this, it means I’ve passed away.
But if I were there, I’d tell you not to shed a tear or frown.
I’d tell you just to simply say, “Another Biker has gone down.”

If I were there, I’d tell you I have no more pain or strife,
That I loved my friends and family, and I had a wonderful life.
If I were there, I’d tell you how I loved the small blue highways,
I loved the curving mountain roads, and I loved to ride the back-road byways.

I loved to be ‘in the wind’. I loved when that engine rumbled,
And the biker friends who rode with me, would help me when I stumbled.
You are amongst my dearest friends, brothers and sisters of the road,
We’ve travelled many miles together, shared many heavy loads.

If I could be there with you, we’d laugh and share memories from our past,
And this gathering would be just one more tale, another story, not our last.
But today I can’t be with you, except in heart and memory stores.
So, you’ll have to laugh, remember the past,
and then let your engines roar! Please smile and do not shed a tear, wipe away that silly frown,
I’m off upon that final ride,
another Biker who has gone down.

Can You Feel The Wind In Heaven

(Author uncertain but possibly by dr bar)

Can you feel the wind in Heaven
Can you hear me call your name
Can you see the tears that fall
This world wont ever be the same

Can you feel the wind in Heaven
When we gather in our group
Can you hear the sound of silence
When we look where you once stood.

Can you feel the wind in Heaven
Can you hear the ladies cry
Can you feel our broken hearts
When we have to say goodbye

Can you feel the wind in Heaven
While the men hold back the tears
Leather clad and watery eyes
And know we’d rather have you here

I hope there is a Biker Heaven
And we will meet again someday
I hope to feel the wind in Heaven
And shake your hand again that day

Funeral Poem for a Biker

By Dick Underwood

Biking oil was in their blood,
Petrol flowing through their heart.
Throttle revving but the flood,
Meant their engine Wouldn’t start.
The exhaust sounding rather rough,
Its noise as cutting as a knife.
The gallant spark not quite enough,
To fire their engine into life.
The key was turned, the button pushed,
Expecting now a biking roar,
But the engine … knackered … bushed,
Wouldn’t function any more.
The biker (name) has died but still,
Their soul rides onward to the west.
Their wheels role onward, vale and hill,
They soon will find eternal rest.
So we’ll mount up and onward ride,
Remembering well the one who died.
Towards the sunset on our road,
Our biker friend who’s gone before.

He Rolls On 

By Mikealgazi

He Rolls on
Towards the West,
Bright orange setting sun
Guiding his way to rest.
The sun forever shine
On his weathered face,
I know this friend of mine
Is speeding to a better place.
On wings of Rolling Thunder
NO state trooper can see,
He rolls roads up yonder
He rolls on, Free.

His Journey Goes On…… 

by Joe Eliston

Its all about the journey
Its the part that counts
Even when he gets there
He may just turn around.

He rides like an eagle, flying
All along the stars
It’s all about the journey
Safe now from any harm.

Too soon he left to travel
Beyond where we can see
But it’s all about the journey
Forever riding free.

I Ride Alone

© by Graeme Cook, August 2006

My big right hand, gloved and fisted, Feeling now, the throttle twisted, Crisp exhaust roar, sounding sweet, Drop the clutch, and hit the street, The revs rise sharply, grab next gear, Excitement tinged with hint of fear, Watch that tacho needle wind, All and sundry left behind,

Front-wheel down now, still I’m flying, Through the gearbox, deftly plying, Speedo reads two hundred plus, Got up there without a fuss, Hard on brakes, back through the box, For an instant, rear wheel locks, Round the bend, my weight I’m shifting, As the rear wheel, neatly drifting.

Throttle on, and forward blast, The next corner, looming fast, Leaning in hard, and tyres gripping, Miles behind me, quickly slipping, White posts like a picket fence, Concentration, full, intense. Bugs on visor, flatly splattered, Speed limits, completely shattered.

Through the curves, around the ton, Down the last hill, over-run, City lights below are glowing, Common sense, bike is slowing, Reality, once more it bites, To draw me back from dizzy heights, Down the driveway, to home I glide, Wish my mate was by my side!

My Last Ride

By Author Unknown

My hands are clenched around chrome bars
the engine’s rumble sounds so sweet.
I twist the throttle with my palm
and roar off down the street.

The slapping of my leathers
and raging winds on either side,
drum a beat of sweet contentment
as I ride this…..my last ride.

Alone on my tin pony,
to the heavens I’ve been called,
but fret not my dear loved ones,
I’m not lonely here at all.

The speedometer is just a blur
as tears blow from my eyes,
the bike and I roll forward
off into the calling skies.

I hope I touched your lives one day,
and left a treasured mark,
now I’ll ride on to FOREVER,
with your memory in my heart.

The Big Plan

by Gunnar Hassenplug aka Gundawg

I doubt I’ll get to heaven with an invite from the man,
so I parked my bike grabbed a beer and built myself this plan!
I’m building myself a ramp as tall as ever seen,
I’ll supercharge my bike, and add a couple wings!
Timing will be critical, Speed will factor in,
angle and approach and I’ll whistle me a tune!
Then one day when my journey is coming to its end,
Open up them pearly gates cause this biker’s jumpin’ in!

The Harley Ride  

by Terry Scott Presgrove

The wind is blowing a glorious gale,
Goose bumps are dancing and drinking strong ale,
Happiness is smiling an awesome mile wide,
The heart is pole vaulting with ecstatic pride,
Laughter is echoing from deep down inside;
The reflection of a friend, securely, near by,
And always the roaring of the engine’s reply.
Bouquets of flowers, become a treasure trove
Of puppy breath mornings, inhaled through the nose.
Hours of riding make an aching butt scold,
But – soft sensual pillowing never gets old,

As sweet thing, inclining, takes a tight hold,
And heart pounding accelerating,
Declares the adventurous soul bold!
Mother nature is boasting exhilarating forces.
Cavalry prances in formation as warrior horses,
Snorting in preparation for the colossal attack;
Absolutely no contemplation of a fall back;
The senses amplified in an adrenalin flood,
Envisioning ‘The Charge of the Light Brigade’
On this magnificent, mighty-lunging, stud!

To Ride

© By Graeme Cook

Caring little for the elements,
or the bugs that strikes my teeth,
Not just transportation,
it’s my passion there beneath,
Man and machine in oneness,
as the scenes beside me gliding,
Not a lot can touch it,
the pure pleasure of me riding.

Excitement, sure, exhilaration,
always follows that white line,
But to tell the folk that just don’t know,
is impossible to define,
Luxury can be cold and stark,
for a limousine I have no care,
Just that thrumming bike beneath me,
and my head is in the air


TOP OF PAGE                               HOME


BINGO

Bingo

By Author Unknown

As I lay me down to slumber
All I need is one more number
When to the big game I go
I pray the Lord I yell BINGO.

Bingo!

By Michael Ashby

My mum’s playing Bingo in heaven
With a happy smile on her face
If she’d known there was a Bingo hall in heaven
She’d have looked more forward to the place
Past 78 and heaven’s gate
It’s 83 and time for tea
With 61 and a baker’s bun
And no queue for the lavatory
After 41 and time for fun
She’s won with 54 and wiped the floor
I really do thank my lucky stars
My mum landed in heaven instead of on mars

Number’s Up

by Rebecca Spilsbury

I loved going to bingo
And seeing all my chums
I’d listen out for numbers
Hoping they would be the ones

A line, a house would pass me by
The frustration could make a grown man cry!

But I was patient and not het up
Eyes looking down, ears pricked like a pup
I’d calmly wait to hear the call
The call that says this is the ball

BINGO, I shout, it’s my time
I finally got to complete that line!

I’ve been a daughter, mum, nan and wife
I had a ball and enjoyed my life
It’s just that when I heard the call
The call had my number on the ball.
Live on now, make me proud of what you’ll become.


TOP OF PAGE                               HOME


BIRDS

The Wings of Love

Copyright ©2010 Leslie Alexis

If I could travel on the wings of love
Tonight, I would adorn with kisses
My lovely misses,
Then we would fly to the moon
Where I would become your groom
And you, my bride.

O if I could ride
On the wings of love
We’d honeymoon on Saturn,
With stars as our lanterns,
We’d walk the milky way
And fall into the sky;
Watching comets fly by
we would make wishes
while sharing kisses.

Riding the wings of love
In a race against light
To touch first your cheeks,
I would win by weeks;
Falling in with my lips
Into a perfect eclipse;
Your celestial gaze
Making merry my days,

Upon the wings of love
I would stay forever
And draw me a river
From love’s own stream
To never end the dream
Of a perfect life
With you my wife.

Upon the wings of love,
Upon the wings of love,
Upon the wings of love,
Fly with me!
Upon the wings of love…

BLESSINGS

A Blessing

May light of your soul guide you,
May the light of your soul bless the work you do
with the secret love and warmth of your heart
May you see in what you do the beauty of your soul.
May the sacredness of your work and bring healing,
Light and renewal to those who work with you
And those who see and receive your work.
Make your work never weary you.
May it release within you, wellsprings of refreshment, inspiration and excitement.
May you be present in what you do.
May you never become lost in the bland absences.
May the day never burden.
May dawn find you awake and alert,
Approaching your new day with dreams, possibilities and promises.
May evening find you gracious and fulfilled.
Now you go into the night blessed, sheltered and protected.
May your soul calm, console and renew you

Laying of Hands

The laying of hands is a very powerful human and everyday event.  We touch others in pain,, joy, suffering.  By touch welcome and farewell, we demonstrate our love, support, comfort and forgiveness.  Laying on hands claimed someone is precious and loved.  Each time we touch another person let it be a blessing


TOP OF PAGE                               HOME


BOARD GAMES

Board Game Banter

by Hm. Nes

Shoulda seen that comin’.
Shoulda thought that through.
Coulda gained a point.
Coulda beaten you,
Had I put that there,
Had I picked another;
If you’d rolled a seven,
If I’d played the other.
Woulda made a difference.
Woulda had a chance.
Wanna play again?
Almost wet my pants
When you rolled that nine,
When you moved the robber.
Next time I’ll be ready.
Next time I’ll clobber
You and your momma.
You and what army?
Save it for the book.
Save feathers, and tar me!
This time I’ll try.
This time you’ll wish
We had stuck to cards-
Played ‘Spades’ or ‘Go Fish.’

Board Games

By  Lou Szymkow

The rain has blocked the door
And Aunt Bess continues to snore
What can we do that might be fun anew

We open the cupboard filled to the brim
And wonder which game will be todays unholy sin
The boxes are faded and tattered, all well worn
All filled with memories since we were born
There’s dice and board, and card and stick
Which is the one that will be today’s pick

We pull out the chairs for whomever dares
The drinks and munchies set to spare
We argue over who will sit and where
And who will interpret the rules in despair

Finally we sit and roll a dice
Watching each roll like hungry mice
Bobby always seems to have too much loot
And we wonder if there is some hidden in a boot
Jenny just can’t get a break and will be in gaol for three rolls sake
Uncle Ron just sits with a grin, and we wonder what is his sin,
Dad just tries to moderate, But Aunt Sue is truly irate
The kids all laugh, it’s just a game
It’s family time
Will we remain sane?

Its fun and its laughter
Its planning and strategy
But most of all, its you and me
we laugh, we cheer, we argue a few
but this is a memory made anew

Love Story at Marvin Gardens

By Scott Poole

I love watching the gentle tresses of her hair
hang over the squares on the monopoly board
She has just purchased a house at Marvin Gardens
not the most exciting property, true
but certainly a step up from my apartment on Baltic.

When I turn the block and tap on the window to say
I owe you rent and I love what you’ve done with these flowers
she says “save it
join me for this roast, I’m celebrating, I just won
second prize in a beauty contest.”

Even though she’s judged secondarily beautiful and
as we eat the roast no one is winning
it seems that this moment is the elusive prize.
And that’s how I think of your hair and our love right now
waving over the rules and the paper money:
a thing that doesn’t need to be owned, to be ours.

 


TOP OF PAGE                               HOME


BOATS & SAILING & THE SEA

A Sailors Prayer

The sailor stood and faced his God,
Which must always come to pass.
He hoped his shoes were shining
Just as brightly as his brass.
‘Step forward now, you Navy man,
How shall I deal with you?
Have you always turned the other cheek?
To my Church have you been true?’
The sailor squared his shoulders and said,
‘No Lord, I guess I ain’t
Because those of us who protect these shores,
Can’t always be a Saint
I’ve had to work most every day,
And at times my talk was tough
And sometimes I’ve seen such violence
‘Cause the world and sea is rough’.
‘But I never took a penny
That wasn’t mine to keep
I did however tend to swear a lot
When the waves got just too steep
But I never passed a cry for help
Though at times I shook with fear
And sometimes, God forgive me
I’ve wept unmanly tears’
‘I know I don’t deserve a place
Among the people here
They never wanted me around
Except to calm their fears
If you’ve a place for me here
Lord, it needn’t be so grand
I never expected, or had too much
But if you don’t, I’ll understand’
There was a silence all around the throne
Where the saints had often trod
As the Navy Man waited quietly
For the judgment of his God
‘Step forward now, you Sailor
You’ve born your burdens well
Walk peacefully on Heavens streets
You’ve done your time in hell’.

 

Bilbo’s Last Song (At the Grey Havens)

by J R R Tolkien

Day is ended, dim my eyes,
but journey long before me lies.
Farewell, friends! I hear the call.
The ship’s beside the stony wall.
Foam is white and waves are grey;
beyond the sunset leads my way.
Foam is salt, the wind is free;
I hear the rising of the Sea.

Farewell, friends! The sails are set,
the wind is east, the moorings fret.
Shadows long before me lie,
beneath the ever-bending sky,
but islands lie behind the Sun
that I shall raise ere all is done;
lands there are to west of West,
where night is quiet and sleep is rest.

Guided by the Lonely Star,
beyond the utmost harbour-bar,
I’ll find the heavens fair and free,
and beaches of the Starlit Sea.
Ship, my ship! I seek the West,
and fields and mountains ever blest.

Farewell to Middle-earth at last.
I see the Star above my mast!

Crossing the Bar

by Alfred Lord Tennyson

Sunset and evening star,
And one clear call for me!
And may there be no moaning of the bar,
When I put out to sea.

But such a tide as moving seems asleep,
Too full for sound and foam,
When that which drew from out the boundless deep
Turns again home!

Twilight and evening bell,
And after that the dark!
And may there be no sadness of farewell,
When I embark;

For though from out our bourn of Time and Place
The flood may bear me far,
I hope to see my Pilot face to face
When I have crossed the bar.

Dolphins At My Bow

by ©Graeme Cook

I’ve spent a lot of time, amongst engines, cars and noise, Tuning and repairing all the best of big boy’s toys, Felt the surge of power, and the howling exhaust roar, It was fun back then, but I don’t do that any more.
I had found though, on the water, a lesson there to learn, The peace of gurgling water, as it flowed beyond the stern, Without the noise and smell, of oily petrol burning, The magic motion, sailing, brought an instant yearning.
Sure, I love my bike, and the flying freedom that we share, For it is quite like sailing, when your head is in the air, And how your pace is gauged, by the effort you put in, You’re part of that machine, from the moment you begin.
But you just can’t beat the silence, as with the wind you ride, Hard against the breezes, and tilted sharply to the side, Tacking back and forth, as you strive to make your way, All that Nature throws at you, on any sailing day.
See the mast abending, as you rush to reef the main, Shivering and soaking, from the spray and driving rain, You may be cold and wet, as returning to your mooring, But your heart is happy, and your spirit’s fire is roaring.
Or to run before the wind, with the spinnaker in bloom, Balloon of blazing colour, as across the seas you zoom, Your own skill, with helm and sheet, measure of your speed, Excitement, contentment, this fulfills every need.
Special times befriended, by the ocean’s family, As a pod of friendly dolphins, take time out to see, Just how I’m getting on, and I pat their shining backs, Before they all swim off, with my everlasting thanks.
Now I’ve not sailed for many years, but that feeling never fades, Of time spent on the water, amidst the peace of wind and waves, For sailing’s much like life, you get back just what you’ve put in, When the current runs against you, the strength comes from within.
When I leave this earthly plain, not feared of where I’m heading, Part of me, upon the sea, I think you should be spreading, For it shall be a better place, than where I may be now, With fair winds always behind me, and dolphins at my bow.

Gone from My Sight (originally titled: What is Dying)

by Rev. Luther F. Beecher
‘Gone from My Sight’ was originally titled: ‘What is Dying’, written by Rev. Luther F. Beecher but is often misattributed to – Henry van Dyke,  Victor Hugo and others. 

I am standing upon the seashore.
A ship at my side spreads her white sails to the morning breeze and starts for the blue ocean.
She is an object of beauty and strength.
I stand and watch her until at length she hangs like a speck of white cloud
just where the sea and sky come to mingle with each other.
Then someone at my side says, “There, she is gone.”
“Gone where?”
Gone from my sight. That is all.
She is just as large in mast and hull and spar as she was when she left my side, and she is just as able to bear her load of living freight to her destined port.
Her diminished size is in me, not in her.
And just at the moment when someone at my side says, “There, she is gone!” there are other eyes watching her coming, and there are other voices ready to take up the glad shout, “Here she comes!”
And that is dying.

Sailor’s Paraphrase of the 23rd Psalm

By author unknown

The Lord is my pilot, I shall not drift.
He guides me across the dark waters.
He steers me through deep channels.
He keeps my log.
Yea, though I sail ‘mid the thunders
and tempest of life,
I shall dread no anger, for He is with me;
His love and His care, shelter me.
He prepares a quiet harbour before me.
He anoints the waves with oil
My ship rides calmly.
Surely sunlight and starlight
shall guide me on the voyage I take,
And I will rest in the heaven’s port forever.

Sea Fever

By John Masefield

I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea’s face and a grey dawn breaking.
I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running
tide Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume and the seagulls crying.
I must go down to the seas again to the vagrant gypsy life.
To the gull’s way and the whale’s way where the wind’s like whetted knife:
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick’s over.

Some Time at Eve

By Elizabeth Clark Hardy

Some time at eve when the tide is low,
I shall slip my mooring and sail away,
With no response to the friendly hail
Of kindred craft in the busy bay.
In the silent hush of the twilight pale,
When the night stoops down to embrace the day,
And the voices call in the waters’ flow-
Some time at eve when the tide is low,
I shall slip my mooring and sail away.
Through the purpling shadows that darkly trail
O’er the ebbing tide of the Unknown Sea,
I shall fare me away, with a dip of sail
And a ripple of waters to tell the tale
Of a lonely voyager, sailing away
To the Mystic Isles where at anchor lay
The crafts of those who have sailed before
O’er the Unknown Sea to the Unseen Shore.
A few who have watched me sail away
Will miss my craft from the busy bay;
Some friendly barks that were anchored near,
Some loving souls that my heart held dear,
In silent sorrow will drop a tear
But I shall have peacefully furled my sail
In mooring sheltered from storm and gale
And greet the friends who have sailed before
O’er the Unknown Sea to the Unknown Shore.

The Parable Of The Two Ships – (Paraphrased) 

In a sea- blue harbour, two ships sailed.
One was setting off on a voyage; the other was coming home to port.
Everyone cheered at the ship going out, but the ship sailing in was hardly noticed.
To this, a wise man said, “Do not rejoice over a ship setting out to sea, for you cannot know what terrible storm it may endure. Rejoice over the ship that has safely reached its port and brings it’s passengers home in peace.
And this is the way of the world. When a child is born, we all rejoice; when someone dies, we grieve in sadness. Perhaps we all should do the opposite. For none of us can tell what trials and tribulations await the newborn child. So, when a love one dies and finds peace, we should rejoice, for <NAME> has completed a meaningful and worthwhile journey, and is now reunited in spirit with those gone before him.

The Parable Of The Two Ships.

From the (Jewish) Talmud – Midrash Koheleth on Eccles. VII.

King Solomon has said: The day of one’s death is better than that of his birth.
When a human being is born all rejoice, and when he dies all weep.
But it should not be so.
Rather, at one’s birth no one has yet cause to rejoice; for no one knows to what future the babe is born, what will be the development of his intellect or of his soul, and by what works he will stand; whether he will be a righteous man or a wicked man, whether he will be good or evil; whether good or evil will befall him. But when he dies, then all ought to rejoice if he has departed leaving a good name, and has gone out of this world in peace.
This may be likened, in a parable, to two ships that set out to sail upon the great ocean. One of them was going forth from the harbour, and one of them was coming into the harbour. And every one was cheering the ship that set sail from the harbour, and rejoicing, and giving it a joyous send-off.
But over the ship that came into the harbour no one was rejoicing.
There was a wise man there who said:
“I see a reason for the very opposite conduct to yours.
You ought not to rejoice with the ship that is going out of the harbour, for no one knows what will be her fate;
how many days she will have to spend on the voyage, and what storms and tempests she will encounter.
But as to the ship that has arrived safely in port, all should rejoice with her, for she has returned in peace.”

The End

By Mark Strand

Not every man knows what he shall sing at the end,
Watching the pier as the ship sails away, or what it will seem like
When he’s held by the sea’s roar, motionless, there at the end,
Or what he shall hope for once it is clear that he’ll never go back.
When the time has passed to prune the rose or caress the cat,
When the sunset torching the lawn and the full moon icing it down
No longer appear, not every man knows what he’ll discover instead.
When the weight of the past leans against nothing, and the sky
Is no more than remembered light, and the stories of cirrus
And cumulus come to a close, and all the birds are suspended in flight,
Not every man knows what is waiting for him, or what he shall sing
When the ship he is on slips into darkness, there at the end.

The Old Way

by Ronald Hopwood

There’s a sea that lies uncharted far beyond the setting sun,
And a gallant fleet was sailing there whose fighting days are done,
Sloop and galleon, brig and pinnace, all the rigs you never met,
Fighting frigate, grave three-decker with their snowy canvas set;
Dozed and dreamed, when, on a sudden, ev’ry sail began to swell,
For the breeze has spoken strangers, with a stirring tale to tell,
And a thousand eager voices flung the challenge out to sea:
“Come they hither in the old way, in the only way that’s free?”

And the flying breeze called softly: “In the old way,
Through the winters and the waters of the North,
They have waited, ah the waiting! in the old way,
Strong and patient, from the Pentlands to the Forth.
There was fog to blind and baffle off the headlands,
There were gales to beat the worst that ever blew,
But they took it, as they found it, in the old way,
And I know it often helped to think of you.”

‘Twas a frigate, under stun-sails, as she gently gathered way
Spoke in jerks, like all the frigates, who have little time to stay:
“We’d to hurry, under Nelson, thank my timbers I was tough,
For he worked us as he loved us, and he never had enough.
Are the English mad as ever? Were the frigates just as few?
(Will their sheets be always stranding, ere the rigging’s rove anew?)
Just as Saxon slow at starting, just as weirdly wont to win?
Had they frigates out and watching? Did they pass the signals in?”

And the laughing Breeze made answer: ” In the old way;
You should see the little cruisers spread and fly,
Peering over the horizon, in the old way,
And a seaplane up and wheeling in the sky.
When the wireless snapped ‘The enemy is sighted,’
If his accents were comparatively new,
Why, the sailor-men were cheering, in the old way,
So I naturally smiled, and thought of you.”

Then a courtly voice and stately from a tall three-decker came –
She’d the manners of a monarch and a story in her name:
“We’d a winter gale at even, and my shrouds are aching yet,
It was more than time for reefing when the upper sails were set.
So we chased in woeful weather, till we closed in failing light,
Then we fought them, as we caught them, just as Hawke had bid us fight;
And we swept the sea by sunrise, clear and free beyond a doubt.
Was it thus the matter ended when the enemy was out?”

Cried the Breeze: “They fought and followed in the old way,
For they raced to make a record all the while,
With a knot to veer and haul on, in the old way,
That had never even met the measured mile –
And the guns were making merry in the twilight.
That the enemy was victor may be true,
Still – he hurried into harbour – in the old way –
And I wondered if he’d ever heard of you.”

Came a gruff and choking chuckle, and a craft as black as doom
Lumbered laughing down to leeward, as the bravest gave her room.
“Set ‘un blazin’, good your Lordships, for the tide be makin’ strong,
Proper breeze to fan a fireship, set ‘un drivin’ out along!
‘Tis the ‘Torch,’ wi’ humble duty, from Lord Howard ‘board the ‘Ark.’
We’m a laughin’-stock to Brixham, but a terror after dark.
Hold an’ bilge a-nigh to burstin’, pitch and sulphur, tar an’ all,
Was it so, my dear, they’m fashioned for my Lord High Admiral?”

Cried the Breeze: “You’d hardly know it from the old way
(Gloriana, did you waken at the fight?).
Stricken shadows, scared and flying in the old way
From the swift destroying spectres of the night,
There were some that steamed and scattered south for safety,
From the mocking western echo ‘Where be tu?’
There were some that – got the message – in the old way,
And the flashes in the darkness spoke of you.”

There’s a wondrous Golden Harbour, far beyond the setting sun,
Where a gallant ship may anchor when her fighting days are done,
Free from tempest, rock and battle, toil and tumult safely o’er,
Where the breezes murmur softly and there’s peace for evermore.
They have climbed the last horizon, they are standing in from sea,
And the Pilot makes the Haven where a ship is glad to be.
Comes at last the glorious greeting, strangely new and ages old,
See the sober grey is shining like the Tudor green and gold!

And the waiting jibs are hoisted, in the old way,
As the guns begin to thunder down the line;
Hear the silver trumpets calling, in the old way!
Over all the silken pennons float and shine –
“Did you voyage all unspoken, small and lonely?
Or with fame, the happy fortune of the few?
So you win the Golden Harbour, in the old way,
There’s the old sea welcome waiting there for you.”

The Rime of the Ancient Mariner (PART V) (abridged)

By Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Oh sleep! it is a gentle thing,
Beloved from pole to pole!
To Mary Queen the praise be given!
She sent the gentle sleep from Heaven,
That slid into my soul.

The silly buckets on the deck,
That had so long remained,
I dreamt that they were filled with dew;
And when I awoke, it rained.

And soon I heard a roaring wind:
It did not come anear;
But with its sound it shook the sails,
That were so thin and sere.

The upper air burst into life!
And a hundred fire-flags sheen,
To and fro they were hurried about!
And to and fro, and in and out,
The wan stars danced between.

And the coming wind did roar more loud,
And the sails did sigh like sedge,
And the rain poured down from one black cloud;
The Moon was at its edge.

Around, around, flew each sweet sound,
Then darted to the Sun;
Slowly the sounds came back again,
Now mixed, now one by one.

Sometimes a-dropping from the sky
I heard the sky-lark sing;
Sometimes all little birds that are,
How they seemed to fill the sea and air
With their sweet jargoning!

The other was a softer voice,
As soft as honey-dew:
Quoth he, ‘The man hath penance done,
And penance more will do.’

The Rime of the Ancient Mariner (PART V) (text of 1834)

By Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Oh sleep! it is a gentle thing,
Beloved from pole to pole!
To Mary Queen the praise be given!
She sent the gentle sleep from Heaven,
That slid into my soul.
The silly buckets on the deck,
That had so long remained,
I dreamt that they were filled with dew;
And when I awoke, it rained.

My lips were wet, my throat was cold,
My garments all were dank;
Sure I had drunken in my dreams,
And still my body drank.

I moved, and could not feel my limbs:
I was so light—almost
I thought that I had died in sleep,
And was a blessed ghost.

And soon I heard a roaring wind:
It did not come anear;
But with its sound it shook the sails,
That were so thin and sere.

The upper air burst into life!
And a hundred fire-flags sheen,
To and fro they were hurried about!
And to and fro, and in and out,
The wan stars danced between.

And the coming wind did roar more loud,
And the sails did sigh like sedge,
And the rain poured down from one black cloud;
The Moon was at its edge.

The thick black cloud was cleft, and still
The Moon was at its side:
Like waters shot from some high crag,
The lightning fell with never a jag,
A river steep and wide.

The loud wind never reached the ship,
Yet now the ship moved on!
Beneath the lightning and the Moon
The dead men gave a groan.

They groaned, they stirred, they all uprose,
Nor spake, nor moved their eyes;
It had been strange, even in a dream,
To have seen those dead men rise.
The helmsman steered, the ship moved on;
Yet never a breeze up-blew;
The mariners all ‘gan work the ropes,
Where they were wont to do;
They raised their limbs like lifeless tools—
We were a ghastly crew.

The body of my brother’s son
Stood by me, knee to knee:
The body and I pulled at one rope,
But he said nought to me.

‘I fear thee, ancient Mariner!’
Be calm, thou Wedding-Guest!
‘Twas not those souls that fled in pain,
Which to their corses came again,
But a troop of spirits blest:

For when it dawned—they dropped their arms,
And clustered round the mast;
Sweet sounds rose slowly through their mouths,
And from their bodies passed.

Around, around, flew each sweet sound,
Then darted to the Sun;
Slowly the sounds came back again,
Now mixed, now one by one.

Sometimes a-dropping from the sky
I heard the sky-lark sing;
Sometimes all little birds that are,
How they seemed to fill the sea and air
With their sweet jargoning!

And now ’twas like all instruments,
Now like a lonely flute;
And now it is an angel’s song,
That makes the heavens be mute.

It ceased; yet still the sails made on
A pleasant noise till noon,
A noise like of a hidden brook
In the leafy month of June,
That to the sleeping woods all night
Singeth a quiet tune.

Till noon we quietly sailed on,
Yet never a breeze did breathe:
Slowly and smoothly went the ship,
Moved onward from beneath.

Under the keel nine fathom deep,
From the land of mist and snow,
The spirit slid: and it was he
That made the ship to go.
The sails at noon left off their tune,

And the ship stood still also.

The Sun, right up above the mast,
Had fixed her to the ocean:
But in a minute she ‘gan stir,
With a short uneasy motion—
Backwards and forwards half her length
With a short uneasy motion.

Then like a pawing horse let go,
She made a sudden bound:
It flung the blood into my head,
And I fell down in a swound.

How long in that same fit I lay,
I have not to declare;
But ere my living life returned,
I heard and in my soul discerned
Two voices in the air.

‘Is it he?’ quoth one, ‘Is this the man?
By him who died on cross,
With his cruel bow he laid full low
The harmless Albatross.
The spirit who bideth by himself
In the land of mist and snow,
He loved the bird that loved the man
Who shot him with his bow.’

The other was a softer voice,
As soft as honey-dew:
Quoth he, ‘The man hath penance done,
And penance more will do.’

The Sea

author unknown

I need the sea because it teaches me.
I don’t know if I learn music or awareness,
if it’s a single wave or its vast existence,
or only its harsh voice or its shining
suggestion of fishes and ships.
The fact is that until I fall asleep,
in some magnetic way I move in
the university of the waves.

It’s not simply the shells crunched
as if some shivering planet
were giving signs of its gradual death;
no, I reconstruct the day out of a fragment,
the stalactite from the sliver of salt,
and the great god out of a spoonful.

What it taught me before, I keep. It’s air
ceaseless wind, water and sand.

It seems a small thing for a young man,
to have come here to live with his own fire;
nevertheless, the pulse that rose
and fell in its abyss,
the crackling of the blue cold,
the gradual wearing away of the star,
the soft unfolding of the wave
squandering snow with its foam,
the quiet power out there, sure
as a stone shrine in the depths,
replaced my world in which were growing
stubborn sorrow, gathering oblivion,
and my life changed suddenly:

as I became part of its pure movement.

The Tide Recedes

by By M D Hughes

The tide recedes,
But leaves behind
Bright seashells on the sand.
The sun goes down,
But gentle warmth
Still lingers on the land.
The music stops,
And yet it echoes on
In sweet refrains…
For every joy that passes,
Something beautiful remains.

The Unknown Shore

By Elizabeth Clark Hardy

Sometime at Eve when the tide is low
I shall slip my moorings and sail away
With no response to a friendly hail
In the silent hush of the twilight pale
When the night stoops down to embrace the day
And the voices call in the water’s flow

Sometime at Eve When the water is low
I shall slip my moorings and sail away.
Through purple shadows
That darkly trail o’er the ebbing tide
And the Unknown Sea,
And a ripple of waters’ to tell the tale
Of a lonely voyager sailing away
To mystic isles
Where at anchor lay
The craft of those who had sailed before
O’er the Unknown Sea
To the Unknown Shore

A few who watched me sail away
Will miss my craft from the busy bay
Some friendly barques were anchored near
Some loving souls my heart held dear
In silent sorrow will drop a tear
But I shall have peacefully furled my sail
In mooring sheltered from the storm and gale
And greeted friends who had sailed before
O’er the Unknown Sea
To the Unknown Shore

The Voyage

by Christie Moore

I am a sailor, you’re my first mate
We signed on together, we coupled our fate
Hauled up our anchor, determined not to fail
For the hearts treasure, together we set sail
With no maps to guide us we steered our own course
Rode out the storms when the winds were gale force
Sat out the doldrums in patience and hope
Working together we learned how to cope
Life is an ocean and love is a boat
In troubled water that keeps us afloat
When we started the voyage, there was just me and you
Now gathered round us, we have our own crew
Together we’re in this relationship
We built it with care to last the whole trip
Our true destination’s not marked on any charts
We’re navigating to the shores of the heart
Life is an ocean and love is a boat
In troubled water that keeps us afloat,
When we started the voyage, there was just me and you
Now gathered round us, we have our own crew

When The Last Hand Comes Aboard

Written by © Richard John Scarr

No more a watch to stand, Old Sailor.
For you are drifting on an ebbing tide.
Eight Bells has rung. Last dogwatch done.
Now a new berth awaits you on the other side.

Your ship is anchored in God’s Harbour.
And your ship mates, now of equal rank.
Are mustered on the deck to greet.
And Pipe as you ascend the Plank.

Her Boilers with full head of steam.
Cargo stowed and alley stored.
Just waiting to get underway.
When the last Hand comes aboard.

Look sharp! That Hand is you, Old Sailor.
And you’ll be sailing out on Heavenly Seas.
May the wind be ever at your back.
Fair weather, and God Speed!

 


TOP OF PAGE                               HOME


BOWLING (LAWN)

A Crown Green Bowler’s Prayer

Attributed to P.Helliwell (Laycocks)

Are there Bowling Greens in Heaven Lord?
Crown Greens I mean for me?
Will there be lush grass, warm breezes
And endless cups of tea?

When you decide to call me Lord
In Your special way,
Could there be a team one player short
Who might ask me to play?

Do you have a pavilion Lord?
Where we could sit and talk?
Can you give me lots of energy
So that I am never short?

Could I meet family and friends, Lord?
All those who have gone before?
Have you lots of seats for supporters?
And markers who will score?

Would you volunteer to be Captain, Lord?
To ensure there is fair play?
For if you draw the cards, and measure,
I hope to play for you someday.

My Last End

©Graeme Cook

The only reason these days,
that I ever get down on one knee,
Is to view the World the way,
that only a Bowler gets to see,
Upon that velvet turf,
looking down along the level green,
Studying the Kitty’s spread,
and where the Jack is on the scene
Will my final bowl be cunning,
or just drive to win the end?
I know I’ll find there’s Bowls in Heaven,
so worry not my friend.

The Bowler’s Prayer

By Author Unknown

I stand Oh Lord – With hand on heart
And ask you now to do your part
I’ve sent my wood – from centre line
I know the green I choose is fine
Now let your word be true
Oh hear me, as I pray
Scatter thou mine enemies
Make a path where there is no way
Guiding on a righteous track,
Place it Lord upon the Jack
Amen

Unbiased Bowls

By J.J.Hasson

The silence hung suspended
It was the last bowl of the day
And everything depended
On our skipper yet to play
He gazed upon the verdant green
His eyes were focused tight
On a sphere that could just be seen
The ‘Kitty’ shining white

He took his place upon the mat
At the angle that he wanted
So rigidly he stood there,that
It looked like he was planted
He eyed the flag up on the mast
And weighed the wind a blowing
He called experience from the past
To guide where the bowl was going

He firmly held his bowl in hand
His eyes they were unblinking
None could tell what he had planned
Or just what he was thinking
Then slowly down his body went
His bowl arm was at the ready
To neither side his torso leant
He was so sure and steady

Then gracefully his arm went out
He knew how he would bowl it
“WRONG BIAS THERE”then came the shout
Wouldn’t ya bloody know it
Here is a little message
Make it a golden rule
Always check your bias
And you won’t be a fool

BRICKLAYERS

A Bricklayer

©By Lou Szymkow, 2020

He had a keen eye, a quick hand and a skill
To work manually with strength and effort and will
His hard work inspired and was in demand,
not just near home but across the land.

He picked up bricks, mortar and trowel to craft
Barbies and walls, buildings and homes that last
An arch or a curve, all his work set apart,
Because each brick he placed, was a work of art

His bricks though were not just forged in fire,
His family were his foundation and his desire
The mortar was his love
His caring, his skill
He loved you all,
and loves you still

 

Brick Layers Lament

by Sylvia Spencer

I know an old tradesman who worked with sand and cement.
Now the story I am going to tell you turned out to be his lament.
His work was done to perfection built from row to row and he was
the very best brickie, the best you will ever know. when a job
was finished his tools had to be clean, because he was the boss
of a slap happy working team. They would put in the footings
then forget to build the wall and when they did it was
neither short nor tall. They once built an house with an
extension on the side it was that badly built that no one could reside.
He had a young apprentice who soon became his hoddie,
he never let him lay the bricks because his work was always
shoddy. There were a couple of muckers who mixed
up the cement they were for ever subbing
so they never paid their rent. His labourers name was
Dodger who would work now and then, most of the time
was spent at The Bookies placing bets for other men.
He employed an incompetent plumber who always gave
him the pip, every job he went on he always left a drip.
He was a good Brickie I would say he was first class, but when it
came to teamwork they were just total ‘Arse’

Fahrenheit 451 (excerpt from the novel)

by Ray Bradbury

“Everyone must leave something behind when he dies”, my grandfather said.
“A child or a book or a painting or a house or a wall built, or a pair of shoes made. Or a garden planted. Something your hand touched some way, so your soul has somewhere to go when you die, and when people look at that tree or that flower you planted, you’re there”.
“It doesn’t matter what you do”, he said, “so long as you change something from the way it was before you touched it into something that’s like you after you take your hands away. The difference between the man who just cuts lawns and a real gardener is in the touching”, he said. “The lawn-cutter might just as well not have been there at all; the gardener will be there a lifetime.”

BROTHERS

My Little Bro

by Misty D. Crawford

I love you and I wish you were home,
it hurts me to think you’re so alone.
Its not the same without you here,
why you did what you did is still unclear.
I remember when we were little and we played in the yard,
then we’d go sit inside and play cards.
You’d look at me and smile,
your smile used to stretch a mile.
When I had a bad day you were the only on who could make me laugh,
its like you were my other half.
It hurts me to see what your going through,
it hurts even more because there’s nothing I can do.
I just wish I could make it all ok,
but all I can do is pray.
I pray for you every night before I go to sleep,
and every time I think I hear you creep.
Sometimes its like you’re still here,
I look at the door and wait for you to appear.
Then I realize you’re not home,
and I go back to feeling so alone.
I love you so much you just don’t know,
no matter what you’ll always be my little bro.

My Brother, My Brother

Haunted by tomorrow, our moments we sell
It is not everyday brothers throw pebbles together
0r sit shoulder to shoulder in a cell
Moments ever so tender
Moments ever so priceless
Tomorrow may not have in store…

So come, we must dance
Despite the lash of unemployment upon our bare backs
Come now, we must take the chance
Even while hunger growls and uncertainty barks
All I hear is your laughter
All I see, is your happiness
My brother, my brother
Let us cherish the moment…

My Brother And True Friend

by Toni L. Oleson

At first I have to admit I was jealous but just for a short bit
Mom and dad looked at you with pride
My jealousy made me feel put aside
For this I feel no shame, that’s just a Childs game
As time went on nature came through my pride, love and a bond grew
Still only my brother not yet a friend
I was your big sister to the end
Soon my childish jealousy I overcame, I’m not saying there was none
He just wants you to play, I can still hear mom say
But he’s too little I would say he doesn’t know how to play and he’s always in my way
Mom he follows me around all day he’s too little for my big girl play
He’s your little brother and he doesn’t just want to play your his big sister it’s your duty mom would say, to show your brother the right way
When he grows up for all this, with his love and loyalty he will pay.
So please my daughter show your brother how to play.
Pay back will be yours in time not so far away it was one of my life’s biggest tolls to play for you a good role.
But from that day to my life’s end you are not just my brother but my life’s greatest friend.

To My Brother

by Anne Harskamp

Words are hard to describe feelings,
I have always been better with images.
Yet writing down how much I miss you,
Seems to give me more tranquility.

Writing to let go, to give this all a place.
It will never heal, it will never go away,
But just learning to give it time and space.

I can tell you how much I care, how much I would give to have you back in my life,
But you know all of this and it won’t change anything, that’s what I am learning within time,

Writing to tell you how much I have learned, to show you that through fragility I become a stronger person
More able to understand, more able to listen and to care,
Hurt through loss, I’ve become yet a wiser person

To My Brother George

by John Keats

Many the wonders I this day have seen:
The sun, when first he kissed away the tears
That filled the eyes of Morn;—the laurelled peers
Who from the feathery gold of evening lean;—
The ocean with its vastness, its blue green,
Its ships, its rocks, its caves, its hopes, its fears,
Its voice mysterious, which whoso hears
Must think on what will be, and what has been.
E’en now, dear George, while this for you I write,
Cynthia is from her silken curtains peeping
So scantly, that it seems her bridal night,
And she her half-discovered revels keeping.
But what, without the social thought of thee,
Would be the wonders of the sky and sea?

To My Brother Miguel In Memoriam

by Cesar Vallejo

Brother, today I sit on the brick bench of the house,
where you make a bottomless emptiness.
I remember we used to play at this hour, and mama
caressed us: “But, sons…”

Now I go hide
as before, from all evening
lectures, and I trust you not to give me away.
Through the parlor, the vestibule, the corridors.
Later, you hide, and I do not give you away.
I remember we made ourselves cry,
brother, from so much laughing.

Miguel, you went into hiding
one night in August, toward dawn,
but, instead of chuckling, you were sad.
And the twin heart of those dead evenings
grew annoyed at not finding you. And now
a shadow falls on my soul.

Listen, brother, don’t be late
coming out. All right? Mama might worry.

Who you were (for Barney)

by Amanda Restivo

I see your smile of the past
You would always make us laugh
Life was forever free
And you were all you could be
Then came time
There were burdens to share
Sadly those you could not bear
Deep within your mind you went
You became not who you truly were
Life became dark
The substance took over
Your eyes filled with tears
The pain was forever
The memories of the past are clear
And when we see tomorrow
You will be nowhere near
When we look for your smile
All we see is the sorrow
But what has happened has brought us close
The memories of your life will always live on
With the sparkle in your eyes
And a smile on your face
In our hearts you have filled a special place
So when we think of you
We will forever reflect back
To who you once were


TOP OF PAGE                               HOME


BUDDHISM

A Prayer for the Deceased and the Surviving Family Member

By Venerable Master Hsing Yun

Oh great, compassionate Buddha!
Today we gather in front of you in mourning,
To pray for your deceased disciple ___________ .
Today we pray not only that the deceased be reborn in the Pure Land,
But also that the surviving family members
Restrain their grief and accept this change.

There must be a great deal of wistful longing and emotional attachment between them;
There must be a lot of hesitancy about and hope for the future;
Thus we pray to you, Buddha,
With you great, compassionate power,
To bring reconciliation to their emotional attachment
And to give them the support to be liberated and at ease.

Oh great, compassionate Buddha!
You once taught us that,
“All things born must die,
All unions made must separate!”
And that, “Whatever we acquire we cannot take with us;
Only our karma never leaves us!”
The surviving family members must realize:
That the coming and going of life passes in endless succession;
That the flame of life will never cease;
That the change from life to death is like changing residence; And
That the master of the life is still the same.
If in birth, life has not yet been born,
What is there to celebrate and rejoice?
If in death, life has not yet ended,
What is there to be sad and anguished about?
It is most important:
That we bring the light of virtue to illuminate the world;
That we do our best to shelter all beings.

Oh great, compassionate Buddha!
During this lifetime your disciple _____________
Was the pillar of the family and supported it
With his/her diligent sweat;
Was a powerful force in society and contributed to it
With his/her precious blood and tears.

What he/she offered in life has nurtured fragrant flowers
And borne fruit for his/her family and friends,
And created beautiful memories for this world.

Oh great, compassionate Buddha!
We pray for your support and protection:
Please wipe away the tears of the family
With your gentle-breeze-like compassion;
Please illuminate the true meaning of life
With your warm-sun-like wisdom.

May everyone remember the good counsel of the deceased disciple ______________ ;
May everyone praise the kindness and merits of the deceased disciple _______________ ;
May the brilliance of his/her life continue into the future;
May the garden of his/her life proliferate endlessly.

Now, we would like to urge the deceased disciple _____________ :
Your connection with this world has ended,
Your responsibility in this life has been completed,
Amitabha Buddha is here to receive and lead you,
You should be reborn in the Pure Land at this moment,
Or take a vow to come back again.
Your family will be cared for
By all Buddhas and all bodhisattvas,
Your relatives will be protected and supported
By the Triple Gem and Dharma guardians.

Oh great, compassionate Buddha!
We sincerely pray to you,
May the deceased and his/her bereaved family find comfort,
May the deceased and his/her bereaved family find refuge.

Oh great, compassionate Buddha,
Please accept our sincerest prayer!
Oh great, compassionate Buddha,
Please accept our sincerest prayer!

Namo Shakyamuni Buddha.

That Is Born Will Die

The Buddha
From: Sogyal Rinpoche, The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying

That is born will die,
What has been gathered will be dispersed,
What has been accumulated will be exhausted,
What has been built up will collapse,
And what has been high will be brought low.

BUILDER

BUSH & BUSH PEOPLE

A Bush Girl

by Henry Lawson   From book: Skyline Riders

She’s milking in the rain and dark,
As did her mother in the past.
The wretched shed of poles and bark,
Rent by the wind, is leaking fast.
She sees the “home-roof” black and low,
Where, balefully, the hut-fire gleams—
And, like her mother, long ago,
She has her dreams; she has her dreams.

The daybreak haunts the dreary scene,
The brooding ridge, the blue-grey bush,
The “yard” where all her years have been,
Is ankle-deep in dung and slush;
She shivers as the hour drags on,
Her threadbare dress of sackcloth seems—
But, like her mother, years agone,
She has her dreams; she has her dreams.

The sullen “breakfast” where they cut
The blackened “junk.” The lowering face,
As though a crime were in the hut,
As though a curse was on the place;
The muttered question and reply,
The tread that shakes the rotting beams,
The nagging mother, thin and dry—
God help the girl! She has her dreams.

Then for “th’ separator” start,
Most wretched hour in all her life,
With “horse” and harness, dress and cart,
No Chinaman would give his “wife”;
Her heart is sick for light and love,
Her face is often fair and sweet,
And her intelligence above
The minds of all she’s like to meet.

She reads, by slush-lamp light, may be,
When she has dragged her dreary round,
And dreams of cities by the sea
(Where butter’s up, so much the pound),
Of different men from those she knows,
Of shining tides and broad, bright streams;
Of theatres and city shows,
And her release! She has her dreams.

Could I gain her a little rest,
A little light, if but for one,
I think that it would be the best
Of any good I may have done.
But, after all, the paths we go
Are not so glorious as they seem,
And—if t’will help her heart to know—
I’ve had my dream. ‘Twas but a dream.

 

All My Life A Bushie

adapted by Graeme Cook

For more than eight decades, it has always felt so good,
To stride about this countryside of rocks and dust and wood,
And breathe the air afresh, not taste the cities’ grime,
Amongst the bush and wildlife, a truly perfect time.
The Sun is not as harsh, as some human elements I have seen,
And the bush nowhere as cruel, as some towns where I have been,
Surrounded by the stars, there’s been no loneliness in my nights,
The days rolled into years, until I found that I’d grown old.
Throughout my life, my family held, a distant loving bond,
Though they could never slake my thirsting, for all the great beyond,
I move along a new trek now, and know I’ll always miss,
The touch of folk who loved me, and the joy of Nature’s kiss.

A Rain Song

By E. S. Emmerson

There is music in the Mallee,
Lilting music, soft and low,
Like the songs in vale and valley
Where the summer waters flow;
But an anthem of elation
Wedded to a woman’s mouth
Is the message from each station
From the Mitchell River south.

For it’s raining! raining! raining!
How the iron roof tops ring!
How the waters, swiftly draining
Through the straining down pipes sing!
Every drop a golden rhyme is,
Every shower a stanza strong,

And each day of raining time is
Canto sweet of God’s great song.

Oh, the earth was dry as tinder,
And her lips were cracked with pain!
From the south to Thargominda
Like a dead thing she has lain;
But, at last, the long drought broken,
She – like lazarus, the Jew,
When the Christ words had been spoken –
She shall leap to life anew.

For it’s raining! raining! raining!
Don’t you hear the merry din?
Don’t you hear the old earth straining
As she sucks the juices in?
And the swelling creeks and rivers –
Hark! their mellow madrigal!
Oh, the sweetest music givers
Are the autumn rains that fall!

All the air is sweet with voices,
Sweet with human voices now;
And the anvil-tool rejoices
On the ploughshare and the plough;
Yes, above the joyous beating

Of the roof bass you can hear
All the choirs of nature meeting
In an anthem loud and clear.

For it’s raining! raining! raining!
Over all the thirsty land!
Don’t you hear the old earth straining
As the sapless roots expand?
But her famine days are over,
And her smiles shall soon be seen,
For her old-time Autumn lover
Brings her back her garb of green.

Gone Fishin’

By Norm Murray

The weather’s fine, the tides are right,
and all the time I’m wishin’
that nothing else will matter,
just as long as I’m out fishin’.

A leaky boat or rocky coast —
if it’s my favourite spot
the busy world can pass me by
when fish are runnin’ hot.

And if the catch is large or small
it doesn’t really matter
as long as I can eat the lot —
smoked, fresh, or cased in batter….

The Great Beyond has endless seas
with no forbidden sectors,
or stormy days, or rotten luck, –
or fisheries inspectors.

Those little ones that got away
(to bend my rod were tryin’)
I’ll say were huge —
but I confess my mates
will know I’m lyin’.

So look for me from time to time,
and if you find me missin’,
be happy that for evermore
I’ve only gone out fishin’.

Mother Earth

By Wesley Marne 1992,  Copyright owned by Louise Marne

He is the ultimate hunter
A Bushman without peer
Nothing is safe when he is hunting
With his ancient wommera and spear.

But what of the one who goes with him
The one who walks in his tracks
Usually with one child behind her
And another on her back.

With a coolamon under her arm
A dillbagaround her waist
She wanders along gathering
The food is an everlasting chase.

She wanders back and forth
Gathering the seed for bread
Looking and digging for yams
To be cooked in the camp ahead.

At dusk she builds their shelter
And the please the evening food
Always busy moving around
There is always something to do.

Next time you look at a picture
Of a warrior of the land
Look for the behind him
For the one who is always on hand.

She is the eternal companion
The one you never see
And she is the reason that life goes on
The and the children at her knee

 

Nine Miles from Gundagai

By Jack Moses 1860 – 1945

I’ve done my share of shearing sheep,
Of droving and all that,
And bogged a bullock-team as well,
On a Murrumbidgee flat.
I’ve seen the bullock stretch and stain
And blink his bleary eye,
And the dog sat on the tucker box,
Nine miles from Gundagai.

I’ve been jilted, jarred, and crossed in love,
And sand-bagged in the dark,
Till if a mountain fell on me
I’d treat it as a lark.
It’s when you’ve had your bullocks bogged
That’s the time you flog and cry,
And the dog sat on the tucker box,
Nine miles from Gundagai.

We’ve all got our little troubles,
In life’s hard, thorny way.
Some strike them in a motor car
And others in a dray.
But when your dog and bullocks strike
It ain’t no apple pie.
And the dog sat on the tucker box,
Nine miles from Gundagai.

But thats all past and dead and gone,
And I’ve sold the team for meat.
And perhaps some day where I was bogged,
There’ll be an asphalt street.
The dog, ah! Well he got bait,
And thought he’d like to die,
So I buried him in the tucker box,
Nine miles from Gundagai.

A Bushman’s Last Farewell

By © 2011 – Catherine Clarke

As a bushman I’ve been wandering for all my working life,
and I never settled down with home and family, a wife.
I just worked where work was going as a drover, station hand;
did some mustering and shearing, always working on the land.

As the twilight of my years now finds me lost in solitude
and I gaze across this billabong with peacefulness imbued,
now my billycan is boiling so I rise to make some tea,
whilst it seems that Max is dozing—yet I know he watches me.

I retrieve the mug and shuffle to my horse beside the tree,
and he snorts in recognition, brown eyes gazing lazily.
Though within deceptive silence here grave threats at times arise,
he is calm tonight—no danger lurks—I see it in his eyes.

Sometimes lost in idle musings how another life might seem
if I’d dropped this roving bushman’s life for that romantic dream,
I reflect—but know the bush was ever in my heart and soul,
and persistently it called me to this solitary role.

For I craved the crackling firelight and the space that looms immense—
was enticed by blazing sunsets so inspiring and intense;
yearned for silence that engulfed me when I laid my bedroll down,
choosing harmony and peace above the noise and lights of town.

So I’ve never once felt lonely in this splendid, grand expanse,
which has never failed to stir me with its myst’ry and romance.
While its eerie, timeless wonder always held me in its thrall,
its inhabitants beguiled me with each strange, alluring call.

For I’ve seen the awesome spectacle of brumbies on the run,
with their nostrils flaring, flowing manes, their breath in unison—
heard them shake the ground with thunder and refuse to compromise,
with the love of freedom glinting in their haunted, stormy eyes.

I have ridden round the cattle resting near each water hole,
or when tailing them to shepherd and to keep them in control,
yet felt terrified excitement at a bullock’s mad stampede,
with the dust clouds dense, revealing just the crazed one at the lead.

The rewards and satisfaction earned by mustering the sheep,
or the teamwork of the ringers, building mate-ship that runs deep…
All these pleasures have sustained me on my isolated track,
so although there’s certain things I’ve missed, I wouldn’t take it back.

Though I’ve known the bitter heartbreak of the unrelenting drought,
have experienced a desert storm and feared I’d not get out,
witnessed total devastation wrought by bushfire’s wrath, and flood,
yet been stunned by man’s humanity and sacrifice of blood.

I could not forget the stillness of a soundless outback dawn,
nor the bustling sounds of creatures that begin to greet the morn;
I could not become complacent over ancient rocks and caves,
and escarpments towering—brooding over centuries of graves.

I still wonder at the boundless blue horizons that I scan
with no life in sight, and feel the insignificance of man;
where the stars look etched in crystal and the Southern Cross rides high—
seems engraved on inky blackness in an endless velvet sky.

There a crocodile is surfacing—Max growls, his ears on end,
while another spasm grips my chest and startles my old friend…
But the croc is only browsing and he slithers off downstream,
while a startled heron takes to flight with elegance supreme.

Now the great red orb is setting and the firmament’s alight—
soon the hunting preparations start for creatures of the night.
High above are flawless patterns formed by countless magpie geese,
whilst a massive eagle oversees his realm of timeless peace.

I am lying here prepared for death, for life has run its course;
when you find me, please take care of Max and this old faithful horse.
For my ticker’s let me down again and this time I just know—
and I think the dog does too—that it is time for me to go.

I suspect tomorrow’s sunrise is a glory I’ll not see—
this idyllic spot so fitting as my final memory.
On the eucalyptus breeze I will approach that unknown door,
joining countless other bushmen who have paved the way before.

There’s no spirit guide to come for me, no mystery to solve;
there are few who will remember, and there’s no-one to absolve.
And quite honestly there isn’t any better place for me
to depart this life, than in the bush that’s been my destiny.

Though I’ll miss so many things about my life here on this land,
I am leaving with a smile, my hat and stock whip in my hand;
I will say farewell to this amazing kingdom unsurpassed,
and within the great Australian bush my soul will sleep at last.

Pioneers

by Frank Hudson

We are the Old-world people,
Ours were the hearts to dare;
But our youth is spent, and our backs are bent,
And the snow is in our hair.

Back in the early fifties,
Dim through the mists of years,
By the bush-grown strand of a wild, strange land,
We entered – the pioneers.

Our axes rang in the woodlands,
Where the gaudy bush-birds flew,
And we turned the loam of our newfound home,
Where the Eucalyptus grew.

Housed in the rough log shanty,
Camped in the leaking tent,
From sea to view of the mountains blue
Where the eager diggers went.

We wrought with a will unceasing,
We moulded, and fashioned, and planned
And we fought with the black and we blazed the track
That ye might inherit the land.

There are your shops and churches,
Your cities of stucco and smoke;
And the swift trains fly where the wild cat’s cry
O’er the sad bush silence broke.

Take now the fruit of our labour,
Nourish and guard it with care;
For our youth is spent, and our backs are bent
And the snow is in our hair.

Relief of Mildura

By Davidson Symmons

Doctors had run out of whisky, and our stock of liquor was spent,
Save one poor half dozen of lager that belonged to the Rechabite tent;
And the sky was as brass above us, and the land was fevered with drought,
And we wandered with blistered gullets, and tongues that were hanging out.

And ever the Murray to temp us, at the edge of the sun-cracked flat;
But no, we were men of Mildura – we hadn’t come down to that.
But daily the torture lasted, and daily the horror grew
Of the thought that we dare not utter – the thing that all of us knew.

Someone must try the water, must yield to the fatal law,
So we shared in that devil’s gamble-and mine was the shortest straw.
One moment of human weakness-then I stepped to the river’s brink;
It was flowing before me-water-and I was condemned to drink.

And then, oh was it an angel, or that daft lass, Jessie Brown,
Cried “Dinna ye sniff the reek o’t-the pipes of Echuca town?”
And louder and ever louder, and near and nearer the while,
We heard the beat of her paddles, the rescuing steamboat Nile.

With her bar-doors breathing a blessing, on her mission of mercy she came,
And the sunlight blazed on the bottles in a halo of living flame.
And “Courage,” the skipper shouted, as he moored to the blighted scrub,
“There’s forty tons of liquor aboard, consigned to the local club.”

Then madly rushed through our being the warm red current of life;
We didn’t wait for a corkscrew-we hanked off the heads with a knife.
And the brass bank burst into music, and the temperance banners waved,
And we saw three stars in the evening sky, and we knew that Mildura was saved.

The Austral ‘light’

 

By Harry Morant (the breaker)

We were standing by the fireside at the pub one wintry night
Drinking grog and ‘pitching fairies’ while the lengthening hours took flight,
And a stranger there was present, one who seemed quite city-bred—
There was little showed about him to denote him ‘mulga-fed’.

For he wore a four-inch collar, tucked up pants, and boots of tan—
You might take him for a new-chum, or a Sydney city man—
But in spite of cuff or collar, Lord! he gave himself away
When he cut and rubbed and had filled his coloured clay.

For he never asked for matches–although in that boozing band
There was more than one man standing with a matchbox in his hand;
And I knew him for a bushman ‘spite his tailor-made attire’.
As I saw him stoop and fossick for a fire-stick from the fire.

And that mode of weed-ignition to my memory brough back
Long nights when nags were hobbled on a far North-western track;
Recalled campfires in the timber, when the stars shone big and bright,
And we learned the matchless virtues of a glowing gidgee light.

And I thought of piney sand-ridges—and somehow I could swear
That this tailor-made johnny had at one time been ‘out there’.
And as he blew the white ash from the tapering, glowing coal,
Faith! my heart went out towards him for a kindred country soul.

The Glass On The Bar

By Henry Lawson

Three bushmen one morning rode up to an inn,
And one of them called for the drinks with a grin;
They’d only returned from a trip to the North,
And, eager to greet them, the landlord came forth.
He absently poured out a glass of Three Star.
And set down that drink with the rest on the bar.
`There, that is for Harry,’ he said, `and it’s queer,
‘Tis the very same glass that he drank from last year;
His name’s on the glass, you can read it like print,
He scratched it himself with an old piece of flint;
I remember his drink it was always Three Star’

And the landlord looked out through the door of the bar.
He looked at the horses, and counted but three:
`You were always together where’s Harry?’ cried he.
Oh, sadly they looked at the glass as they said,
`You may put it away, for our old mate is dead;’
But one, gazing out o’er the ridges afar, Said,
`We owe him a shout leave the glass on the bar.’
They thought of the far-away grave on the plain,
They thought of the comrade who came not again,
They lifted their glasses, and sadly they said:
`We drink to the name of the mate who is dead.’
And the sunlight streamed in, and a light like a star
Seemed to glow in the depth of the glass on the bar.
And still in that shanty a tumbler is seen,
It stands by the clock, ever polished and clean;
And often the strangers will read as they pass
The name of a bushman engraved on the glass;
And though on the shelf but a dozen there are,
That glass never stands with the rest on the bar.

The Magpie’s Song

by Frank S. Williamson

Where the dreaming Tiber wanders by the haunted Appian Way,
Lo! the nightingale is uttering a sorrow-burdened lay!
While the olive trees are shaking, and the cypress boughs are stirred:
Palpitates the moon’s white bosom to the sorrow of the bird,
Sobbing, sobbing, sobbing; yet a sweeter song I know:
‘Tis the magpie’s windblown music where the Gippsland rivers flow.

O, I love to be by Bindi, where the fragrant pastures are,
And the Tambo to his bosom takes the trembling Evening Star –
Just to hear the magpies warble in the blue-gums on the hill,
When the frail green flower of twilight in the sky is lingering still,
Calling, calling, calling to the abdicating day:
O, they fill my heart with music as I loiter on my way.

O, the windy morn of Matlock, when the last snow-wreath had gone,
And the backwoods robed by tardy Spring with star-like beauty shone;
When the lory showed his crimson to the golden blossom spread,
And the Goulburn’s grey-green mirror showed the loving colours wed:
Chiming, chiming, chiming in the pauses of the gale,
How the magpie’s notes came ringing down the mountain o’er the vale.

O, the moon beside the ocean, where the springtide, landward set,
Cast ashore the loosened silver from the waves of violet,
As the seagod sang a lovesong and the sheoak answer made,
Came the magpie’s carol wafted down the piny colonade,
Trolling, trolling, trolling in the nuptial melody,
As it floated from the moaning pine to charm the singing sea.

And the dark hour in the city, when my love had silent flown,
Nesting in some far-off valley, to the seraphs only known,
When the violet had no odour and the rose no purple bloom,
And the grey-winged vulture, Sorrow, came rustling through the gloom,
Crooning, crooning, crooning on the swaying garden bough:
O, the song of hope you uttered then my heart is trilling now.

Voice of happy shepherd chanting by a stream in Arcady,
Seems they song this blue-eyed morning over lilac borne to me;
In his arms again Joy takes me, Hope with dimpling cheek appears,
And my life seems one long lovely vale where grow the rosy years:
lilting, lilting, lilting; when I slumber at the last,
Let your music in the joyous wind be ever wandering past.

There’s Only The Two Of Us Here

By Edward Harrington

I camped one night in an empty hut on the side of a lonely hill.
I didn’t go much on empty huts, but the night was awful chill.
So I boiled me billy and had me tea and seen that the door was shut.
Then I went to bed in am empty bunk by the side of the old slab shed.

It must have been about twelve o’clock – I was feeling cosy and warm –
When at the foot of me bunk I sees a horrible ghostly form
It seemed in shape to be half an ape with a head like a chimpanzee
But wot the hell was it doin there, and wot did it want with me?

You may say if you please that I had DTs or call me a crimson liar,
But I wish you had seen it as plain as me, with it’s eyes like coals of fire.
Then it gave a moan and a horrible groan that curdled me blood with fear,
And ‘There’s only the two of us here,’ it ses. ‘There’s only the two of us here!’

I kept one eye on the old hut door and one on the awful brute;
I only wanted to dress meself and get to the door and scoot.
But I couldn’t find where I’d left me boots so I hadn’t a chance to clear
And, ‘There’s only the two of us here,’ it moans. ‘There’s only the two of us here!’

I hadn’t a thing to defend meself, not even a stick or stone,
And ‘There’s only the two of here!’ It ses again with a horrible groan.
I thought I’d better make some reply, though I reckoned me end was near,
‘By the Holy Smoke, when I find me boots, there’ll be only one of us here.’

I get me hands on me number tens and out through the door I scoots,
And I lit the whole of the ridges up with the sparks from me blucher boots.
So I’ve never slept in a hut since then, and I tremble and shake with fear
When I think of the horrible form wot moaned, ‘There’s only the two of us here!’

Wallaby Stew

By Cecil Poole

Poor Dad, He got five years or more, as everybody knows,
And now he lives in Maitland Gaol, broad arrows on his clothes;
He branded old Browns cleanskins and he never left a tail
So I relate the family’s fate since Dad got put in gaol

Chorus: So stir the wallaby stew, make soup of the kangaroo tail;
I tell you things is pretty tough since Dad got put in gaol.

Our sheep all died a month ago, of foot-rot and the fluke;
Our cow got shot last Christmas day by my big brother Luke;
Our Mother’s got a shearer cove forever within hail;
The family will have grown a bit when Dad gets out of gaol.

Our Bess got shook upon some bloke, but he’s gone, we don’t know where;
He used to act about the sheds, but he ain’t acted square;
I sold the buggy on my own, and the place is up for sale;
That won’t be all that has been junked when Dad comes out of gaol.

They let Dad out before his time to give us a surprise.
He came and slowly looked around, then gently blessed our eye;
He shook hands with the shearer cove, and said that things seemed stale,
And left him here to shepherd us and battled back into gaol.

When the Sun’s Behind the Hill

by C. J. Dennis

There’s a soft and peaceful feeling
Comes across the farming hand
As the shadows go a-stealing
Slow along the new-turned land.
The lazy curling smoke above the thatch is showing blue,
And the weary old plough horses wander homeward two ‘n’ two,
With their chains a’clinkin’, clankin’, when their daily toil is through,
And the sun’s behnd the hill.

Then it’s slowly homeward plodding
As the night begins to creep,
And the barley grass is nodding
To the daisies, all asleep,
The crows are flying heavily, and cawing overhead;
The sleepy milking cows are lowing sof’ly in the shed,
And above them, in the rafters, all the fowls have gone to bed,
When the sun’s behind the hill.

Then it’s “Harry, feed old Roaney!”
And it’s “Bill, put up the rail!”
And it’s “Tom, turn out the pony!”
“Mary, hurry with the pail!”
And the kiddies run to meet us, and are begging for a ride
On the broad old “Prince” and “Darkey” they can hardly sit astride;
And mother, she is bustling with the supper things inside,
When the sun’s behind the hill.

Then it’s sitting down and yarning
When we’ve had our bite and sup,
And the mother takes her darning,
And Bess tells how the baldy cow got tangled in the wire,
And Katie keeps the baby-boy from tumbling in the fire;
And the baccy smoke goes curling as I suck my soothing briar,
When the sun’s behind the hill.

And we talk about the season,
And of how it’s turning out,
And we try to guess the reason
For the long-continued drought,
Oh! a farmer’s life ain’t roses and his work is never done:
And a job’s no sooner over than another is begun.
For he’s toiling late and early from the rising of the sun
Till he sinks behind the hill.

But it grows, that peaceful feeling
While I’m sitting smoking there,
And the kiddies all are kneeling
To repeat their ev’ning prayer;
For it seems, somehow, to lighten all the care that must be bore
When the things of life are worrying, and times are troubling sore;
And I pray that God will keep them when my own long-day is o’er,
And the sun’s behind the hill.

With The Cattle

by Andrew Barton ‘Banjo’ Paterson

The drought is down on field and flock,
The river-bed is dry;
And we must shift the starving stock
Before the cattle die.
We muster up with weary hearts
At breaking of the day,
And turn our heads to foreign parts,
To take the stock away.
And it’s hunt ’em up and dog ’em,
And it’s get the whip and flog ’em,
For it’s weary work is droving when they’re dying every day;
By stock-routes bare and eaten,
On dusty roads and beaten,
With half a chance to save their lives we take the stock away.

We cannot use the whip for shame
On beasts that crawl along;
We have to drop the weak and lame,
And try to save the strong;
The wrath of God is on the track,
The drought fiend holds his sway,
With blows and cries and stockwhip crack
We take the stock away.
As they fall we leave them lying,
With the crows to watch them dying,
Grim sextons of the Overland that fasten on their prey;
By the fiery dust-storm drifting,
And the mocking mirage shifting,
In heat and drought and hopeless pain we take the stock away.

In dull despair the days go by
With never hope of change,
But every stage we draw more nigh
Towards the mountain range;
And some may live to climb the pass,
And reach the great plateau,
And revel in the mountain grass,
By streamlets fed with snow.
As the mountain wind is blowing
It starts the cattle lowing,
And calling to each other down the dusty long array;
And there speaks a grizzled drover:
`Well, thank God, the worst is over,
The creatures smell the mountain grass that’s twenty miles away.’

They press towards the mountain grass,
They look with eager eyes
Along the rugged stony pass,
That slopes towards the skies;
Their feet may bleed from rocks and stones,
But though the blood-drop starts,
They struggle on with stifled groans,
For hope is in their hearts.
And the cattle that are leading,
Though their feet are worn and bleeding,
Are breaking to a kind of run — pull up, and let them go!
For the mountain wind is blowing,
And the mountain grass is growing,
They settle down by running streams ice-cold with melted snow.

The days are done of heat and drought
Upon the stricken plain;
The wind has shifted right about,
And brought the welcome rain;
The river runs with sullen roar,
All flecked with yellow foam,
And we must take the road once more,
To bring the cattle home.
And it’s `Lads! we’ll raise a chorus,
There’s a pleasant trip before us.’
And the horses bound beneath us as we start them down the track;
And the drovers canter, singing,
Through the sweet green grasses springing,
Towards the far-off mountain-land, to bring the cattle back.

Are these the beasts we brought away
That move so lively now?
They scatter off like flying spray
Across the mountain’s brow;
And dashing down the rugged range
We hear the stockwhip crack,
Good faith, it is a welcome change
To bring such cattle back.
And it’s `Steady down the lead there!’
And it’s `Let ’em stop and feed there!’
For they’re wild as mountain eagles and their sides are all afoam;
But they’re settling down already,
And they’ll travel nice and steady,
With cheery call and jest and song we fetch the cattle home.

We have to watch them close at night
For fear they’ll make a rush,
And break away in headlong flight
Across the open bush;
And by the camp-fire’s cheery blaze,
With mellow voice and strong,
We hear the lonely watchman raise
The Overlander’s song:
`Oh! it’s when we’re done with roving,
With the camping and the droving,
It’s homeward down the Bland we’ll go, and never more we’ll roam;’
While the stars shine out above us,
Like the eyes of those who love us —
The eyes of those who watch and wait to greet the cattle home.

The plains are all awave with grass,
The skies are deepest blue;
And leisurely the cattle pass
And feed the long day through;
But when we sight the station gate,
We make the stockwhips crack,
A welcome sound to those who wait
To greet the cattle back:
And through the twilight falling
We hear their voices calling,
As the cattle splash across the ford and churn it into foam;
And the children run to meet us,
And our wives and sweethearts greet us,
Their heroes from the Overland who brought the cattle home.

CANDLES

Candles in the Night

By Peter Madden

When your lost, When your alone,
and you can see nothing but the darkness,
when the shadowy fingers of night reach out,
to envelope you in their icy embrace,
till every breath only causes you pain,
and despair is your only loyal companion,

remember….

there are candles in the night,
flickering souls fighting back the dark,
these are the angels of the abyss,
holding back the blackness that consumes us,
as long as they hold true,
the night cannot win…..

Four Candles for You

Author  by Unknown

The first candle represents our grief.
The pain of losing you is intense.
It reminds us of the depth of our love for you.

This second candle represents our courage.
To confront our sorrow,
To comfort each other,
To change our lives.

third candle we light in your memory.
For the times we laughed,
The times we cried,
The times we were angry with each other,
The silly things you did,

The caring and joy you gave us.

This fourth candle we light for our love.
We light this candle that your light will always shine,
Continuing to guide and lead us.
Regardless of the seasons of our lives,
Our love for you will continue.

We cherish the special place in our hearts
that will always be reserved for you.
We thank you for the gift
your living brought to each of us.

We love you.
We remember you.


TOP OF PAGE                               HOME


CARAVANERS

(see also TRAVEL)

Caravaner’s Delight

by Helen Piddock-Jones

We’re off to a caravan site again, it’s really not that far.
We’ve packed the van, the kids and Gran – filled up the towing car.
The legs won’t wind, the hitch lock’s stuck, our tempers start to fray
We’ve too much stuff! We’re overweight! We’ll never get away!
We meant to start at half past six, to beat the queues and crush,
but never mind, it’s only eight, who needs such haste and rush
With fingers crossed we ease away, who left the handbrake on?
The roads are blocked, the fog is thick, the just begun.
We’ve reached the site – six hours went fast! The rain we just ignore.
The awning’s split the dogs been sick we’re by the loos – once more!
We’re all hooked up, the water’s on, a cup of tea all round?
The milk’s gone off, the beds are damp, the pegs won’t crack the ground.
The warden’s like a dragon, the neighbour’s straight from hell
The kids are fighting, Gran’s got drunk, I’ve hurt my back as well.
But then…..
We’ve got the barbecue set up, the rain, at last, has stopped.
Our friends are round, the meat is cooked, the bottle tops have popped
The site is great, the view unmatched, the sun it feels quite hot
We love our van, all cares are gone – this life has got the lot!”

His Journey’s Just Begun

By Ellen Brenneman

Don’t think of him as gone away
his journey’s just begun,
life holds so many facets
this earth is only one.

Just think of him as resting
from the sorrows and the tears
in a place of warmth and comfort
where there are no days and years.

Think how he must be wishing
that we could know today
how nothing but our sadness
can really pass away.

And think of him as living
in the hearts of those he touched…
for nothing loved is ever lost
and he was loved so much.

His Journey’s Just Begun….(modified)”

By Ellen Brenneman (modified by Lisa Adams in memory of Christopher James Bruce, November 30,1995 – April 5, 1996)

Don’t think of him as gone away,
His journey’s just begun…
Life holds so many facet’s,
This earth is only one…
Just think of him as resting,
From the sorrows and the tears…

In a place of warmth and comfort,
Where there are no days and years…
Think of how he must be wishing,
That we could know today…
How nothing but our sadness,
Can really pass away…

And think of him as living.
In the hearts of those he touched…
For nothing loved is ever lost,
And he was loved so much.

The Caravaners’ Creed

by Ken Stonehouse, ©All gifts Australia

As we travel down the highways with our caravan in tow,
We pray to the almighty that the forecast rains won’t show.
We ask that roads are solid, roos and wombats nowhere near,
And with some luck by afternoon we’re settled with a beer.

Our camping site is not five star, not four or even one,
But we don’t care for such fine things, as long as there is sun.
As long as there is kindling close for our BBQ to fire,
To us, five star is not a room, but a lifestyle to desire.

The open air, the sun, the moon, the stars at night so bright,
The freedom that our travels bring, the worries all so light.
Except of course the dreaded curse of every travelling man,
When it’s time to park and rest the eyes – the backing of the van!

Now every Vaner knows that at each and every stay,
A “backing expert” waits and stalks for his new prey.
Like a hunter in the wild he will watch in silent wait.
At the moment of reversing he’ll shout – “I’ll do it for you mate”.

It’s hard to describe to others, the life of travelling in a van.
No clocks or phones or timetables, imagine if you can.
Just maps and charts to study for destinations new,
And at each place a drink is had, a quiet one or two!

The friends we meet along the road all tend to be like us,
With greying hair and glasses, and a lifestyle lacking fuss.
Some say that we are nomads, with no place to call our home,
But this is no offence to us, for it’s Australia that we roam.

This Journey Is Just Beginning

By Ju. D.G.

This will be my final journey
I go with no regrets
The days we’ve had together
Have been the very best

We’ve travelled miles upon this earth
Without home behind the car
The fun and laughter we have shared
As we travelled long and far

I picture you in every place
Among the trees and water is blue
And every time it comes to mind
I’m grateful I hate you

As you beat me farewell this one last time
Sprayed me with natures flowers and love
For I – will need those memories
As I watched you from above

That our caravanning days together
Have now ended – that is true
But travel on my darling
And think of me – as you do


TOP OF PAGE                               HOME


CAREFREE

Is That All There Is

Songwriters: Jerry Leiber / Mike Stoller
lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Warner Chappell Music, Inc

I remember when I was a very little girl, our house caught on fire
I’ll never forget the look on my father’s face as he gathered me up
in his arms and raced through the burning building out to the pavement
I stood there shivering in my pajamas and watched the whole world go up in flames
And when it was all over I said to myself, is that all there is to a fire

Is that all there is, is that all there is
If that’s all there is my friends, then let’s keep dancing
Let’s break out the booze and have a ball
If that’s all there is

And when I was twelve years old, my father took me to a circus, the greatest show on earth
There were clowns and elephants and dancing bears
And a beautiful lady in pink tights flew high above our heads
And so I sat there watching the marvelous spectacle
I had the feeling that something was missing
I don’t know what, but when it was over
I said to myself, “is that all there is to a circus?

Is that all there is, is that all there is
If that’s all there is my friends, then let’s keep dancing
Let’s break out the booze and have a ball
If that’s all there is

Then I fell in love, head over heels in love, with the most wonderful boy in the world
We would take long walks by the river or just sit for hours gazing into each other’s eyes
We were so very much in love
Then one day he went away and I thought I’d die, but I didn’t
and when I didn’t I said to myself, is that all there is to love?

Is that all there is, is that all there is
If that’s all there is my friends, then let’s keep dancing

I know what you must be saying to yourselves
if that’s the way she feels about it why doesn’t she just end it all?
Oh, no, not me I’m in no hurry for that final disappointment
for I know just as well as I’m standing here talking to you
when that final moment comes and I’m breathing my last breath, I’ll be saying to myself

Is that all there is, is that all there is
If that’s all there is my friends, then let’s keep dancing
Let’s break out the booze and have a ball
If that’s all there is


TOP OF PAGE                               HOME


CAR ENTHUSIAST & PETROL HEADS

A Classic Passion

By Zac Dawson,

Everything dipped in chrome. The paint, the colour of speed.
With an interior made of the finest cow and the trim, the finest wood.
The steering wheel, that which controls the beast, the shape of the letter Y.
The gear stick. The lever that lets me complete the speedometer
And pushes the needle on the rev counter to the red line.
The stereo blasting, never loud enough.
Three pedals on the floor, the middle one not needed.
Window down, so I can hear the mighty beast roar.
That 8 cylinder piece of cast iron which propels my wheels forward
And makes them kick up dust and smoke.
On the long stretch to meet my maker.
With the sun on my back and the power under my heels.
On this lonely road, the place where me and my beast belong.
I realize I have now ran my tank dry. I am now running on fumes as I always do.
Because this passion of mine is always hungry… even when it is full.
This is passion which only few understand.

Fast Car

by Jamie Drake

Like the car he drives,
He will pass you in the fast lane of life,
Like the blaring music from his car,
He loves life and a good joke,
Like the roaring engine of his car,
His temper will take off like a racer to the finish line,
With his fast car he ran straight through everyone’s heart,
When his engine went he went along with his fast car to heaven,
Going fast as he could down the road of eternal sleep,
While he lies in his eternal sleep never to wake his fast
car lies with him!

R.I.P <name>

Racing Car Poem

by Martin Dejnicki

The race begins,
as engines roar.
They charge ahead,
like a wild boar.

Immediately they,
vie for position.
Victory and glory,
is their common mission.

Every driver,
maximum speed desires.
Each sharp turn,
burns their tires.

Magnificent machines,
often tease disaster.
Fearless warriors,
strive for nothing but faster.

Their greatest nemesis and saviour,
are known simply as brakes.
In order to pass,
they wait for mistakes.

In the end,
only one gets to brag.
The first to kiss,
the checkered flag.

The Drag Racer’s Farewell

By © Graeme Cook April 2024

All backed up, and staging done,
I look now at my final run,
Strip well rubbered, cool, no rain,
Favourite car and choice of lane,
Know what it’s like to ride in style,
And thunder down that quarter mile.
Christmas Tree, the lights they flash,
Hurtle off toward the cash,
Tacho needle, can’t be seen,
Just hear and feel that Chevy scream,
Chassis flex, and G Force crush,
Whiff of nitrous, what a rush,
Just mere seconds of manic revvin’,
Is all this racer knows of Heaven,
My race is run, farewell from me,
A winning pass, my last E.T.

{E.T. (elapsed time) In drag racing, this is the total time a run has taken from start to finish.}

 

The Driver

By ©Graeme Cook July 2009

Some folk drive for transport, just a means unto an end,
They treat cars as a mere machine, and not a trusted friend,
Concerned only for the badge in front, how bright it may be shining,
And the many pretty toys inside, their egos there defining.
The driver sees it differently, with their car becomes a part,
Take the road together, hit the road, with a single beating heart,
The turbo’s rising wail, and the exhaust’s muscled, subtle growl,
To the driver’s ear, an orchestra, there’s music in that howl.

For you can feel the engine, as the revs rise at your command,
Feeling the lusty thrust of power, that answers your demand,
How the clutch feels underfoot, as each gear is selected,
The steering too, how it responds, to where it is directed,

The road you feel, within your palms, at every bend you take,
Every bump and line and camber, each triumph and mistake,
Your car it tells you all of this, for this is truly livin’,
Petrol flowing through the veins, and ways it can be driven.

Not just a freeway drive, but each outing on a mission,
And not a veering trundle, but a task of deep precision,
Not the tedium of traffic, relief at the arriving,
The thrill is in the journey, and the passion in the driving

The Race of Motoring Dreams

By Matt  Langdon

Let me tell a story,
Of tranquil little place,
A place that every year,
Holds a legendary race,
A race that’s built up legend,
Of men and their machine,
A race that only 19 men,
Have more than one win gleaned.
It started out 500 mile,
Way back in ’63,
When cars were all stock standard,
Reliability the key.
A time when drivers had a flat,
They’d stop beside the track,
Pull out the jack and spare,
And get themselves back on track.
These were the days before V8s,
Ever thundered round,
Unlike the race we see today,
Where V8s shake the ground.
It was late into the sixties,
Before they took their place,
Since then only six times,
Has a V8 been displaced.
Cars from here Down Under,
And many from abroad,
Came every year to try and notch,
A win up on the board.
Many tried and failed,
Though deserving they may have been,
Many cars and drivers,
Laboured years without a win.
This race has proven torture,
And shattered many dreams,
Who could forget in ’95
Glenn Seton’s shattered dream?
But here’s a driver worthy,
To be in this group’s elite,
The fact he ne’er saw victory,
Testament of the feat.
So what’s that say ’bout Brocky,
With nine wins on the board?
This mountain’s king a legend,
Who will always be adored.
Then Perkins, Richards, Skaife,
Have six wins in the bag,
The king of the mountain’s protege,
Craig Lowndes has five to brag.
Moffat, Murphy four
Johnson, Tander, Whincup three
This next group they have two apiece
Bowe, Firth and Rick Kelly,
Ingall, Grice and Goss,
Steve Richards, Jane and Longhurst,
Make up this mountain’s honour roll,
Who’ve quenched that victory thirst.
Yet 30 other men have come,
And clawed a victory,
49 in as many years,
I love the irony.
Will 50 years bring 50 names?
Status quo or 51?
By day’s end we will know,
Once the fun and games are done.
Will this year bring us dominance?
Like Brock Richards ’79
Or the drama of Bob Morris,
When Fitzpatrick crossed the line?
Or a statement Moffat Ickx made,
When they led Ford’s one-two?
Or the dogfight Tander Percat won,
In last year’s massive blue?
Will we see a last to first
Like Perkins Ingall ’95?
Or Percy Grice against the odds,
When turbo’s round here thrived?
Or will we see more heartache,
Like Dick Johnson and the rock?
Or a car not up to scratch,
Like the year we farewelled Brock?
And while we’re talking heartbreak,
To say nothing would be amiss,
And mention those who lost their lives,
Forever sorely missed.
Mike Burghman back in ’86
Danny Hulme four years after ’88
Don Watson back in ’94
All died on Conrod Straight.
So whatever this year brings us,
I’ll look back with fondest thought,
As an era ends when only,
Ford and Holden fought.
Next year we welcome new makes,
To battle against our best,
Here’s hoping that our legends,
Will weather this new test.
But with rumours that the Falcon,
Is soon to be no more,
And rumours that the same is coming,
For the Commodore,
I call on Ford and Holden,
To these rumours don’t succumb,
So they can keep on fighting here,
For 50 years to come.
So there it is my story,
Of this tranquil little place,
This place that every year,
Holds this legendary race.
This race that’s brought us legends,
Of men and their machines,
The Great Race of a nation,
The race of motoring dreams.

Who’s Driving This Car?

by Patti Masterman

The window’s blurry, the odometers broke,
The tires are bare; who’s driving this car?

The seats are saggy from long time use,
The rear-view’s broken; who’s driving this car?

It knocks down the road toward the next wreckers yard,
And it can’t get far; who’s driving this car?

Once it was new, best thing on the road,
But now it’s just old; so who’s driving this car?

I’M driving this thing, and this car is ME,
And it’s all worn out, but I made it work

As long as it did.

So I praise this car – and it’s wobbly ride-
And I’m gosh darn grateful that I’m still inside.

CARPENTER

He’s A Carpenter

By Copyright © Arden Gopela,  2013

Surrounded by various profession
Business, medicine, soldiership and education
It’s heaven-sent and planned  for Him to labour
To work manually with strength and effort
True hardships; entails a great man of honour

He picked up woods and tools to craft
From small drawers and tables to houses that will last
An impression of humility and expression of equality
Though He is reverence; a Saviour from heaven

Joseph was the adoptive father
Where His skill of carpentry originated
He worked night and day; perspired with pain
He asked of no demand and with no complain

The name is Jesus born in Bethlehem
The only begotten son of our Father in heaven
He could have worked in another occupation
But chose to make a living from down-below

Carpenters make
Carpenters create
They take the common and make it something to consider
Equipped with right materials they bind things altogether
The reason-being, for us to know He’s a builder

Don’t you know that we’re under construction?
Whenever our hearts’ broken and the world is all we know
When we pray and call, Jesus is at work
To fix us and forgive; improving mind and soul

No work is greater if hardwork is shared
Truly, Jesus had proven that a carpenter’s noble
To help us build our dreams and make the world stronger
“In Him, all things hold together”‘.

The Carpenter (by G.E. Nordell)

by G.E. Nordell

There was once a master carpenter and he lived a good life
for he loved to work, building things of wood.
He was loved by his family,
by his sons and his daughter,
and especially by his wife.
He was loved by everyone who knew him.

And at the end of that good life
when it came time for him to die
the old carpenter soared
into the white light of death –
for the white light is where the good souls go to.

And the white light warmed him and
nurtured him and
fed him great peace.

And when this carpenter arrived in heaven
he was expected and
immediately he was put to work:
for the Pearly Gates
were a bit loose
and St. Peter’s desk
had a couple of drawers that stuck.
And before long
the old master carpenter
began to build
a new throne
for God.

The Carpenter, (by P Warren)

by ©Paul Warren

He selects the wood very carefully
The grain and the colour so beautifully
Looking along the edge it’s straight
And feeling it, it has a good weight

Remember to measure twice and cut once
Is the rule of thumb before you pounce
He knows the work and the craftsman’s tools
As he saws, planes and sands to carpenter’s rules

The joints are a woodworker’s art and a pleasure to see
When glued together strong and straight it will be
The last piece of the carpenter’s work is at hand
To finish is to wax the wood for a look that’s grand

Wonderful wood full of carbon is ecological
The carpenter stands back in his craftsman’s call
Working with your hands shows a skill so good
As he works he magic cutting and shaping the wood.

CELEBRITIES & PEOPLE OF INFLUENCE

Some Folk

By Pam Nelson

Some people light up rooms with their laughter
Others can brighten the world with a smile.
Many will make you feel happy
By sitting nearby for a while.

Some folk can cheer up a cold day
With just a few words or a glance.
Others can make things seem better
If you just give them half of a chance.

But there are those whose whole life is a blessing,
Not just a moment, a smile or a word.
They make all around them feel special,
No person ignored or unheard.

They give all they have and then give more,
While helping somebody get through.
It’s not about thanks or for mention,
It’s something that’s in them they do.

And when it’s time that they sadly must leave us
We grieve … but also we smile.
We give thanks that our lives were connected
And were held in their heart for a while.

The Time Is Now

By Bettina Van Vaerenbergh

We have but a short time
On this earth,
So value your life
For what it’s really worth.

Your life has purpose.
God sent you on a mission.
To live, to love, to learn –
Is His commission.

The world needs you.
Believe me, it’s true!

Some things need doing
That only you can do.

Character matters;
Be your own person,
Your own original self,
Not someone else’s version.

Develop your talents;
They are unique.
Use your time well;
Listen only to positive critique.

Go after your dreams.
Be bold. Be brave.
Swim against the stream;
It’s more than okay.

The time is now
To find your passion.
Time waits for no one,
So get into action.

To be free of regret
In your old age,
Never ever forget
To fully live today!

When Great Trees Fall

by Maya Angelou

When great trees fall,
rocks on distant hills shudder,
lions hunker down
in tall grasses,
and even elephants
lumber after safety.

When great trees fall
in forests,
small things recoil into silence,
their senses
eroded beyond fear.

When great souls die,
the air around us becomes
light, rare, sterile.
We breathe, briefly.
Our eyes, briefly,
see with
a hurtful clarity.
Our memory, suddenly sharpened,
examines,
gnaws on kind words
unsaid,
promised walks
never taken.

Great souls die and
our reality, bound to
them, takes leave of us.
Our souls,
dependent upon their
nurture,
now shrink, wizened.
Our minds, formed
and informed by their
radiance,
fall away.
We are not so much maddened
as reduced to the unutterable ignorance of
dark, cold caves.

And when great souls die,
after a period peace blooms,
slowly and always
irregularly. Spaces fill
with a kind of
soothing electric vibration.
Our senses, restored, never
to be the same, whisper to us.
They existed. They existed.
We can be. Be and be
better. For they existed.

 


TOP OF PAGE                               HOME


CHILDREN

A Child Loaned

by Edgar A. Guest

I’ll lend you for a little time
A child of Mine,” He said,
“For you to love the while she lives,
And mourn for when she’s dead.

It may be six or seven years
Or twenty-two or three,
But will you, till I call her back,
Take care of her for Me?

She’ll bring her charms to gladden you,
And should her stay be brief,
You’ll have her lovely memories
As solace for your grief.

I cannot promise she will stay,
Since all from earth return,
But there are lessons taught down there
I want this child to learn.

I’ve looked this wide world over
In My search for teachers true,
And from the throngs that crowd life’s lanes,
I have selected you;

Now will you give her all your love,
Not think the labor vain,
Nor hate Me when I come to call
And take her back again?”

I fancied that I heard them say,
“Dear Lord, Thy will be done,
For all the joy Thy child shall bring,
The risk of grief we’ll run.

We’ll shelter her with tenderness,
We’ll love her while we may,
And for the happiness we’ve known,
Forever grateful stay.

But should the angels call for her
Much sooner than we planned,
We’ll brave the bitter grief that comes
And try to understand.

Kids Who Are Different

By Digby Wolfe

The kids who don’t always get A’s
The kids who have ears twice the size of their peers,
And noses that go on for days….

Here’s to the kids who are different,
The kids they call crazy or dumb,
The kids who don’t fit, with the guts and the grit,
Who dance to a different drum….

Here’s to the kids who are different,
The kids with the mischievous streak,
For when they have grown, as history’s shown,
It’s their difference that makes them unique

Parenthood

By ©Graeme Cook

From the moment they are born, That bond never shall be torn,
Regardless of all they do or say,
They’ll always be your kid,
No matter what they did,
Love’s bloodline, can never go astray.

From the first time that you hold ’em,
Through every time you scold ’em,
And every soiled nappy that you’ve changed,
From all the crap you saw,
They will always dish out more,
It’s just the way that children are arranged.

You want for them the best,
But they put you to the test,
And seem intent, your efforts to defy,
Beseech, threaten, teach or cheer,
They so seldom seem to hear,
No matter how bloody hard you may try.

As a baby they were cute,
And as a toddler, really beaut,
How proud you were at their first day at school,
But then they started growing, And acting without knowing,
Just started to become a touch less cool.

So rude, mocking and defiant, And on you, still so reliant, You are there to fulfill their every need, We’re so proud of their successes, And forgive their many messes, The writings on the wall but they won’t read.

If they’d only see the truth, In this masquerade of youth, A parent’s job would be one of far less stress, But they crave the grog and smokes, Hang around with the wrong blokes, And don’t ever dare advise them how to dress.

A product of where you’ve been, What you’ve done and what they’ve seen, They’ve learnt most from the example you have set, So not totally to blame, Not too different, but the same, We all think we tried our very best, and yet?

We pushed them and we shoved them, Tolerated, and loved them, Glad we had them, at times we don’t know why, Pray they do stay out of strife, Make the best of their sweet life, Can’t bear the thought that one day they may die.

May they prosper, love and grow, Come to learn all that we know, And hopefully succeed through Life’s great test, May we leave this mortal coil, Free of grief, relieved of toil, And know that for our kids, we did our best.

The Cord

By Amy Merrick (1992)

We are connected,
My child and I, by
An invisible cord
Not seen by the eye.

It’s not like the cord
That connects us ’til birth
This cord can’t been seen
By any on Earth.

This cord does it’s work
Right from the start.
It binds us together
Attached to my heart.

I know that it’s there
Though no one can see
The invisible cord
From my child to me.

The strength of this cord
Is hard to describe.
It can’t be destroyed
It can’t be denied.

It’s stronger than any cord
Man could create
It withstands the test
Can hold any weight.

And though you are gone,
Though you’re not here with me,
The cord is still there
But no one can see.

It pulls at my heart
I am bruised…I am sore,
But this cord is my lifeline
As never before.

I am thankful that God
Connects us this way
A mother and child
Death can’t take it away!

To All Parents

By Edgar Albert Guest

I’ll lend you for a little time
A child of mine.  He said.
For you to love the while she lives
And mourn for, when she’s dead.

It may be six or seven years
Or twenty-two or three,
But will you, till I call her back
Take care of her for me?

She’ll bring her charms to gladden you
And should her stay be brief,
You’ll have her lovely memories
As solace in your grief.
I cannot promise she will stay
Since all from earth return,
But there are lessons taught down there
I want this child to learn.

I’ve looked the wide world over
In search for teachers true
And from the throngs that crowd life’s lanes,
I have selected you.

Now, will you give her all your love?
Not think the labour vain?
Nor hate me when I come,
To take her back again?

I fancied that I heard them say
“Dear Lord, Your Will be done.”
For all the joy Thy child shall bring,
The risk of grief we’ll run.

We’ll shelter her with tenderness,
We’ll love her, while we may.
And for the happiness we’ve known
Forever grateful stay.

But shall the angels call her
Much sooner than we’ve planned,
We’ll brave the bitter grief that comes,
And try to understand.


TOP OF PAGE                               HOME


CHRISTMAS

Missing You At Christmas

By Author Unknown

There’s a little place within my heart
That is with me every day,
A place where all my memories
Are Softly tucked away.
It is the perfect place
In my grief for me to go,
For, words could not explain
How very much I miss you so.
And now that once again
Christmastime has come around.
It’s where the sweetest memories
And through of you are found.
We love you…. We miss you…

CLOCKS

My Grandfather’s Clock

by Henry Clay Work (1832-1884)
Click HERE for Johnny Cash version on YouTube.

My grandfather’s clock was too large for the shelf,
So it stood ninety years on the floor.
It was taller by half than the old man himself,
Though it weighed not a pennyweight more.
It was bought on the morn of the day that he was born,
And was always his treasure and pride;
But it stopped short — never to go again —
When the old man died.

In watching its pendulum swing to and fro,
Many hours had he spent while a boy;
And in childhood and manhood the clock seemed to know
And to share both his grief and his joy,
For it struck 24 when he entered at the door
With a blooming and beautiful bride;
But it stopped short — never to go again —
When the old man died.

Ninety years without slumbering
(Tick, tock, tick, tock)
His life’s seconds numbering
(Tick, tock, tick, tock)
It stopped short — never to go again —
When the old man died.

My grandfather said that of those he could hire,
Not a servant so faithful he found,
For it wasted no time, and had but one desire —
At the close of each week to be wound.
And it kept in its place — not a frown upon its face,
And its hands never hung by its side,
But it stopped short — never to go again —
When the old man died.

It rang an alarm in the dead of the night —
An alarm that for years had been dumb;
And we knew that his spirit was pluming for flight —
That his hour of departure had come.
Still the clock kept the time, with a soft and muffled chime
As we silently stood by his side;
But it stopped short — never to go again —
When the old man died.

Ninety years without slumbering
(Tick, tock, tick, tock)
His life’s seconds numbering
(Tick, tock, tick, tock)
It stopped short — never to go again —
When the old man died.

The Clock of Life

By Robert H. Smith

The clock of life is wound but once,
And no man has the power
To tell just when the hands will stop
At late or early hour.

To lose one’s wealth is sad indeed,
To lose one’s health is more,
To lose one’s soul is such a loss
That no man can restore.

The present only is our own,
So live, love, toil with a will,
Place no faith in ‘Tomorrow’,
For the Clock may then be still.

 

 

COUNTRY, FARMING & THE LAND

A Bush Girl

by Henry Lawson   From book: Skyline Riders

She’s milking in the rain and dark,
As did her mother in the past.
The wretched shed of poles and bark,
Rent by the wind, is leaking fast.
She sees the “home-roof” black and low,
Where, balefully, the hut-fire gleams—
And, like her mother, long ago,
She has her dreams; she has her dreams.

The daybreak haunts the dreary scene,
The brooding ridge, the blue-grey bush,
The “yard” where all her years have been,
Is ankle-deep in dung and slush;
She shivers as the hour drags on,
Her threadbare dress of sackcloth seems—
But, like her mother, years agone,
She has her dreams; she has her dreams.

The sullen “breakfast” where they cut
The blackened “junk.” The lowering face,
As though a crime were in the hut,
As though a curse was on the place;
The muttered question and reply,
The tread that shakes the rotting beams,
The nagging mother, thin and dry—
God help the girl! She has her dreams.

Then for “th’ separator” start,
Most wretched hour in all her life,
With “horse” and harness, dress and cart,
No Chinaman would give his “wife”;
Her heart is sick for light and love,
Her face is often fair and sweet,
And her intelligence above
The minds of all she’s like to meet.

She reads, by slush-lamp light, may be,
When she has dragged her dreary round,
And dreams of cities by the sea
(Where butter’s up, so much the pound),
Of different men from those she knows,
Of shining tides and broad, bright streams;
Of theatres and city shows,
And her release! She has her dreams.

Could I gain her a little rest,
A little light, if but for one,
I think that it would be the best
Of any good I may have done.
But, after all, the paths we go
Are not so glorious as they seem,
And—if t’will help her heart to know—
I’ve had my dream. ‘Twas but a dream.

All My Life A Loner

©Graeme Cook April 2009

For more than seven decades, it has always felt so good,
To stride about this countryside of rocks and dust and wood,
And breathe the air afresh, not taste the cities’ grime,
Amongst the bush and wildlife, a truly perfect time.

The Sun is not as harsh, as some human elements I have seen,
And the bush nowhere as cruel, as some towns where I have been,
Surrounded by the stars, there’s been no loneliness in my nights,
P’raps seen the greatest clarity, down a battered rifle’s sights.

From my years out on the Snowy, to all the time I’ve spent out West,
In me I found my own best friend, without much need for all the rest,
I shot roos, and mustered cattle; coaxed this earth for sparkling gold,
The days rolled into years, until I found that I’d grown old.

Throughout my life, my family held, a distant loving bond,
Though they could never slake my thirsting, for all the great beyond,
I move along a new trek now, and know I’ll always miss,
The touch of folk who loved me, and the joy of Nature’s kiss.

Clancy of the Overflow

by Andrew Barton ‘Banjo’ Paterson, The Bulletin, 21 December 1889.

I had written him a letter which I had, for want of better
Knowledge, sent to where I met him down the Lachlan, years ago,
He was shearing when I knew him, so I sent the letter to him,
Just ‘on spec’ addressed as follows: ‘Clancy of The Overflow’.

And an answer came directed in a writing unexpected,
(and I think the same was written with a thumbnail dipped in tar)
‘Twas his shearing mate who wrote it, and verbatim I will quote it:
“Clancy’s gone to Queensland droving, and we don’t know where he are.”

In my wild erratic fancy, visions came to me of Clancy
Gone a-droving ‘down the Cooper’ where the western drovers go
As the stock are slowly stringing, Clancy rides behind them singing,
For the drover’s life has pleasures that the townfolk never know.

And the bush hath friends to meet him, and their kindly voices greet him
In the murmur of the breezes and river on it’s bars,
And he sees the vision splendid of the sunlit plains extended,
And at night the wondrous glory of the everlasting stars.

I am sitting in my dingy little office, where a stingy
Ray of sunlight struggles feebly down between the houses tall,
And the foetid air and gritty of the dusty, dirty city
Through the open window floating, spreads it’s foulness over all.

And in place of lowing cattle, I can hear the fiendish rattle
Of the tramways and the buses making hurry down the street,
And the language uninviting of the gutter children fighting,
Comes fitfully and faintly through the ceaseless tramp of feet

And the hurrying people daunt me, and their pallid faces haunt me
As they shoulder one another in their rush and nervous haste,
With their eager eyes and greedy, and their stunted forms and weedy,
For townsfolk have no time to grow, they have no time to waste.

And I somehow rather fancy that I’d like to trade with Clancy,
Like to take a turn at droving where the seasons come and go,
While he faced the round eternal of the cashbook and the journal-
But I doubt he’d suit the office, Clancy, of ‘The Overflow’.

Close The Gate

by Nancy Kraayenhof.

For this one farmer the worries are over, lie down and rest your head,
Your time has been and struggles enough, put the tractor in the shed.
Years were not easy, many downright hard, but your faith in God transcended,
Put away your tools and sleep in peace. The fences have all been mended.
You raised a fine family, worked the land well and always followed the Son,
Hang up your shovel inside of the barn; your work here on earth is done.
A faith few possess led your journey through life, often a jagged and stony way,
The sun is setting, the cattle are all bedded, and here now is the end of your day.
Your love of God’s soil has passed on to your kin; the stories flow like fine wine,
Wash off your work boots in the puddle left by blessed rain one final time.
You always believed that the good Lord would provide and He always had somehow,
Take off your gloves and put them down, no more sweat and worry for you now.
Your labor is done, your home now is heaven; no more must you wait,
Your legacy lives on, your love of the land, and we will close the gate.

Country Girl

Author: Jacqueline Coelho

She’s just a Country Girl
With her blonde hair down and a smile on,
She’s got her hands in her pockets of her wrangler jeans.

Scuffs on her boots from all the mud,
Wind on her face from the summer breeze,
While laying in the grass looking up at the stars,
Thinking about love and being in his arms,

From being on the farm, to in a store
Jeans and a hat are always wore,
From country to rock, this country girl never stops.

She’ll dance in the rain, but never will walk in shame
She’s just a country girl loving life.

God Speed the Plough

 (aka “the farmer’s arms” the first verse is part of an old English  farmers song heard on Ploughman’s Monday and is also a Morris Dancing song.) (Verses 2,3,4 by Bennett Konesni) 

Let the wealthy and great, roll in splendor and state,
I envy them not I declare it
I eat my own lamb
My own chickens and ham
I shear my own fleece and I wear it
I have lawns I have bowers
I have fruits I have flowers
The lark is my early alarmer

So Jolly boys now Here’s God speed the plough
Long life and success to the farmer
Well I wake every morn
To the dew on the corn when light hasn’t quite touched the sky-o
To the lowing of cows
And the grunting of sows
And the mare with a glint in her eye-o

There are deals to be made,
There are debts to be paid,
To feed madame credit, the charmer

So Jolly boys now
Here’s God speed the plough
Long life and success to the farmer
Well I think every day of my girl far away
of the riches she’ll find on her travels
of the sharp foreign smells and the barbaric yells
and the fine silty loams and the gravels
But they can’t be as fine
As just spending some time in the field in the dusk in the summer

So Jolly boys now
Here’s God speed the plough
Long life and success to the farmer
Well of all that I love
Under heaven above these things are the best of them all-o
It’s the smell of the land and the touch of your hand
how it grips soft and warm close to mine-o
and your voice like a bell well it casts quite a spell
an arrow to pierce through the armour

So Jolly boys now
Here’s God speed the plough
Long life and success to the farmer

My Country

by © 1904 Dorothea MacKellar

The love of field and coppice, of green and shaded lanes,
Of ordered woods and gardens is running in your veins.
Strong love of grey-blue distance, brown streams and soft, dim skies-
I know but cannot share it, my love is otherwise.

I love a sunburnt country, a land of sweeping plains,
Of ragged mountain ranges, of droughts and flooding rains.
I love her far horizons, I love her jewel-sea,
Her beauty and her terror- the wide brown land for me!

The stark white ring-barked forests, all tragic to the moon,
The sapphire-misted mountains, the hot gold hush of noon,
Green tangle of the brushes where lithe lianas coil,
And orchids deck the tree-tops, and ferns the warm dark soil.

Core of my heart, my country! Her pitiless blue sky,
When, sick at heart, around us we see the cattle die –
But then the grey clouds gather, and we can bless again
The drumming of an army, the steady soaking rain.

Core of my heart, my country! Land of the rainbow gold,
For flood and fire and famine she pays us back threefold.
Over the thirsty paddocks, watch, after many days,
The filmy veil of greenness that thickens as we gaze.

An opal-hearted country, a wilful, lavish land –
All you who have not loved her, you will not understand –
Though earth holds many splendours, wherever I may die,
I know to what brown country my homing thoughts will fly.

Over The Range

by Andrew Barton ‘Banjo’ Paterson

Little bush maiden, wondering-eyed,
Playing alone in the creek-bed dry,
In the small green flat on every side
Walled in by the Moonbi ranges high;
Tell me the tale of your lonely life
‘Mid the great grey forests that know no change.
“I never have left my home,” she said,
“I have never been over the Moonbi Range.

“Father and mother are long since dead,
And I live with granny in yon wee place.”
“Where are your father and mother?” I said.
She puzzled awhile with thoughtful face,
Then a light came into the shy brown face,
And she smiled, for she thought the question strange
On a thing so certain — “When people die
They go to the country over the range.”

“And what is this country like, my lass?”
“There are blossoming trees and pretty flowers
And shining creeks where the golden grass
Is fresh and sweet from the summer showers.
They never need work, nor want, nor weep;
No troubles can come their hearts to estrange.
Some summer night I shall fall asleep,
And wake in the country over the range.”

Child, you are wise in your simple trust,
For the wisest man knows no more than you.
Ashes to ashes, and dust to dust:
Our views by a range are bounded too;
But we know that God hath this gift in store,
That, when we come to the final change,
We shall meet with our loved ones gone before
To the beautiful country over the range.

Rain from Nowhere

by Murray Hartin

His cattle didn’t get a bid, they were fairly bloody poor,
What was he going to do? He couldn’t feed them anymore,
The dams were all but dry, hay was thirteen bucks a bale,
Last month’s talk of rain was just a fairytale,
His credit had run out, no chance to pay what’s owed,
Bad thoughts ran through his head as he drove down Gully Road.
“Geez, great grandad bought the place back in 1898,
“Now I’m such a useless bastard, I’ll have to shut the gate.
“Can’t support my wife and kids, not like dad and those before,
“Crikey, Grandma kept it going while Pop fought in the war.”
With depression now his master, he abandoned what was right,
There’s no place in life for failures, he’d end it all tonight.
There were still some things to do, he’d have to shoot the cattle first,
Of all the jobs he’d ever done, that would be the worst.
He’d have a shower, watch the news, then they’d all sit down for tea
Read his kids a bedtime story, watch some more TV,
Kiss his wife goodnight, say he was off to shoot some roos
Then in a paddock far away he’d blow away the blues.
But he drove in the gate and stopped – as he always had
To check the roadside mailbox – and found a letter from his Dad.
Now his dad was not a writer, Mum did all the cards and mail
But he knew the writing from the notebooks that he’d kept from cattle sales,
He sensed the nature of its contents, felt moisture in his eyes,
Just the fact his dad had written was enough to make him cry.
“Son, I know it’s bloody tough, it’s a cruel and twisted game”,
“This life upon the land when you’re screaming out for rain”,
“There’s no candle in the darkness, not a single speck of light”
“But don’t let the demon get you, you have to do what’s right”,
“I don’t know what’s in your head but push the bad thoughts well away”
“See, you’ll always have your family at the back end of the day”
“You have to talk to someone, and yes I know I rarely did”
“But you have to think about Fiona and think about the kids”.
“I’m worried about you son, you haven’t rung for quite a while,
I know the road you’re on ‘cause I’ve walked every bloody mile.
The date? December 7 back in 1983,
Behind the shed I had the shotgun rested in the brigalow tree.
See, I’d borrowed way too much to buy the Johnson place
Then it didn’t rain for years and we got bombed by interest rates,
The bank was at the door, I didn’t think I had a choice,
I began to squeeze the trigger – that’s when I heard your voice.
“You said ‘Where are you Daddy? It’s time to play our game’
“I’ve got Squatter all set up, we might get General Rain.’
“It really was that close, you’re the one that stopped me son,
“And you’re the one that taught me there’s no answer in a gun.
“Just remember people love you, good friends won’t let you down.
“Look, you might have to swallow pride and take that job in town,
“Just ’til things come good, son, you’ve always got a choice
“And when you get this letter ring me, ’cause I’d love to hear your voice.”
Well he cried and laughed and shook his head then put the truck in gear,
Shut his eyes and hugged his dad in a vision that was clear,
Dropped the cattle at the yards, put the truck away
Filled the troughs the best he could and fed his last ten bales of hay.
Then he strode towards the homestead, shoulders back and head held high,
He still knew the road was tough but there was purpose in his eye.
He called his wife and children, who’d lived through all his pain,
Hugs said more than words – he’d come back to them again,
They talked of silver linings, how good times always follow bad,
Then he walked towards the phone, picked it up and rang his Dad.
And while the kids set up the Squatter, he hugged his wife again,
Then they heard the roll of thunder and they smelt the smell of rain.

The Farmer

By © Joy Allen 2018

Quietly he said goodbye
A charmed gentle man,
Loving husband, father, brother and friend.
He walked many days upon farming land
Feeling most at home with a glowing farmer’s tan.
His humour was renown
His wit was quick
some even called him
King of country slap stick.
He tended his land with passion and pride
He especially loved animals
And creatures of all kind.
His family was his pride and joy
Loving Dad to charming two girls and a strapping boy.
He shared his bushcraft
And love of the land
And encouraged his family
To be the best that they can.
When times were tough he sheltered his clan
Instilling the virtues of giving
Being humble and resourceful
And respecting their precious land.
When he grew tired
He gathered his loved ones near
And said go forth, be happy
be healthy; live without fear.
His spirit will always live on
In generations of tomorrow –
So, let your memories most precious
shine through your sorrow.

The Farmer’s Creed

by Author Unknown

I believe a person’s greatest possession is their dignity and that no
calling bestows this more abundantly than farming.
I believe hard work and honest sweat are the building blocks of a person’s
character.
I believe that farming, despite its hardships and disappointments, is the
most honest and honorable way a person can spend their days on this earth.
I believe farming provides education for life and that no other occupation
teaches so much about birth, growth and maturity in such a variety of ways.
I believe many of the best things in life are free:  the splendor of a
sunrise; the rapture of wide-open spaces; the exhilarating sight of your
land greening each spring.
I believe true happiness comes from watching your crops ripen in the field
and your children grow tall in the sun.
I believe my life will be measured ultimately by what I have done for my
fellow man.
I believe in farming because it makes all this possible.

The Farmer’s Toast/ The Farmer’s Arms

By Author Unknown.

 (There are numerous versions of this old  English farmers song, heard on Ploughman’s Monday, and is also a Morris Dancing song)

I have lawns, I have bowers, I have fields, I have flowers
And the lark is my daily alarmer
So jolly boys now, here’s God speed the plough
Long life and success to the farmer

Come all jolly fellows who delight in being mellow
Attend unto me I beseech you
For a pint when it’s quiet, come boys let us try it
For thinking will drive a man crazy

I will hunt when it’s quiet. Come on, let us try it!

Dull thinking drives anyone crazy.

Come sit at my table, all those who are able
And I’ll hear not one word of complaining
For the tinkling of glasses all music surpasses
And I long to see bottles a-draining

For here I am king, I can laugh, drink and sing
And let no man approach as a stranger
Just show me the ass who refuses a glass
And I’ll treat him to hay in a manger

Let the wealthy and great roll in splendour and state,
I envy them not, I declare it
For I eat my own ham, my own chickens and lamb
And I shear my own fleece and I wear it

Were it not for my seeding you’d have but poor feeding
I’m sure you would all starve without me
But I am content when I paid my rent
And I’m happy when friends are about me.

I have lawns, I have bowers, I have fields, I have flowers
And the lark is my daily alarmer
So jolly boys now, here’s God speed the plough
Long life and success to the farmer

The Old Farmers Prayer

By Steve Watkins,  

Time just keeps moving on ​
Many years have come and gone ​
But I grow older without regret ​
My hopes are in what may come yet.​
On the farm I work each day ​
This is where I wish to stay ​
I watch the seeds each season sprout ​
From the soil as the plants rise out.​
I study Nature and I learn ​
To know the earth and feel her turn ​
I love her dearly and all the seasons ​
For I have learned her secret reasons. ​
All that will live is in the bosom of Earth ​
She is the loving mother of all birth ​
But all that lives must pass away ​
And go back again to her someday. ​
My life too will pass from Earth ​
But do not grieve, I say, there will be other birth ​
When my body is old and all spent ​
And my soul to Heaven has went. ​
Please compost and spread me on this plain ​
So my body Mother Earth can claim ​
That is where I wish to be ​
Then Nature can nourish new life with me. ​
So do not for me grieve and weep ​
I did not leave, I only sleep ​
I am with the soil here below ​
Where I can nourish life of beauty and glow. ​
Here I can help the falling rain ​
Grow golden fields of ripening grain ​
From here I can join the winds that blow ​
And meet the softly falling snow. ​
Here I can help the sun’s warming light ​
Grow food for birds of gliding flight ​
I can be in the beautiful flowers of spring ​
And in every other lovely thing. ​
So do not for me weep and cry ​
I am here, I do not die. ​

The Winds’ Message

by Andrew Barton ‘Banjo’ Paterson, Snowy River, 20 October 1895

There came a whisper down the Bland between the dawn and dark,
Above the tossing of the pines, above the river’s flow;
It stirred the boughs of giant gums and stalwart ironbark;
It drifted where the wild ducks played amid the swamps below;
It brought a breath of mountain air from off the hills of pine,
A scent of eucalyptus trees in honey-laden bloom;
And drifting, drifting far away along the southern line
It caught from leaf and grass and fern a subtle strange perfume.

It reached the toiling city folk, but few there were that heard —
The rattle of their busy life had choked the whisper down;
And some but caught a fresh-blown breeze with scent of pine that stirred
A thought of blue hills far away beyond the smoky town;
And others heard the whisper pass, but could not understand
The magic of the breeze’s breath that set their hearts aglow,
Nor how the roving wind could bring across the Overland
A sound of voices silent now and songs of long ago.

But some that heard the whisper clear were filled with vague unrest;
The breeze had brought its message home, they could not fixed abide;
Their fancies wandered all the day towards the blue hills’ breast,
Towards the sunny slopes that lie along the riverside,
The mighty rolling western plains are very fair to see,
Where waving to the passing breeze the silver myalls stand,
But fairer are the giant hills, all rugged though they be,
From which the two great rivers rise that run along the Bland.
Oh! rocky range and rugged spur and river running clear,
That swings around the sudden bends with swirl of snow-white foam,
Though we, your sons, are far away, we sometimes seem to hear
The message that the breezes bring to call the wanderers home.
The mountain peaks are white with snow that feeds a thousand rills,
Along the river banks the maize grows tall on virgin land,
And we shall live to see once more those sunny southern hills,
And strike once more the bridle track that leads along the Bland.

(The Bland is a county in the southern districts of New South Wales.)

 


TOP OF PAGE                               HOME


CRICKET

 

Cricketer’s Last Boundary

by Michael Ashby

Weeping willows formed an honour guard
For the cricket ball writ with a noble name
A team of ten, which had once been eleven
Would never be the same side again.

No bails united the forlorn stumps
Since this wicket had fallen some days ago
And as the bowler delivered to the lone batsman
The hushed crowd willed a six to go.

The magical sound of leather on willow
The sweet smell of freshly cut grass
The cricketer crossing the last boundary
To a third innings that would forever last.

Now is September Passing Through

By Leslie Frewin

Now is September passing through,
The golden days are over, swift they came
With soft expectancy and magic new
Tempting our senses with ephemeral fame.
O, there has been much laughter, much that’s fine
Where flannelled fools have roved, and umpires called
Not Out! And now the darkness sets in other time
To hush the scene which once the wickets ruled.
The night has come, let’s close the echoing bar
Where evenings, after match, good fellowship was all,
But thoughts again will wander to a summer far
Ahead of winter, and to bat and ball.
Now is September passing through
The rusted gates of wind and storm and rain,

The cold is cold, and fires leap anew
Until the cricket season comes again
As come it will, when winter’s chafing hand
Conjures the dreamed-of scores that might-have-been,
When pads will re-emerge, and wickets proudly stand
Once more upon the village and the county green.
And who shall play again?  Whose names be on the card,
In some new season, by pavilion door?
Who, too, shall toast with sadness and regard
The bowled September men who’ll play no more?

The Cricketer’s Prayer

by the players of East Leeds Cricket Club

Our Leather
Which we hit with willow
Boundaries be thy aim
Thy googly comes
Thy may be out as it is
According to the Umpire’s finger
Give us this day our daily innings
And forgive us our LBW’s
As we forgive them that stump us
Lead us not back to the pavilion
But deliver us from a duck
For thine is a silly mid off
With a deep backward short leg
And cover point
For over and over
‘Owzat!

The Final Innings

By Author unknown

Let us gather, my friends, in the twilight’s glow,
To celebrate the life, of the cricketer we know,
The runs and the wickets, the victories won,
A love for the game, that’ll never be undone.

In every stride, each ball that takes flight,
We’ll remember your journey, your unwavering fight,
Through joy and sorrow, laughter and tears,
The innings you played, the memories we’ll revere.

The final innings, a tribute we raise,
To the cricketer we loved, in so many ways,
A celebration of life, a love evergreen,
On the pitch of our hearts, forever serene.

 

When an Old Cricketer Leaves the Crease

By Roy Harper – (also released as a song, it includes references to Geoff Boycott  and fastbowler John Snow.

When the day is done, and the ball has spun, in the umpire’s pocket away
And all remains, in the groundsman’s pains for the rest of time and a day
There’ll be one mad dog and his master, pushing for four with the spin
On a dusty pitch, with two pounds six of willow wood in the sun

When an old cricketer leaves the crease, you never know whether he’s gone
If sometimes you’re catching a fleeting glimpse of a twelfth man at silly mid-on
And it could be Geoff, and it could be John, with a new ball sting in his tail
And it could be me, and it could be thee, and it could be the sting in the ale
Sting in the ale.

When an old cricketer leaves the crease, well you never know whether he’s gone
If sometimes you’re catching a fleeting glimpse of a twelfth man at silly mid-on
And it could be Geoff and it could be John, with a new ball sting in his tail
And it could be me and it could be thee, and it could be the sting in the ale
The sting in the ale.

When the moment comes and the gathering stands and the clock turns back to reflect
On the years of grace as those footsteps trace for the last time out of the act
Well this way of life’s recollection, the hallowed strip in the haze
The fabled men and the noonday sun are much more than just yarns of their days.

When an old cricketer leaves the crease, well you never know whether he’s gone
If sometimes you’re catching a fleeting glimpse of a twelfth man at silly mid-on
And it could be Geoff and it could be John with a new ball sting in his tail
And it could be me and it could be thee and it could be the sting in the ale
The sting in the ale.

When an old cricketer leaves the crease, well you never know whether he’s gone
If sometimes you’re catching a fleeting glimpse of a twelfth man at silly mid-on
And it could be me and it could be thee.

CYCLISTS

Oh! Bury me in Lycra!

By Author Unknown

With a bike-shaped brooch above my heart
Take me not by motor-hearse
But pulled by trike, upon a cart

Give my spare parts so some young buck
May make a start upon the road
Take the pannier of life
And balance carefully his load

Clean your rims, my friend! For you may find
When you clear the hilly top
That the brakes of life may seize
And take you to a messy stop

Oh! Bury me in Lycra!
So when I get to heaven’s gate
St. Peter in his wisdom
Can take the mick out of my weight

Take my ash, and let it fly,
O’er the land of Shimano
But save some for Italia fair
And the fields of Campagno(lo)

So take this Cateye, let it shine
In the dark, where’er ‘tis found
And fettle not my bottom bracket
Afore ye lay me in the ground

 

DANCE

Albert Einstein Quote

“We dance for laughter, we dance for tears, we dance for madness, we dance for fears, we dance for hopes, we dance for screams, we are the dancers, we create the dreams.”

 

Dance

By © Paul Hayward, Published: November 2015

Open your heart to happiness.
Let every pore absorb light.
Swim in the joy of the here and now,
And cast off the darkness of night.
Walk in the summer of sunshine.
Fly in the blueness of sky.
Know possibilities are boundless.
Understand that nothing can die.
Step from the shadows of torment.
Sing ’til your throat gets too sore.
Smile for as long as the day is,
And laugh just a little bit more.
Breathe slowly and deeply and listen.
Give all your ideas a chance.
Let the sun beat down on your goodness,
And kick off your shoes and dance.

Dance Me to The End Of Love

By Leonard Cohen

Dance me to your beauty with a burning violin
Dance me through the panic ’til I’m gathered safely in
Lift me like an olive branch and be my homeward dove
Dance me to the end of love
Dance me to the end of love

Dance of Life

By David Harris, 17 June 2007

Sometimes we do the rumba,
a foxtrot or a jive,
as we dance through our life,
each and every day.

We dance and we dance,
each day through.
Everyday to a different tune,
just to get us through.

In all our loving moments,
we waltz through life,
and in those complicated moments,
we will twist the whole night through.

For everything we do,
there is a dance to get us through.
For every day,
we dance our life away.

Dance Unto the Light

By Katrina S. Lucas

Dance my friends and sway,
To beauty, to laughter, to love,
For this is the most perfect day,
A perfect gift from above!
Dance unto the light,
Catch the stars bright,
For perfect are the angels love,
From the One Most High above!
Dance, dance, dance
As the music plays on,
Dance, Dance, Dance,
As we listen to their song.
Dance unto the light,
Star light, star bright,
Watch as the baby is born,
On a most glorious morn?
Dance unto the light,
Catch the stars so bright,
Yes He died on a tree,
But He died for Victory!
dance unto the light,
We dance unto the night,
The song has been sung,
For He has finally won!

 

Dance with Me Tonight

By Kristi Day

I want to dance with you for a life time
Hold you close to my heart,
Stop the hands of time
Make the world give us a little more time.
To feel our bodies close swaying together
To music that only we can hear,
Letting it sweep us into Heaven
Come, dance with me there.
We’ll dance forever; never let go
Hearts in tune hand to hand,
Building love between us
That we barely can stand.
Candles low no bright lights
Our love will light the way,
Come hold me close; dance with me
Til the night breaks to day.
Feel our bodies pressed close
As close as skin to skin,
Open your heart to me baby
Come on, let me in
Fill my senses with your rush
Let me taste your deep kiss,
Hold me tightly to your heart.
Never have I felt like this
Never will I feel it again
For within your arms I’ve died,
I’ve gone to heaven in your love
These are happy tears I’ve cried.
Never have I been so loved
Or felt so much love for anyone,
Dance with me honey
Until the night is done.
Dance with me until the world is done
I can’t resist your charms,
Dance with me and hold me close
Let me die within your arms.
Don’t ever let me go
Dancing with you is so right,
I will never let you go
Come …. dance with me tonight.

 

I Could Have Danced All Night

Song written by Alan Jay Lerner

Bed, bed I couldn’t go to bed
My head’s too light to try to set it down
Sleep, sleep I couldn’t sleep tonight
Not for all the jewels in the crown

I could have danced all night
I could have danced all night
And still have begged for more
I could have spread my wings
And done a thousand things
I’ve never done before

I’ll never know what made it so exciting
Why all at once my heart took flight
I only know when he
Began to dance with me
I could have danced, danced, danced all night

(It’s after three now
Don’t you agree now?
She ought to be in bed)

I could have danced all night (You’re tired out, you must be dead)
I could have danced all night (Your face is drawn, your eyes are red)
And still have begged for more (Now say goodnight, turn out the light)
(Please, it’s really time for you to be in bed)

I could have spread my wings (Do come along, do as you’re told)
And done a thousand things (Or Mrs. Pierce is ou to scold)
I’ve never done before (You’re up too late, please, it sure is late)
(Miss, you’ll catch a cold)

I’ll never know what made it so exciting
Why all at once my heart took flight
I only know when he (Put down your book, the work’ll keep)
Began to dance with me (Now settle down and go to sleep)
I could have danced, danced, danced all night

(I understand, dear
It’s all been grand, dear
But now it’s time to sleep)

I could have danced all night
I could have danced all night
And still have begged for more
I could have spread my wings
And done a thousand things
I’ve never done before

I’ll never know what made it so exciting
Why all at once my heart took flight
I only know when he began to dance with me
I could have danced, danced, danced all night

 

I Dance For The Love

By Amy Lee, 12/9/2008

I dance for the love

I dance even when I feel pain
I dance knowing there’s something to gain

I dance for the love

I dance for me
I dance for everyone to see

I dance for the love

I dance as the sunshine
I dance hoping you will be mine

I dance for the love

I dance with words to say
I dance all day

I dance for the love

I dance even when you leave
I dance and still believe

I dance for the love

 

I Praise The Dance

By Saint Augustine

“I praise the dance, for it frees people
from the heaviness of matter and binds the isolated to community.
I praise the dance, which demands everything:
health and a clear spirit and a buoyant soul.

Dance is a transformation of space, of time, of people,
who are in constant danger of becoming all brain, will, or feeling.

Dancing demands a whole person,
one who is firmly anchored in the centre of his life,
who is not obsessed by lust for people and things
and the demon of isolation in his own ego.

Dancing demands a freed person,
one who vibrates with the equipoise of all his powers.

I praise the dance.
O man, learn to dance,
or else the angels in heaven will not know what to do with you.”

Tea Dance Poem

From www.ybfdance.com, ​Copyright © 2021

It’s the Sunday tea dance, and they’ll all be here today,
Aches and pains forgotten, dance the afternoon away.
Foxtrots, Quicksteps, Waltzes, some are slow but some are still nifty,
With memories of how it was way back in 1950.

Norman’s in the toilet and he’s struggling to pee,
He’s got trouble with his prostate, and he’ll likely miss tea.
Eddy’s got a new love that he met at Thornton Heath,
She does a lovely Tango, but she hasn’t any teeth.

His latest fancy footwork nearly broke his partner’s neck,
She mistook his Outside Swivel for a Travelling Contra Check.
Ida’s had her hair done and she’s ready for the Saunter,
She had a vindaloo last night and it’s coming back to haunt her.

Florry’s mini-skirts revealing when she’s spinning in the Jive,
She really shouldn’t wear a thong, approaching 85.
They’ve had their tea and cake and chat and had a little laugh.
And gamely rise with creaking knees to face the second half.

Norman’s made it back in time for Rumba Number One,
His Cucarachas very neat, but he’s left his flies undone.
Vera’s fallen over in a massive Crimplene heap,
Bert’s got indigestion and Mabel’s fast asleep.

It’s the Last Waltz time and up they get,
For Humperdinck’s old tune,
And then; ‘Goodbye, Good Luck, Take Care,
God willing See You Soon.’

 

The Tea Dance

By Beryl Edmonds – 25th January 2017

Couples are twirling across the dance floor
And I wonder why I am here at all
Seems a long time since you and I were here
Yet it was only this same time last year.

A year feeling so lonely and blue
Since the unspeakable day I lost you
I’m here because friends said I must try
Letting go and waving the tears goodbye.

Remember how we made our special date
Same day of the week and at the same place
Behaving like young teenagers we were
Tho’ we’d been married many a year.

I would be wearing a favourite dress
You as always looking your usual best
Feeling like Cinderella at the Ball
With the most handsome Prince Charming of all.

O my goodness, whatever do I see
Is that a man coming over to me
I feel a blush come from neck to my face
And my poor heart is beginning to race.

He’s asked me if I would care to dance
Can’t refuse, so I’ll take the chance
Trembling as he takes me into his arms
Gliding together as the music starts.

I hear you whisper softly in my ear
“Take a step forward, don’t worry dear
You have my blessing, your life to enhance
Keep dancing to music of the Tea Dance.”

DARTS

Darts

by Christina Dunhill

The darts were faithful like hawks.
The picture of them on the box was faithful
to what lay inside. Three new darts with orange flights
in velveted plastic grooves.

Their perfect grips, each tiny steel bubble firm,
each indentation clean, asked for your fingers.
You’d splay the single fronds along your cheek,
then smooth them back.

The moment when you took them lightly
and raised them to your ear, contained the moment
when your eye and wrist would drive them home.
A pledge.

Joe Hitchcock

By © 1975 Noel E. Williamson

Wherever dartsmen congregate,
Whenever darts teams meet, –
The conversation always turns
Towards the game’s elite!
The ones who are outstanding,
Consistently the best,
And of these, there’s one whom I
Must rate above the rest!
If you’ve seen his exhibitions,
Then you must agree with me,
He’s in a class all of his own,
Superlative is he!
Let it be known to one and all
For whom darts is the game, –
There is a Master Dartsman, –
Joe Hitchcock is his name!

 

Take It Easy!

By ©1972 Noel E. Williamson

When playing darts, it is agreed,
A steady hand is what you need.
A good eye and a perfect stance.
(For darts is not a game of chance!)
Don’t look to right or left at all,
For that is how the mighty fall!
The board is your target, – not the mat,
So, be careful what you’re aiming at!
Forget what is happening all around,
And keep both feet upon the ground;
Don’t let anything hurry you,
And let each dart fly straight and true!
Once you have acquired the knack,
Believe me, you will not look back!

The Eight- Foot Mark!

By © 1972 Noel E. Williamson

There are those who prefer the shorter throw
And those who prefer the long,
And it hardly matters from where you aim
If your darts are going wrong!

Just throw your best, and throw with zest,
And remember the follow-through,
And practice whenever you get the chance
If you know what’s good for you!

Don’t ‘get your feet wet’ when you throw,
And to this advice please hark,
Take up a firm but easy stance –
Behind the eight-foot mark!

DEMENTIA

Please see:


TOP OF PAGE                               HOME


DISABILITY & PARALYSIS

see also:

Caged Bird

By Maya Angelou

A free bird leaps
on the back of the wind
and floats downstream
till the current ends
and dips his wing
in the orange sun rays
and dares to claim the sky.

But a bird that stalks
down his narrow cage
can seldom see through
his bars of rage
his wings are clipped and
his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings
with a fearful trill
of things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom.

The free bird thinks of another breeze
and the trade winds soft through the sighing trees
and the fat worms waiting on a dawn bright lawn
and he names the sky his own

But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams
his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings
with a fearful trill
of things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom.

I’m Free

By Author Unverified – This poem is attributed to various authors & titles

Don’t grieve for me, for now I’m free,
I’m following the path God laid for me.
I took his hand when I heard his call,
I turned my back and left it all.

I could not stay another day,
To laugh, to love, to work, to play.
Tasks left undone must stay that way,
I’ve found that peace at the close of the day.

If my parting has left a void,
Then fill it with remembered joy.
A friendship shared, a laugh, a kiss,
Ah yes, these things I too will miss.

Be not burdened with times of sorrow,
I wish you the sunshine of tomorrow.
My Life’s been full, I savoured much,
Good friends, good times, a loved one’s touch,

Perhaps my time seemed all too brief,
Don’t lengthen it now with undue grief.
Lift up your heart and share with me,
God wanted me now, He set me free.

The Bird that was Trapped has Flown

by James Robertson, in memoriam of Vicky Patterson

The bird that was trapped has flown
The sky that was grey is blue
The bone that was dead has grown
The dream that was dreamed is true

The door that was locked has swung wide
The prisoner has been set free
The lips that were sealed have cried
The eye that was blind can see

The tree that was bare is green
The room that was dull is bright
The sheet that was soiled is clean
The dawn that was dark is light

The road that was blocked has no end
The unknown journey is known
The heart that is hurt will mend
The bird that was trapped has flown

To Be Free

by ©  Monica Moore, Published: April 2015

At last I’m free from the cage.
No longer am I filled with rage.

I am free from all stress,
Free of anger and all the rest.

I am free from being harmed.
Now I welcome life’s challenges with open arms.

This is my new beginning,
This is my time to shine.
Finally, opportunity is mine.

Nothing can stop me,
I’m a girl with a dream.
Everything I have ever wished for,
I can now redeem.

I am free to dance, free to sing.
I now see that life is a beautiful thing.

This amazing world is mine to explore,
But most importantly…
I’m free to be me

DOCTOR WHO

Take my memories. But I hope you’ve got a big appetite because I’ve lived a long life and I’ve seen a few things. I walked away from the Last Great Time War. I marked the passing of the Time Lords. I saw the birth of the universe and I watched as time ran out, moment by moment, until nothing remained. No time. No space. Just me. I walked in universes where the laws of physics were devised by the mind of a madman. I’ve watched universes freeze and creations burn. I have seen things you wouldn’t believe. I have lost things you will never understand. And I know things, secrets that must never be told and knowledge that must never be spoken.

  • Spoken by actor Matt Smith as The Doctor in the episode The Rings of Akhaten.

 

Hey, do you mind if I tell you a story? One you might not have heard. All the elements in your body were forged many, many millions of years ago in the heart of a far away star that exploded and died. That explosion scattered those elements across the desolations of deep space. After so, so many millions of years these elements came together to form new stars and new planets. And on and on it went. The elements came together and burst apart forming shoes and ships and sealing wax and cabbages and kings. Until, eventually, they came together to make you. You are unique in the universe. There is only one Merry Galel and there will never be another.

  • Spoken by actor Matt Smith as The Doctor

 

Rule one of dying: don’t. Rule two: slow down. You’ve got the rest of your life. The faster you think, the slower it will pass. Concentrate. Assume you’re going to survive. Always assume that. Imagine you’ve already survived. There’s a storeroom in your mind. Lock the door and think. This is my storeroom. I always imagine that I’m back in my TARDIS, showing off. Telling you how I escaped—making you laugh. That’s what I’m doing right now. I am falling, Clara. I’m dying. And I’m going to explain to you how I survived. Can’t wait to hear what I say. I’m nothing without an audience.

  • The 12th Doctor portrayed by Peter Capaldi

 

One day, I will come back. Yes, I shall come back. Until then there must be no regrets, no tears, no anxieties. Just go forward in all your beliefs, and prove to me that I am not mistaken in mine.

  • The 1st Doctor, portrayed by William Hartnell in “The Dalek Invasion Of Earth”:

DRIVING

The Driver

©Graeme Cook July 2009

Some folk drive for transport, just a means unto an end,
They treat cars as a mere machine, and not a trusted friend,
Concerned only for the badge in front, how bright it may be shining,
And the many pretty toys inside, their egos there defining.
The driver sees it differently, with their car becomes a part,
Take the road together, hit the road, with a single beating heart,
The turbo’s rising wail, and the exhaust’s muscled, subtle growl,
To the driver’s ear, an orchestra, there’s music in that howl.

For you can feel the engine, as the revs rise at your command,
Feeling the lusty thrust of power, that answers your demand,
How the clutch feels underfoot, as each gear is selected,
The steering too, how it responds, to where it is directed,

The road you feel, within your palms, at every bend you take,
Every bump and line and camber, each triumph and mistake,
Your car it tells you all of this, for this is truly livin’,
Petrol flowing through the veins, and ways it can be driven.

Not just a freeway drive, but each outing on a mission,
And not a veering trundle, but a task of deep precision,
Not the tedium of traffic, relief at the arriving,
The thrill is in the journey, and the passion in the driving.

The Open Road

By Author Unknown

Ahead of me lies an open road
free from pain and suffering.
A road of adventure and wonder,
of endless possibility.
Ahead of me lies an open road
The road of eternity to travel
and yet I remain with you always
You will find me in tranquility.
Ahead of me lies an open road
where many have travelled before me.
I drive on into the mystery of what is to be
Once again feeling full of vitality.
Ahead of me lies an open road
and it’s time for me to travel.
As I step on the gas I salute you all
For ahead of me lies an open road
One that I alone must travel.

The Race of Motoring Dreams

By Matt  Langdon

Let me tell a story,
Of tranquil little place,
A place that every year,
Holds a legendary race,
A race that’s built up legend,
Of men and their machine,
A race that only 19 men,
Have more than one win gleaned.
It started out 500 mile,
Way back in ’63,
When cars were all stock standard,
Reliability the key.
A time when drivers had a flat,
They’d stop beside the track,
Pull out the jack and spare,
And get themselves back on track.
These were the days before V8s,
Ever thundered round,
Unlike the race we see today,
Where V8s shake the ground.
It was late into the sixties,
Before they took their place,
Since then only six times,
Has a V8 been displaced.
Cars from here Down Under,
And many from abroad,
Came every year to try and notch,
A win up on the board.
Many tried and failed,
Though deserving they may have been,
Many cars and drivers,
Laboured years without a win.
This race has proven torture,
And shattered many dreams,
Who could forget in ’95
Glenn Seton’s shattered dream?
But here’s a driver worthy,
To be in this group’s elite,
The fact he ne’er saw victory,
Testament of the feat.
So what’s that say ’bout Brocky,
With nine wins on the board?
This mountain’s king a legend,
Who will always be adored.
Then Perkins, Richards, Skaife,
Have six wins in the bag,
The king of the mountain’s protege,
Craig Lowndes has five to brag.
Moffat, Murphy four
Johnson, Tander, Whincup three
This next group they have two apiece
Bowe, Firth and Rick Kelly,
Ingall, Grice and Goss,
Steve Richards, Jane and Longhurst,
Make up this mountain’s honour roll,
Who’ve quenched that victory thirst.
Yet 30 other men have come,
And clawed a victory,
49 in as many years,
I love the irony.
Will 50 years bring 50 names?
Status quo or 51?
By day’s end we will know,
Once the fun and games are done.
Will this year bring us dominance?
Like Brock Richards ’79
Or the drama of Bob Morris,
When Fitzpatrick crossed the line?
Or a statement Moffat Ickx made,
When they led Ford’s one-two?
Or the dogfight Tander Percat won,
In last year’s massive blue?
Will we see a last to first
Like Perkins Ingall ’95?
Or Percy Grice against the odds,
When turbo’s round here thrived?
Or will we see more heartache,
Like Dick Johnson and the rock?
Or a car not up to scratch,
Like the year we farewelled Brock?
And while we’re talking heartbreak,
To say nothing would be amiss,
And mention those who lost their lives,
Forever sorely missed.
Mike Burghman back in ’86
Danny Hulme four years after ’88
Don Watson back in ’94
All died on Conrod Straight.
So whatever this year brings us,
I’ll look back with fondest thought,
As an era ends when only,
Ford and Holden fought.
Next year we welcome new makes,
To battle against our best,
Here’s hoping that our legends,
Will weather this new test.
But with rumours that the Falcon,
Is soon to be no more,
And rumours that the same is coming,
For the Commodore,
I call on Ford and Holden,
To these rumours don’t succumb,
So they can keep on fighting here,
For 50 years to come.
So there it is my story,
Of this tranquil little place,
This place that every year,
Holds this legendary race.
This race that’s brought us legends,
Of men and their machines,
The Great Race of a nation,
The race of motoring dreams.

Who’s Driving This Car?

by Patti Masterman

The window’s blurry, the odometers broke,
The tires are bare; who’s driving this car?

The seats are saggy from long time use,
The rear-view’s broken; who’s driving this car?

It knocks down the road toward the next wreckers yard,
And it can’t get far; who’s driving this car?

Once it was new, best thing on the road,
But now it’s just old; so who’s driving this car?

I’M driving this thing, and this car is ME,
And it’s all worn out, but I made it work

As long as it did.

So I praise this car – and it’s wobbly ride-
And I’m gosh darn grateful that I’m still inside.


ENTREPRENEUR & BUSINESS

As We Look Back

By Author Unknown

As we look back over time
We find ourselves wondering …..
Did we remember to thank you enough
For all you have done for us?
For all the times you were by our sides
To help and support us …..
To celebrate our successes
To understand our problems
And accept our defeats?
Or for teaching us by your example,
The value of hard work, good judgement,
Courage and integrity?
We wonder if we ever thanked you
For the sacrifices you made.
To let us have the very best?
And for the simple things
Like laughter, smiles and times we shared?
If we have forgotten to show our
Gratitude enough for all the things you did,
We’re thanking you now.
And we are hoping you knew all along,
How much you meant to us.

Success

by Bessie Anderson Stanley (1904)

He has achieved success
who has lived well,
laughed often, and loved much;

who has enjoyed the trust of
pure women,

the respect of intelligent men and
the love of little children;

who has filled his niche and accomplished his task;

who has left the world better than he found it
whether by an improved poppy,
a perfect poem or a rescued soul;

who has never lacked appreciation of Earth’s beauty
or failed to express it;

who has always looked for the best in others and
given them the best he had;

whose life was an inspiration;
whose memory a benediction.

What Is Success?

A variation of ‘Success’ by Bessie Anderson Stanley (1904)

That Man is a Success
Who has lived well,
laughed often and loved much;
Who has gained the respect of intelligent men
and the love of children;
Who has filled his niche
and accomplished his task;
Who leaves the world better than he found it,
whether by improved poppy, a perfect poem,
or a rescued soul;
Who never lacked appreciation of earth’s beauty
or failed to express it.
Who looked for the best in others
and gave the best he had.

And finally, to know that even one life has breathed easier because you have lived;
This is success

FAMILY

A Family

By unknown

A family is a place
To cry, and laugh and vent frustrations
To ask for help, to tease and yell
To be touched and hugged and smiled at.
A family is people who care when you are sad
Who love you no matter what
Who share your triumphs and don’t expect you to be perfect
Just growing with honesty in your own direction.
A family is a circle where we learn to like ourselves
Where we learn to make good decisions
Where we learn to think before we do
Where we learn patience and table manners
And respect for other people
A family is a place where we share ideas
Where we listen and are listened to –
Where we learn the rules of life to prepare us for the world.
The world is a place where anything can happen
And if we grow up in a loving family – We are ready for the world.

A Tribute To Family

by © Michelle A. Moran

Published: February 2006

I don’t know when it started,
Or how it all began,
But God created families,
As only our Lord can.

He was teaching what it means
To love, honor, and obey.
He wanted a strong bond
That we don’t see too much today.

He wanted someone to hold us
And show respect for others.
He wanted someone who’d be gentle,
So he created mothers.

He wanted someone strong,
A support filled with love,
So he created fathers,
Sent from heaven up above.

Brothers and sisters came next,
With that, an instant friend.
Someone to look up to,
Someone on whom to depend.

When he put them all together,
He was amazed at what he’d done.
He had created a family,
Mother, father, daughter, son.

But look at the family,
Created by only two.
How many we’ve become,
And all because of you.

We have a lot to be thankful for,
The memories through the years.
The many times together,
Full of laughter, full of tears.

I don’t know where we’d be today,
If it weren’t for the two of you.
To show us strength, support, and love,
Like only the two of you can do.

Back Home

By Author Unknown

If I had the power to turn back the clock,
and go back to that house at the end of the block.
The house that was home when I was a kid,
I know that I’d love it more now than I did.

If I could be back there at my mother’s knee,
and hear once again, the things she told me.
I’d listen now as I never listened before,
for she knew so well what life had in store.

And all the advice my dad used to give…
his voice I’ll remember as long as I live.
But it didn’t seem really important then,
what I’d give to live it all over again.

What I’d give for the chance I once had,
to do so much more for my Mum and Dad.
To give them more joy and little less pain,
a little more sunshine-a lot less rain.

But years roll on and I cannot go back,
whether I was born in a mansion or a shack.
I can start right now in the hour that’s here,
to do something more for the ones I hold dear.
And since time in its flight is travelling so fast,
I can’t spend it regretting that which is past.
But I’ll try to make tomorrow a happier day,
By doing my Good unto Others…Today.

Life’s Scars

By Ella Wheeler Wilcox

They say the world is round, and yet
I often think it square,
So many little hurts we get
From corners here and there.
But one great truth in life I’ve found,
While journeying to the West-
The only folks who really wound
Are those we love the best.

The man you thoroughly despise
Can rouse your wrath, ’tis true;
Annoyance in your heart will rise
At things mere strangers do;
But those are only passing ills;
This rule all lives will prove;
The rankling wound which aches and thrills
Is dealt by hands we love.

The choicest garb, the sweetest grace,
Are oft to strangers shown;
The careless mien, the frowning face,
Are given to our own.
We flatter those we scarcely know,
We please the fleeting guest,
And deal full many a thoughtless blow
To those who love us best.

Love does not grow on every tree,
Nor true hearts yearly bloom.
Alas for those who only see
This cut across a tomb!
But, soon or late, the fact grows plain
To all through sorrow’s test:
The only folks who give us pain
Are those we love the best.

The Fallen Limb

by Author Unknown

A limb has fallen from the family tree.
I keep hearing a voice that says,
“Grieve not for me.
Remember the best times,
the laughter, the song.
The good life I lived
while I was strong.
Continue my heritage,
I’m counting on you.
Keep smiling and surely
the sun will shine through.
My mind is at ease,
my soul is at rest.
Remembering all,
how I truly was blessed.
Continue traditions,
no matter how small.
Go on with your life,
don’t worry about falls.
I miss you all dearly,
so keep up your chin.
Until the day comes
we’re together again.”


FARMERS & FARMING

see COUNTRY, FARMING & THE LAND


TOP OF PAGE                               HOME


FATHER/GRANDFATHER

A Father

By Author Unknown

A light is from our household gone,
A voice we loved is stilled,
A place is vacant in our home,
Which never can be filled.
God gave us a beautiful father,
A father who never grew old,
You were always there
With a helping hand,
Help us now to accept His plan.
We miss you now, our hearts are sore,
As time goes by, we miss you more.
Your loving smile, your gentle face,
No one can take our “Father’s Place”
May the choirs of the angels receive you
and may you have rest
and peace everlasting.

Amen.

A Good Man To Me

by Donielle Smith

He’s everything a man could be and more
When it comes to him the heart adores
The love that he gives
Is like no one else that you know

His love together with yours
Is better than the winter’s snow
There’s no mistake
About his love and feelings for you

He only wants to do what’s right
And make you more true
A good man is this you see
When he encourages

He makes you feel like there’s nothing
On earth that you can’t be
Upon seeing you he often cracks a smile
Being with him is always worth the while

He gently holds you tight
In the middle of the night
This good man unlike others
Will make sure that everything’s alright

He gives you love
That you just can’t resist
A good man believe it or not
Will always exist

Even when it’s cold outside
He’ll do his best to keep you warm
A good man will not cause
Arguments or bodily harm

My friend as the love of his life you are
A good man would not hesitate
In making you feel like a star
Ladies you dream of him

Even in your sleep
A good man you will
Always strive to keep
Remember that he’s more

Than words could ever say
A good man no matter what
Will never go away

A Happy Man

By Edwin Arlington Robinson

When these graven lines you see,
Traveller, do not pity me;
Though I be among the dead,
Let no mournful word be said.

Children that I leave behind,
And their children, all were kind;
Near to them and to my wife,
I was happy all my life.

My three sons I married right,
And their sons I rocked at night;
Death nor sorrow never brought
Cause for one unhappy thought.

Now, and with no need of tears,
Here they leave me, full of years,–
Leave me to my quiet rest
In the region of the blessed.

A Love Like No Other

By Paula M. Newman

From the time I was born
I guess you would know
Ten perfect fingers
Ten little toes
When you first put your finger in my tiny hand that’s when I first knew
You were my papa no one else would do
As I grow older
and reach for the sky
My Papa is still there
to keep that twinkle in my eye
When I need someone to hold me
you never say I’m too big
You pick me up and squeeze me
and whisper you’re my little kid
Most other people don’t understand me
or maybe just not as well
That’s why you’re the one I run to
when I have something to tell
I love you Papa
as you can see
I’m so glad
that you’re a part of me

A Poem for Dad

By Author Unknown

Dad, you were just a boy,
So many years ago.
You had your loves and had your dreams,
You watched us come and go.
You watched us make the same mistakes,
That you had made before,
But that just made you hold us tight,
And love us all the more.
We haven’t always thought about
The things that you have seen.
To us you’ve just been ‘Dad’,
No thought of who you’ve been.
But we remember now in love,
Your life from start to end,
And we’re just glad we knew you,
As father, and as Friend.

A Poem for My Granddad

By Dennis Taylor

Hello there, Granddad.
It’s me, your little man,
I couldn’t find you yesterday,
When I came to visit Nan.

She says you’ve only left the room,
You haven’t gone away.
But I really miss you, Granddad
And the games we used to play.

She says you have my teddy.
He’ll keep you safe from harm.
If the going gets hard, just squeeze his hand
And he will keep you calm.

You’ve also got some sweeties.
Isn’t Nana kind?
I may have stolen one or two,
But I knew you wouldn’t mind.

And now that you’re not here, Granddad
I’ll give double hugs to Nan.
Goodnight, God bless you, Granddad,
From your loving ‘little man’.

As I Look Up to the Skies Above

By Author Unknown

As I look up to the skies above,
The stars stretch endlessly–
But somehow all those rays of light
Seem dimmer now to me.
As I watch the morning sun appear,
The shadows still don’t fade—
As if the brightest light of all
Was somehow swept away.

Though I see the branches swaying,
And watch their dancing leaves–
The echoes carried on the wind
Don’t sound the same to me.
As I listen to the morning birds
Sing softly from afar–
It seems to be a mournful tune
That echoes in my heart.

Another day has come again,
As time moves surely on–
But nothing now seems quite the same,
To know that he is gone.
The days and weeks and months ahead
Will never be the same–
Because a treasure beyond words
Can never be replaced.

The loss cannot be measured now,
The void cannot be filled–
And though someday the grief may fade,
His mark will live on still.
For even with my heavy heart,
I know that I’ve been blessed
To have been one who’s life he touched
With warmth so infinite.

As We Look Back

By Author Unknown

As we look back over time
We find ourselves wondering …..
Did we remember to thank you enough
For all you have done for us?
For all the times you were by our sides
To help and support us …..
To celebrate our successes
To understand our problems
And accept our defeats?
Or for teaching us by your example,
The value of hard work, good judgement,
Courage and integrity?
We wonder if we ever thanked you
For the sacrifices you made.
To let us have the very best?
And for the simple things
Like laughter, smiles and times we shared?
If we have forgotten to show our
Gratitude enough for all the things you did,
We’re thanking you now.
And we are hoping you knew all along,
How much you meant to us.

Away (Modified)

By James Whitcomb Riley

I cannot say and I will not say
That he is dead, he is just away.
With a cheery smile and a wave of hand
He has wandered into an unknown land;
And left us dreaming how very fair
Its needs must be, since he lingers there.
And you-oh you, who the wildest yearn
From the old-time step and the glad return-
Think of his faring on, as dear
In the love of there, as the love of here
Think of him still the same way, I say;
He is not dead, he is just away.

Dad

By Author Unknown

We’ll always remember
that special smile,
that caring heart,
that warm embrace,
you always gave us.
You being there
for Mom and us
through good and bad times,
no matter what.
We’ll always remember
you Dad because
they’ll never be another one
to replace you in our hearts,
and the love we will always
have for you.

Dear Old Dad

By Patience Strong

We miss him in his garden
Doing odd jobs here and there.
We miss him at the table
When we see the empty chair.
We miss him at the fireside
when we gather round the blaze.
We miss him, – oh, we miss him
In a hundred different ways.
When troubles came the family
Would always turn to him.
He always had a cheery word
When things were looking grim….
And now he’s gone we know he wouldn’t
Want us to be sad –
But life can never be the same
Without the Dear Old Dad.

God Saw You Getting Tired

By Author Unknown

God saw you getting tired
and a cure was not to be
so he put his arms around you
and whispered,
“Come to Me”

With tearful eyes we watched you
and saw you pass away
and although we love you dearly
we could not make you stay.

A Golden heart stopped beating
hard working hands at rest.
God broke our hearts to prove to us
He only takes the best.

Grampa

By Author Unknown

We’ll always remember
that special smile,
that caring heart,
that warm embrace,
you always gave us.
You being there
for Grandma and us
through good and bad times,
no matter what.
We’ll always remember
you Grampa because
there’ll never be another one
to replace you in our hearts,
and the love we will always
have for you.

Granddad

By Fiona Bourke

Granddad,
We know you can no longer stay with us,
you fought long and hard to be with us.
We know you now watch over and protect us.
Although we cannot hear your voice or see your smiling face,
We know deep down in our hearts that you have not left us.
Instead every day you surround us with the singing of the birds,
the rising of the sun and the falling of night.
So many broken hearts are left behind,
But in our deepest despair our greatest comfort lies knowing
that you are now at peace with the angels and God.
So as times passes our tears will dry,
our hearts will mend,
but our love for you will never end.

He Has Achieved Success

By Bessie Anderson Stanley

He has achieved success who has lived well,
laughed often and loved much:
who has enjoyed the trust of pure women,
the respect of intelligent men and the love of little children;
who has filled the niche and accomplished his task;
who has left the world better than he found it;
whether by an improved poppy,
a perfect poem, or a rescued soul;
who has never lacked appreciation of Earth’s beauty
or failed to express it;
who has always looked for the best in others
and given the best he had.
Whose life was an inspiration;
Whose memory a benediction.

He is Gone (variation of ‘She is Gone’)

By David Harkins

You can shed tears
that he is gone.
Or you can smile because he lived.
You can close your eyes and
pray that he will come back.
Or you can open your eyes and
see all that he has left.
Your heart can be empty because
you can’t see him.
Or you can be full of the love
that you shared,
You can turn your back on
tomorrow and live for yesterday,
Or you can be happy for tomorrow
because of yesterday.
You can remember him and
only that he is gone.
Or you can cherish his
memory and let it live on,
You can cry, close your mind,
be empty, and turn your back.
Or you can do what he would
have wanted, smile, open your
eyes, love and move on.

He is Gone  (Remember Me)

by David Harkin (variation of ‘She is Gone’)

You can shed tears that he is gone
or you can smile because he has lived.

You can close your eyes and pray that he will come back
or you can open your eyes and see all he has left.

Your heart can be empty because you can’t see him
or you can be full of the love you shared.

You can turn your back on tomorrow and live yesterday
or you can be happy for tomorrow because of yesterday.

You can remember him and only that he’s gone
or you can cherish his memory and let it live on.

You can cry and close your mind,
be empty and turn your back

or you can do what he would want:
smile, open your eyes, love and go on.

His Journey’s Just Begun

By Ellen Brenneman

Don’t think of him as gone away
his journey’s just begun,
life holds so many facets
this earth is only one.
Just think of him as resting
from the sorrows and the tears
in a place of warmth and comfort
where there are no days and years.
Think how he must be wishing
that we could know today
how nothing but our sadness
can really pass away.
And think of him as living
in the hearts of those he touched…
for nothing loved is ever lost
and he was loved so much.

I am at peace, my soul’s at rest
There is no need for tears
For with your love I was so blessed
For all those many years

Light

By Pam Nelson

Some light up rooms with their laughter
Others brighten the world with a smile.
Many will make you feel happy
By sitting nearby for a while.
Some folk can cheer up a cold day
With just a few words or a glance.
Others can make things seem better
If you just give them half of a chance.
But there are those whose whole life is a blessing,
Not just a moment, a smile or a word.
They make all around them feel special,
No person ignored or unheard.
They give all they have and then give more,
While helping somebody get through.
It’s not about thanks or for mention,
It’s something that’s in them they do.
And when it’s time that they sadly must leave us
We grieve … but also we smile.
We give thanks that our lives were connected
And were tucked in their heart for a while.

Memories

By Author Unknown

The love we have for Granddad
Will never fade away.
We’ll think of him, our special friend
Throughout each passing day.
We’ll walk into the room
And see his empty chair;
Although we know he’s resting,
We’ll feel his presence there.
The memories of his laughter,
His warm and loving smile,
His eyes so full of happiness,
His heart that of a child.
Memories are forever
Be they laughter or of tears,
Memories we will treasure
Through all the forthcoming years.

My Father

By Anita Guindon

He was a jolly little man full of fun and laughter,
He played jokes on his fellow men
And to him it did not matter.
Education he had not,
But what he learned he never forgot.
He wrote what he knew all about cancer
so that someday, there will be an answer.
He joined the Canadian Medical Corps.
And served in the Second World War.
He risked his life, to save others,
This man, that I call my Father.
Seein’ my Father in me is the title of a song
Which I can relate to as I do see my Father in me.
I have a French accent just like my Father,
I love walking, just like my Father,
I love being with people, just like my father.
But most of all, is my love for children, like my Father.

My Father was a Miner

By William Hollman

My father was a minor
He would deep underground
The rush of dreams and clinking chains.
They were his daily sounds.
He worked so far below the ground,
with coal was huge by pic,
The work so hard and wages small,
he didn’t they go sick.
He called upon his belly,
In drift so low and narrow,
The wind it with salt down the shaft,
Chilled him to the Marrow.
He ate his food from a Tommy box,
shaped like a slice of bread,
While squatting down upon the ground,
with spit and crumbs with shed.
His water, it was a Jack,
to wet down the clouds of dust,
That gathered in his throat and lungs.
Where it formed a deadly crust.
We would listen for his footsteps,
he then came into site:
This man, dad, as black as black,
just like the darkest night;
His bath was always ready,
set down in front of fire,
My mother then would wash his back,
and tell us to retire;
Right down his back white rivers ran
amongst the dirt and grime,
but you cannot wash away blue scars.
Don’t you get down in the mine,
Years now past, my father gone,
but I am proud to say,
My father was a minor,
until he’s dying day.

Not How Did He Die, But How Did He Live?

By Summer Sandercox

Not how did he die, but how did he live?
Not what did he gain, but what did he give?

These are the units to measure the worth
Of a man as a man, regardless of birth.

Not, what was his church, nor what was his creed?
But had he befriended those really in need?

Was he ever ready, with word of good cheer,
To bring back a smile, to banish a tear?

Not what did the sketch in the newspaper say,
But how many were sorry when he passed away.

Our Father Kept A Garden (modified)

By By Kelly Z

Our father kept a garden.
A garden of the heart
He planted all the good things,
That gave our lives their start.
He turned us to the sunshine,
And encouraged us to dream;
Fostering and nurturing the seeds of self-esteem.
And when the winds and rain came, he protected us enough
But not too much because he knew
We would stand up strong and tough.
His constant good example,
Always taught us right from wrong, markers for our pathway,
to last a lifetime long.
We are our father’s garden,
We are his legacy
And I hope today he feels the love
Reflected back from me.

Success

by Bessie Anderson Stanley (1904)

He has achieved success
who has lived well,
laughed often, and loved much;

who has enjoyed the trust of
pure women,

the respect of intelligent men and
the love of little children;

who has filled his niche and accomplished his task;

who has left the world better than he found it
whether by an improved poppy,
a perfect poem or a rescued soul;

who has never lacked appreciation of Earth’s beauty
or failed to express it;

who has always looked for the best in others and
given them the best he had;

whose life was an inspiration;
whose memory a benediction.

That Man

By Cliff Sargeant

When I was born that man was there,
Tall and strong and fair of hair.
He watched my mother give me birth,
As I fought my way onto this Earth.

That man would rock me off to sleep,
Would wipe my tears when I did weep.
He watched me go from crawl to walk,
And smiled with pride when I learned to talk.

That man taught me to ride a bike,
And even how to fly a kite.
He taught me to know wrong from right,
When to run and when to fight.

That man was made of many parts
A teacher of life’s skills and arts
Full of love and full of care
With much to give, and much to share.

As I grew older so did he,
But that man was always there for me
His love, unspoken, but strong and clear,
Of that, I have no doubt or fear.

Time passed, that man grew old and frail,
No longer strong, but weak and pale.
Now I helped him, as he’d helped me
A debt to repay, no charge, no fee.

And now that man has left this life,
No longer parted from his wife
Memories are all that we have left
Of that man who was the best.

Who was that man, you may well ask?
To tell you now is my last task.
It makes me proud, it makes me glad,
To tell you that man, he was my dad.

The Things You Taught Me

By M. K. Paul

The Things You Taught Me
The things you taught me
I will always know.
How could I not?
The roots have sunk so deep:
All lessons of the heart
That I will keep
No matter who I am or where I go.
Kids learn from what
Their parents are, and so
You are my book of life,
The thoughts I reap;
Only in your arms I quietly sleep;
Under my words
Your voice sings soft and slow.
From you, I learned
The rules of right and wrong
Against which I at times had to rebel,
Though with regret I carry with me still.
How lucky I am
To have been loved so well,
Even as I pushed against your will,
Relying on a father so strong.

To My Father

by Georgia Harkness

A giant pine, magnificent and old
Stood staunch against the sky and all around
Shed beauty, grace and power.
Within its fold birds safely reared their young.
The velvet ground beneath was gentle,
and the cooling shade gave cheer to passers-by.
Its towering arms a landmark stood, erect and unafraid,
As if to say, “Fear naught from life’s alarms”.
It fell one day.
Where it had dauntless stood was loneliness and void.
But men who passed paid tribute – and said,
“To know this life was good,
It left its mark on me. Its work stands fast”.
And so it lives. Such life no bonds can hold –
This giant pine, magnificent and old.

Walk A Little Slower Daddy

By Helen Bush

Walk a little slower Daddy,
said a child so small.
I’m following in your footsteps
and I don’t want to fall.

Sometimes your steps are very fast,
Sometimes they’re hard to see,
So walk a little slower Daddy,
For you are leading me.

Someday when I’m all grown up,
You’re what I want to be.
Then I will have a little child
Who’ll want to follow me.

And I would want to lead just right,
And to know that I was true.
So walk a little slower, Daddy,
For I must follow you.

We Had a Wonderful Grandfather

By Author Unknown

We had a wonderful grandfather,
One who never really grew old;
His smile was made of sunshine,
And his heart was solid gold;
His eyes were as bright as shining stars,
And in his cheeks fair roses you see.
We had a wonderful grandfather,
And that’s the way it will always be.
But take heed, because
He’s still keeping an eye on all of us,
So let’s make sure
He will like what he sees.

Weep Not For Me (Modified)

by Constance Jenkins

Weep not for me though I have gone
Into that gentle night
Grieve if you will, but not for long
Upon my soul’s sweet flight

I am at peace, my soul’s at rest
There is no need for tears
For with your love I was so blessed
For all those many years

There is no pain, I suffer not
The fear is now all gone
Put now these things out of your thoughts
In your memory, I live on

Remember not my fight for breath
Remember not the strife
Please do not dwell upon my death
But celebrate my life

Sleep in peace <name>.

What Is A Dad?

By MK Paul

A Dad is a person, who is loving and kind,
And often he knows what you have on your mind.
He’s someone who listens, suggests, and defends
A dad can be one of your very best friends!
He’s proud of your triumphs, but when things go wrong,
A dad can be patient and helpful and strong.
In all that you do, a dad’s love plays a part
There’s always a place for him deep in your heart
And each year that passes, you’re even more glad,
More grateful and proud just to call him your dad!
Thank you Dad…for listening and caring,
for giving and sharing, but, especially, for just being you!

What Is Success?

A variation of ‘Success’ by Bessie Anderson Stanley (1904)

That Man is a Success
Who has lived well,
laughed often and loved much;
Who has gained the respect of intelligent men
and the love of children;
Who has filled his niche
and accomplished his task;
Who leaves the world better than he found it,
whether by improved poppy, a perfect poem,
or a rescued soul;
Who never lacked appreciation of earth’s beauty
or failed to express it.
Who looked for the best in others
and gave the best he had.

And finally, to know that even one life has breathed easier because you have lived;
This is success

What Makes A Dad

By Author Unknown

God took the strength of a mountain,
The majesty of a tree,
The warmth of a summer sun,
The calm of a quiet sea,
The generous soul of nature,
The comforting arm of night,
The wisdom of the ages,
The power of the eagle’s flight,
The joy of a morning in spring,
The faith of a mustard seed,
The patience of eternity,
The depth of a family need,
Then God combined these qualities,
When there was nothing more to add,
He knew His masterpiece was complete,
And so, He called it … “DAD!”

Your Spirit – A Tribute to My Father

by Tram-Tiara T. Von Reichenbach

I know that no matter what
You will always be with me.
When life separates us
I’ll know it is only your soul
Saying goodbye to your body
But your spirit will be with me always.
When I see a bird chirping on a nearby branch
I will know it is you singing to me.
When a butterfly brushes gently by me so care freely
I will know it is you assuring me you are free from pain.
When the gentle fragrance of a flower catches my attention
I will know it is you reminding me
To appreciate the simple things in life.
When the sun shining through my window awakens me
I will feel the warmth of your love.
When I hear the rain pitter patter against my window sill
I will hear your words of wisdom
And will remember what you taught me so well’
That without rain trees cannot grow
Without rain flowers cannot bloom
Without life’s challenges I cannot grow strong.
When I look out to the sea
I will think of your endless love for your family.
When I think of mountains, their majesty and magnificence
I will think of your courage for your country.
No matter where I am
Your spirit will be beside me
For I know that no matter what
You will always be with me.


TOP OF PAGE                               HOME


FIRE FIGHTERS

A Breed Of Their Own.

By Author Unknown

Firefighters they are a breed of their own. They work long days and sleep short nights. They go for hours sometimes days on end with only a precious little bit of sleep.

Yet they do their job well and voluntarily.

A firefighter can quit at any time, no one is there looking over our shoulder telling us we can’t quit, but we don’t quit in spite of that. And when you ask one of us why, there is a pause and then an “I don’t really know” or, “I can’t really put my finger on it”. The only way I can describe it is a feeling deep in your gut that you can’t ignore, something there telling you that this is what you are here to do.

A group may enter a department for no reason at all, just looking for something to do, but of that group one or two will get their first taste of fire and realize that this is in their heart, and they will do it until they are physically unable to.

Then there are those who grew up with firefighter dads and found something magical about the way he would go off Tuesday and come back Friday with a tired look on his face but with a certain gleam of pride in his eye that told you he loved what he was doing. Or when he’d go off in the middle of the night at the sound of his pager and come back later that day with that same gleam in his eye.  Despite utter exhaustion.

Some say that firemen are just thrill-seekers, looking for a quick rush. Others, those who have experienced them first-hand say they are warriors. They come at a moment’s notice and seem to stare down at the fire; they trample on the dance floor of the devil wearing the boots of god.

These reasons are all merely speculations, nobody will ever know what makes a fireman a fireman, but one thing is for sure, the men who don’t abuse the power respect others, and love the job for what it is. They are firemen night and day.

They are the true firemen of the world; they are the public servants and protectors of the innocent.

Battling The Beast

By Author Unknown

Wearing blue coveralls, they sit
sometimes for days, laughing,
eating, joking…waiting
for one sound, a siren
that transforms them.
They abandon their armchairs for overcoats
of canvas and for rubber boots,
their armour heavy and hot.
Instead of trading jokes they relay
directions, and orders, and shout
reports of the status of the enemy–
“FLAMES ARE VISIBLE”
Fear and excitement grip the hearts
of the freshest rookie to the oldest veteran
as they jump into their steel Trojan horses
perfect from polishing,
washing, checking over and over–
they pray that they have made no mistakes.
The driver navigates
the craft through the city streets
he knows as well as his family,
dodging when possible those
that get in the way, hoping those
he can’t avoid will see him first,
they spot the enemy from blocks away–
the phoenix rises far above the trees,
licking the sky.
They arrive at the scene, and again
the battle cry is heard–
“FLAMES ARE VISIBLE”
Smoke fills the air and their lungs
as they approach, hoses snaking,
crisscrossing, coming to life
as they surge with water
from yellow and red hydrants
that suddenly become grotesque
heads of Medusa.
They kick open the doors, rubber
from their boots leaving a print
melted by the heat, and trickling
over bubbling paint.
Orange liquid flames roll
through the building, slithering
up and over the walls, breathing
in and out with each puff of air.
With swords of water they charge
and the war begins.
They battle–nine or ten against one–
seemingly great odds.
But the nine soldiers will win,
emerging from the battlefield victorious
as they always do, and eventually,
they’ll retire to their armchairs,
thanking God that this time nobody
was hit by the enemy fire…

Dedicated to our Fallen Heroes

By Katharine Blohm, 09/18/2001 Clearview Volunteer Fire Dept, Ontario, Canada

You came into this lifetime for a purpose,
You may have followed someone’s footsteps,
or
May have followed your dream,
Maybe you just joined to drive with lights and sirens,
but
You made it your life.

Your family had joined a larger family of caregivers,
Professionals, friends, and team mates.
As the days go by, you are called upon to assist
Someone in need,
Leaving your family known to you and love,
Knowing someday – something may go wrong.

Having this knowledge makes the Fire Fighters,
Police Officers and EMS Personnel
OUR Heroes
of the Past, Present and Future.

The times you saved a structure, a life
or Doing the unthinkable, You were there.

For all of you that have fallen,
There will be someone to continue your work of
Caring and Heroism.
You will truly be missed,
and Always Remembered.

Fallen Brother

By Author Unknown (but “In memory of Chuck with love, Beth”)

The fire tone rang…..FIRE!
Adrenaline, excitement, the love of the challenge
Sirens wail, and it comes into sight,
Flames and smoke rising into the night.
All geared up, ready to save, ready to fight.
Hose in hand – heads straight for the danger.
He kicked the door in – knew just what to do
The fire and smoke pouring out-
He tucked his head down and dove in.
They tried so hard to find him-
But the fire was just too strong-
We lost him in this round – the fire had won.
Chuck gave his life doing what he loved-
But way too young to die!
Our gentle giant is now at peace-
Now to save lives he will use wings!
How to go on without him-
He touched so many lives-
But we know that only comes in time-
He’s up there with his mamma now.
Smiling down on us – dimples and all!
Too young to go – we have to let go-
But we all miss and love him so!

Heaven’s Brigade

by Assistant Chief KP, Boles Fire Protection District

Did you know there’s a Fire Department in Heaven?
I heard Cap tell that sorrowful lad.
The young boy stared, working over the words he’d just been given.
Cap, do you think God’s got a spot on the truck for my dad?
Cap smiled, even though you could tell his heart was heavy, and said,
You bet son, as he roughed the hair on the boy’s head.

Timmy looked up, his sadness, for now, gone.
Cap went on, holding back the tears that were trying to fall.
They’ve got the biggest, reddest fire trucks you ever saw,
And they keep them all cleaned and ready,
Just in case they get a call.
Of course they don’t get too many,
Bein’ in Heaven and all.
But God knew this, so right next to them He made,
A great big tree, that puts out a lot of shade.
And each day they have at least one run,
Down the streets of Heaven, leading the afternoon parade.

That’s been years ago now,
And in that time, things have changed a lot.
Cap, he’s been retired, and I, somehow, made it to Chief.
And Timmy, He’s just Tim now, down at station two,
And, I must say, one of the finest Captains on my crew.

The day came, the worst of any other,
When we have to say farewell to a fallen brother.
I watched, as Tim walked over to that hero’s son,
And share some words, just as my Cap and Tim had once done…

Did you know there’s a Fire Department in Heaven?………….

Heroes Gone

By Author Unknown

Brother when you weep for me remember that it was meant to be
Lay me down and when you leave remember I’ll be at your sleeve
In every dark and choking hall I’ll be there as you slowly crawl
On every roof in driving snow I’ll hold your coat and you will know
In cellars hot with searing heat at windows where at a gate you meet
In closets where young children hide you know I’ll be there at your side
The house from which I now respond is overstaffed with heroes gone
Men who answered one last bell did the job and did it well
As firemen we understand that death’s a card dealt in our hand
A card we hope we never play but one we hold there anyway
That card is something we ignore as we crawl across a weakened floor
For we know that we’re the only prayer for anyone that might be there
So remember as you wipe your tears the joy I knew throughout the years
As I did the job I loved to do I pray that thought will see you through.

The Fire Fighter

By Author Unknown

Sirens sound! He awakes with a start and hastily grabs up his clothes, dressing on the run, as he has so many times before.

Thumping of footsteps, motors churning, directions yelled, chaos! TOTAL CHAOS! Or so it seems…yet, within seconds, dispatch…they are on their way, racing down the street, sirens at ear-splitting pitch. Meanwhile, his mind dashes to other nights-days of gruelling, heartbreaking tragedy-ridden, heat-searing work. And he cries to the depth of his soul, “WHY DO I CONTINUE ?”

Loaded with nets, roof cutters, ladders, axes, etc. they don air masks as they arrive. It is another bad one. Flames are shooting everywhere, lighting the darkest of night with an eerie glow. Screaming, a man and woman clutch to each other in panic.

Nothing but PURE Intuition, or so it seems, takes The Firefighter through collapsing beams, up the stair, past flaming bedrooms and into a tiny closet to the side of a smoke-filled bedroom. He quickly gathers two squirming bundles in his arm, darts to the nearest window and throws them to the waiting nets below…He leaps.

Restrained no longer, the man and woman bound for the nets. The Firefighter, weakened, hears sounds that are so far away, of a little dog’s whimper, happy cries and excited voices. Then, an explosion rocks the very ground upon which he lay. Through the pain of a broken arm, he feels a little dog licking his face, and slowly opens his eyes, the depth of his soul is touched, he will never be the same, he needs no thankyou’s, because he now knows the very reason “WHY HE CONTINUES”; for within her happy parents’ arms…..

a child smiles.

The Firefighter’s Prayer

By Author Unknown

When I’m called to duty god
wherever flames may rage
give me strength to save a life
whatever be its age

Help me to embrace a little child
before it is too late
or save an older person from
the horror of that fate

Enable me to be alert
to hear the weakest shout
and quickly and efficiently
to put the fire out

I want to fill my calling and
to give the best in me
to guard my neighbour and
protect his property

And if according to your will
I have to lose my life
bless with your protecting hand
my children and my wife

To Be A Fireman

By Edward F. Crocker, Chief of Department, FDNY, 1899-1911

I have no ambition in
this world but one,

And that is to be a fireman.

The position may, in
the eyes of some, appear
to be a lowly one; but those who know the
work which a fireman
has to do believe
his is a noble calling.
Our proudest moment
is to save… Lives.
Under the impulse
of such thoughts
the nobility of the
occupation thrills us
and stimulates us to
deeds of daring,
even of
supreme sacrifice.

What Is A Fireman?

By Author Unknown

He’s the guy next door – a man’s man with the memory of a little boy.
He has never gotten over the excitement of engines and sirens and danger.
He’s a guy like you and me with warts and worries and unfulfilled dreams.
Yet he stands taller than most of us.
He’s a fireman.
He puts it all on the line when the bell rings.
A fireman is at once the most fortunate and the least fortunate of men.
He’s a man who saves lives because he has seen too much death.
He’s a gentle man because he has seen the awesome
power of violence out of control.
He’s responsive to a child’s laughter because his arms have held
too many small bodies that will never laugh again.
He’s a man who appreciates the simple pleasures of life –
hot coffee held in numb, unbending fingers – a warm bed for bone
and muscle compelled beyond feeling – the camaraderie of brave men –
the divine peace and selfless service of a job well done in the name of all men.
He doesn’t wear buttons or wave flags or shout obscenities.
When he marches, it is to honour a fallen comrade.
He doesn’t preach the brotherhood of man.
He lives it.

 FISHING

Gone Fishin’

by Delmar Pepper

I’ve finished life’s chores assigned to me,
So put me on a boat headed out to sea.
Please send along my fishing pole
For I’ve been invited to the fishin’ hole.

Where every day is a day to fish,
To fill your heart with every wish.
Don’t worry, or feel sad for me,
I’m fishin’ with the Master of the sea.

We will miss each other for awhile,
But you will come and bring your smile.
That won’t be long you will see,
Till we’re together you and me.

To all of those that think of me,
Be happy as I go out to sea.
If others wonder why I’m missin’
Just tell ’em I’ve gone fishin’

Gone Fishing

by David Ritter

If someone should ask for me,
Tell ’em heaven is where I’ll be.
I’ve finished all of my life’s chores,
And now I fish on heaven’s shores.

The view is grand and the fishing’s great,
But I yearn for you as I wait.
I’ll save a spot on the river’s bend,
For all those I call family and friend.

But for now, head out to sea
And make a cast in memory,
To all the good times that you had,
With me – your partner, your friend, your Dad

And if the fish no longer bite
Or seem no longer worth the fight,
Because it’s me that you are missin’,
Don’t worry – be glad – I’ve just gone fishin’

Out Fishin’

by Edgar Guest

A feller isn’t thinkin’ mean,
Out fishin’;

His thoughts are mostly good an’ clean,
Out fishin’.

He doesn’t knock his fellow men.,
Or harbor any grudges then;
A feller’s at his finest when
Out fishin’.

The rich are comrades to the poor,
Out fishin’;

All brothers of a common lure,
Out fishin’.

The urchin with the pin an’ string
Can chum with millionaire an’ king;
Vain pride is a forgotten thing,
Out fishin’.

A feller gits a chance to dream,
Out fishin’;

He learns the beauties of a stream,
Out fishin’;

An’ he can wash his soul in air
That isn’t foul with selfish care,
An’ relish plain and simple fare,
Out fishin’.

A feller has no time fer hate,
Out fishin’;

He isn’t eager to be great,
Out fishin’.

He isn’t thinkin’ thoughts of self,
Or goods stacked high upon a shelf,
But he is always just himself,
Out fishin’.

A feller’s glad to be a friend,
Out fishin’

A helpin’ hand he’ll always lend,
Out fishin’.

The brotherhood of rod an’ line
An’ sky and stream is always fine;
Men come real close to God’s design,
Out fishin’.

A feller isn’t plotting schemes,
Out fishin’;

He’s only busy with his dreams,
Out fishin’.

His livery is a coat of tan,
His creed -to do the best he can;
A feller’s always mostly man,
Out fishin’.

The Fisherman’s Prayer

Our fisherman
Who art on riverbanks
Angler be thy name
Thy fishing season comes
Thy casting will be done
The weather will be heavenly
Give us this day lots of bites
And forgive us our laughter
As we forgive you, your
Lies about the one that got away
Lead us to a shoal of fish
And deliver us a big catch
For thine is the carp
The Pike and the Tench
Forever and ever
Amen


TOP OF PAGE                               HOME


FLOWERS & ROSES

A Flower Does Not Talk by

by Zenkei Shibayama

Silently a flower blooms,
In silence it falls away;
Yet here now, at this moment, at this place,
The world of the flower, the whole of
the world is blooming.
This is the talk of the flower, the truth
of the blossom;
The glory of eternal life is fully shinning here.

Flower On The Water (lyrics)

Source: Musixmatch
Songwriter: John Williamson
Flower On The Water lyrics © Emusic Pty Limited, Emusic Pty Ltd
https://youtu.be/itjYcO9Jsx0

To hear your voice, to see you smile
To sit and talk to you awhile
To be together the same old way
That would be our greatest wish today

To hear you laugh, to hear you cry
Or just a chance to say ‘goodbye’
To say the things we didn’t say
That would be our greatest wish today

But all we can do is throw a flower on the water
Look for the sun through the rain
Lay a little frangipani gentle on the water
Remember how we loved you

To comb your hair, to lace your shoes
Buy some flowers, let you choose
A phone call when you’re away
Just to see if you’re okay

Four Roses for You

Author by Unknown (and adaptation by Lou Szymkow of Four Candles for You)

The first rose represents our grief.
The pain of losing you is intense.
It reminds us of the depth of our love for you.

This second rose represents our courage.
To confront our sorrow,
To comfort each other,
To change our lives.

This third rose represents your memory.
For the times we laughed,
The times we cried,
The times we were angry with each other,
The silly things you did,

The caring and joy you gave us.

This fourth rose is for our love.
We enjoy beauty and its presence,
Continuing to guide and lead us.
Regardless of the seasons of our lives,
Our love for you will continue.

We cherish the special place in our hearts
that will always be reserved for you.
We thank you for the gift
your living brought to each of us.

We love you.
We remember you.

I Am Not Resigned

by Edna St. Vincent Millay

I am not resigned to the shutting away of loving hearts in the hard ground.
So it is, and so it will be, for so it has been, time out of mind:
Into the darkness they go, the wise and the lovely.
Crowned with lilies and with laurel they go;
but I am not resigned.
Lovers and thinkers, into the earth with you.
Be one with the dull, the indiscriminate dust.
A fragment of what you felt, of what you knew,
A formula, a phrase remains, – but the best is lost.
The answers quick and keen, the honest look, the laughter, the love,
They are gone.
They are gone to feed the roses.
Elegant and curled is the blossom.
Fragrant is the blossom. I know.
But I do not approve.
More precious was the light in your eyes than all the roses in the world.
Down, down, down into the darkness of the grave
Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind;
Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave,
I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned.

I Do Not Think My Song Will End

By Johnny Hathcock

I do not think my song will end
While flowers (roses), grass and trees
Abound with birds and butterflies
For I am one with these.
And I believe my voice will sound
Upon the whispering wind
So long as even one remains
Among those I call “friend.”
I shall remain in hearts and minds
Of loved ones that I knew,
And in the rocks and hills and streams
Because I love those, too.
So long as love and hope and dreams
Abide in earth and sky,
Weep not for me, though I be gone.
I shall not really die.

I Gathered Petals In My Hand

by Lou Szymkow, April 2019

I gathered petals in my hand,
I felt their velvet, soft and bland
I saw the soft colours in my palm
Looking not unlike some lucky charm
I raised them to my lips
And whispered words for you alone
Then placed the petals upon your bed,
And stood alone, this moment of dread,
I turned and walked away
My words, my love, are with you I pray.

I Place A Rose

by Lou Szymkow, April 2019

I want to say, that I love you,
I feel an emptiness inside

I want to say, I miss you
I just want to hide

I want to say, so much to you
I just don’t know how

This wretched pain inside of me
My throat, my heart, my now.

And so I have a gift for you,
My love, in the form of a rose
I’ll hold it to my lips
And whisper my loving prose

It’s my special message just for you
It’s private and from my soul
I want you to remember me,
Though impossible to console,

My words, my love, are meant for you
And reaches from my heart
I just don’t know how to live,
Now we are apart

And so I whisper to the petals
The words I want to say
So they will be carried by the angels
From my heart, to you, this day

I breath and place this rose, 
gently upon your tomb.
And feel your presence, and your love,
in this very room

I know now you are with me
I feel your caress
I’ll go on living for you,
I could do nothing less,

I’ll walk, I’ll talk,
And go through the motions
But every step will be my love,
for you, my daily devotions

One Perfect Rose

By Dorothy Parker

A single flow’r he sent me, since we met.
All tenderly his messenger he chose;
Deep-hearted, pure, with scented dew still wet—
One perfect rose.

I knew the language of the floweret;
“My fragile leaves, ” it said, “his heart enclose.”
Love long has taken for his amulet
One perfect rose.

Why is it no one ever sent me yet
One perfect limousine, do you suppose?
Ah no, it’s always just my luck to get
One perfect rose.

Roses

by George Eliot

You love the roses – so do I. I wish
The sky would rain down roses, as they rain
From off the shaken bush. Why will it not?
Then all the valley would be pink and white
And soft to tread on. They would fall as light
As feathers, smelling sweet; and it would be
Like sleeping and like waking, all at once!

The Rose

Songwriter: Amanda Mcbroom

Some say love it is a river
That drowns the tender reed
Some say love it is a razor
That leaves your soul to bleed
Some say love it is a hunger
An endless aching need
I say love it is a flower
And you it’s only seed
It’s the heart afraid of breaking
That never learns to dance
It’s the dream afraid of waking that never takes the chance
It’s the one who won’t be taken
Who cannot seem to give
And the soul afraid of dying that never learns to live
When the night has been too lonely
And the road has been too long
And you think that love is only
For the lucky and the strong
Just remember in the winter far beneath the bitter snows
Lies the seed
That with the sun’s love
In the spring
Becomes the rose

The Rose Beyond The Wall

By A. L. Frink

Near a shady wall a rose once grew,
Budded and blossomed in God’s free light,
Watered and fed by the morning dew,
Shedding it’s sweetness day and night.

As it grew and blossomed fair and tall,
Slowly rising to loftier height,
It came to a crevice in the wall
Through which there shone a beam of light.

Onward it crept with added strength
With never a thought of fear or pride,
It followed the light through the crevice’s length
And unfolded itself on the other side.

The light, the dew, the broadening view
Were found the same as they were before,
And it lost itself in beauties new,
Breathing it’s fragrance more and more.

Shall claim of death cause us to grieve
And make our courage faint and fall?
Nay! Let us faith and hope receive–
The rose still grows beyond the wall,

Scattering fragrance far and wide
Just as it did in days of yore,
Just as it did on the other side,
Just as it will forever-more

The Rose Beyond The Wall (abbreviated)

By A. L. Frink

A rose once grew where all could see,
sheltered beside a garden wall,
And as the days passed swiftly by,
it spread its branches, straight and tall…

One day, a beam of light shone through
a crevice that had opened wide
The rose bent gently toward its warmth
then passed beyond to the other side

Now, you who deeply feel its loss,
be comforted – the rose blooms there-
its beauty even greater now, nurtured by
loved ones gone before and into their loving care.

Time Heals

By Author unknown

White (rose) petals fall and blossoms fade,
Memories linger yet,
Recollections of happier times,
You never will forget.
Then as time gently passes by,
And comfort soothes your sorrow,
Like flowers you’ll find, new memories bloom,
To brighten your tomorrow.

Twelve Roses for Anne

Twelve roses to say that we love you
Twelve roses to say how much we care.
Twelve roses to show how we miss you
Twelve roses tell us that you are no longer there.

Your perfume and your petal softness
Your selfless and supportive ways
Will always be remembered
Through the long and lonely days.

You were the central hub of our family,
The centre from which our spokes took form,
You guided and shaped our beings
And patiently weathered every storm.

One rose to symbolize your dedication
Another to say how you cared.
A third to remind us of your thoughtfulness
A fourth for the love you shared.

A fifth for your fidelity,
Six for your dedication to us all
Seven for your attention to detail
However will we manage without your presence here at all?

Rose eight to say we cherish
The memories of you dear,
Rose nine for us to remember
The giving of your time.

Ten roses lie together
Like your gardens of the years
Another rose joins them,
A symbol of our tears.

The last of twelve yellow roses
Completes the fragrant bouquet
We will love and miss you dear Annie,
Your memory will not fade away.

Twelve roses to say that we love you
Twelve roses to say how much we care
Twelve roses to show how we miss you
Twelve roses tell us that you are no longer there.

Twelve roses to SIT ON YOUR COFFIN
Twelve roses NOW SAY OUR GOODBYE
Twelve roses OF LOVE AND OF MEMORIES
Twelve roses TO HELP YOU NOW FLY


TOP OF PAGE                               HOME


FOOTBALL, SOCCER & RUGBY

A Poem For Old Rugby Players

by David Harley Brown

When the battle scars have faded
And the truth becomes a lie
And the weekend smell of liniment
Could almost make you cry.

When the last rucks well behind you
And the man that ran now walks
It doesn’t matter who you are
The mirror sometimes talks

Have a good hard look old son!
The melons not that great
The snoz that takes a sharp turn sideways
Used to be dead straight

You’re an advert for arthritis
You’re a thoroughbred gone lame
Then you ask yourself the question
Why the hell you played the game?

Was there logic in the head knocks?
In the corks and in the cuts?
Did common sense get pushed aside?
By manliness and guts?

Do you sometimes sit and wonder
Why your time would often pass
In a tangled mess of bodies
With your head up someone’s……?

With a thumb hooked up your nostril
Scratching gently on your brain
And an overgrown Neanderthal
Rejoicing in your pain!

Mate – you must recall the jersey
That was shredded into rags
Then the soothing sting of Dettol
On a back engraved with tags!

It’s almost worth admitting
Though with some degree of shame
That your wife was right in asking
Why the hell you played the game?

Why you’d always rock home legless
Like a cow on roller skates
After drinking at the clubhouse
With your low down drunken mates

Then you’d wake up – check your wallet
Not a solitary coin
Drink Berocca by the bucket
Throw an ice pack on your groin

Copping Sunday morning sermons
About boozers being losers
While you limped like Quasimodo
With a half a thousand bruises!

Yes – an urge to hug the porcelain
And curse Sambuca’s name
Would always pose the question
Why the hell you played the game!

And yet with every wound re-opened
As you grimly reminisce it
Comes the most compelling feeling yet
God, you bloody miss it!

From the first time that you laced a boot
And tightened every stud
That virus known as rugby
Has been living in your blood

When you dreamt it when you played it
All the rest took second fiddle
Now you’re standing on the sideline
But your hearts still in the middle

And no matter where you travel
You can take it as expected
There will always be a breed of people
Hopelessly infected

If there’s a teammate, then you’ll find him
Like a gravitating force
With a common understanding
And a beer or three, of course

And as you stand there telling lies
Like it was yesterday old friend
You’ll know that if you had the chance
You’d do it all again

You see – that’s the thing with rugby
It will always be the same
And that, I guarantee
Is why the hell you played the game!


The Footballer’s Prayer

By Paul Cookson

Our  team Which art  eleven
Hallowed  be  thy game
Our  match be won
Their  score  be  none
On turf  as  we score
at least  seven Give  us  today  no  daily  red …  card
And forgive  us  our  lost  passes
As  we forgive  those
Who lose passes  against  us
Lead  us  not into  retaliation
And deliver  us  from  penalties
For  three  is  the  kick  off
The  power and scorer
For  ever  and  ever
Full  time

The Goalie With Expanding Hands

By Paul Cookson

Any crosses, any shots
I will simply stop the lot
I am always in demand
The goalie with expanding hands
Volleys, blasters, scissor kicks
I am safe between the sticks
All attacks I will withstand
The goalie with expanding hands
Free kicks or a penalty
No-one ever scores past me
Strong and bold and safe I’ll stand
The goalie with expanding hands
Let their strikers be immense
I’m the last line of defence
Alert, on duty, all posts manned
The goalie with expanding hands
Palms as long as arms expand
Thumbs and fingers ready fanned
You may as well shoot in the stand
Not a chance! Understand?
Number one in all the land
Superhuman, super-spanned
In control and in command
I’m the man, I’m the man
The one and only goalie … with my expanding hands

The Passing Of A Footballer

By Michael Ashby

Football’s a match made in heaven
Which is fan-tastic news for me
And heaven’s a level playing field
Where anyone can kick off for free

The referee needs no introduction
Or whistle for a foul blow
When God raises his eyebrows
None argue with the penalty or throw

The transfer window never closes
As new players arrive all the time
There’s always a top team to play on
As for the kit, I just wish I’d brought mine

We kick off side by side in a minute
Cheered by old family, teammates and friends
Football’s really a blast in heaven
After your first whistle the matches never end

The Ref

By Graeme Cook

His striped form stands alert there, at the kick-off of each match,
His whistle shrill, the game gets under way,
All the players know who’s boss, so it flows without a catch,
His eagle eyes are watching ev’ry play.
He knows when it’s offside, and he can spot the slightest foul,
Take a dive, and he will treat you hard,
He knows his football backwards with the wisdom of an owl,
And any bully’s swiftly shown a card.
All the youngsters that he’s trained, know just what to expect,
Upon the field on any playing day,
Coached, advised, encouraged, with a mutual respect,
So lend an ear to what he has to say.
Play your game with skill and passion,
guard that goal with all your might,
Or strike toward the net so hard and true,
For he loved to see you love the game,
so never lose the sight,
Of ev’ry single thing he’s taught to you
For now that sadly he’s moved on, where he refs for higher teams,
Don’t you ever, be too surprised to find,
Although you can’t see or hear him, he’ll be far closer than it seems,
A top man never leaves his team behind.
The scores, they never mattered, it was how you played the game,
To do less than best would surely be a crime,
Play on lads, as if he’s there, treat the ball and field the same,
The Ref’s last match didn’t run to ‘extra time’.

The Rugby Player’s Last Try

By Michael Ashby

The rugby ball inside the coffin
Rather gave the game away
As a diehard rugby warrior
Determined to play on in future days

Believing there was more than one H in heaven
At the ends of astral turf grounds
And that the rugbyuniverse cup
Was still in its early rounds

After a lifetime that had seemed eighty minutes
With a body clock now in the red
The gladiator scored his last mortal try
Touching his head down on mother earth's bed

FORGIVENESS

Don’t Judge Me

by Kathleen Wilson

Don’t judge me, for I am just like you.
I can feel, I can love, and I can cry too.

Don’t curse me, for I have done you no wrong.
I only want the acceptance I have needed for so long.

Don’t laugh at me, for I am not laughing with you.
I see you’re laughing at me why is this true?

I may not even be who you think I am,
or even who you want me to be.
You wish for me to be more like you,
Why can’t you be more like me?

We both are made by one in the same.
We grew to be different, I’m not to blame.

Don’t judge me for I am just like you.
I can feel, I can love, and I can cry too.

Invocation of Forgiveness

By © Copyright Abby Willowroot

http://www.spiralgoddess.com/InterFaith_DeathDying_Mourning_Prayers.html

Today, I call on the powers of forgiveness,
the hope that heals & wipes away resentment,
I am ready to forgive & heal old wounds.
I forgive you for the past, making way for friendship &
to forgive all who have hurt me in the past, deliberately
or by accident. I am ready to forgive myself for errors
made & things I have done in the past that I regret.

Healing replaces resentment, peace replaces anger
as forgiveness grows inside me, my heart lightens.
filling me with a sense of well-being & acceptance,
I embrace forgiveness, the great healer of hearts.

Judge Gently

by I. H. Plemmons

Pray, don’t find fault with the man that limps
Or stumbles along the road.
Unless you have worn the shoes he wears
Or struggled beneath his load

There may be tacks in his shoes that hurt
Though hidden away from view
Or the burden he bears placed on your back
Might cause you to stumble too

Don’t sneer at the man who’s down today
Unless you have felt the blow
That caused his fall or felt the shame
That only the fallen know

You may be strong but still the blows
That was his if dealt to you
In the selfsame way, at the selfsame time
Might cause you to stagger too

Don’t be too harsh with the man that sins
Or pelt him with word or stone
Unless you are sure – yea, doubly sure –
That you have no sins of your own

For you know if the tempter’s voice
Should whisper as soft to you
As it did to him when he went astray
It might cause you to falter too


TOP OF PAGE                               HOME


FRIEND

A simple friend vs A Real Friend!

by unknown

Anyone can stand by you when you are right,
but a true Friend will stand by you even when you are wrong…
A simple friend identifies himself when he calls.
A real friend doesn’t have to.
A simple friend opens a conversation with a full news bulletin on his life.
A real friend says, “What’s new with you?”
A simple friend thinks the problems you whine about are recent.
A real friend says, “You’ve been whining about the same thing for 14 years.
Get off your duff and do something about it.”
A simple friend has never seen you cry.
A real friend has shoulders soggy from your tears.
A simple friend doesn’t know your parents’ first names.
A real friend has their phone numbers in his address book.
A simple friend brings a bottle of wine to your party.
A real friend comes early to help you cook and stays late to help you clean.
A simple friend hates it when you call after he has gone to bed.
A real friend asks you why you took so long to call.
A simple friend seeks to talk with you about your problems.
A real friend seeks to help you with your problems.
A simple friend wonders about your romantic history.
A real friend could blackmail you with it.
A simple friend, when visiting, acts like a guest.
A real friend opens your refrigerator and helps himself.
A simple friend thinks the friendship is over when you have an argument.
A real friend knows that it’s not a friendship until after you’ve had a fight.
A simple friend expects you to always be there for them.
A real friend expects to always be there for you!

Goodbye My Friend

by Karla Bonoff

Though we never know
Where life will take us,
I know it’s just a ride
On the wheel.
And we never know
When death will shake us
And we wonder how
It will feel.
So Goodbye my friend.
I know I’ll never see you again.
But the time together
Through all the years,
Will take away these tears.
It’s OK now – Goodbye my friend.
I see a lot of things
That make me crazy,
And I guess I held on to you,
You could have run away
And left – well maybe,
But it wasn’t time
And we both knew.
So Goodbye My friend.
I know I’ll never see you again.
But the love you gave me
Through all the years
Will take away these tears.
I’m OK now – Goodbye my friend.

Friend Poem

By Author Unknown

Written with a pen.
Sealed with a kiss.
If you are my friend,
please answer this:

Are we friends
Or are we not?
You told me once
But I forgot.

So tell me now
And tell me true.
So I can say….
“I’m here for you.”
Of all the friends
I’ve ever met,
You’re the one
I won’t forget.
And if I die
Before you do,
I’ll go to heaven
And wait for you.
I’ll give the angels
Back their wings
And risk the loss
Of everything.
Just to prove my
friendship is true..
to have a friend like you!

I Believe

author unknown

I believe- that we don’t have to change friends
if we understand that friends change.
I believe- that no matter how good a friend is, They’re going to hurt you every once in a while and you must forgive them for that.
I believe- that true friendship continues to grow, even over the  longest distance. Same goes for true love.
I believe- That you can do something in an instant that will give you heartache for life.
I believe- that it’s taking me a long time to become the person I want to be.
I believe- that you should always leave loved ones with loving words. It may be the last time you see them.
I believe- that you can keep going long after you can’t.
I believe- that we are responsible for what we do, no matter how we feel.
I believe- that either you control your attitude, or it controls you.
I believe- that regardless of how hot and steamy a relationship is at first, the passion fades and there had better be something else to take its place.
I believe- that heroes are the people who do what has to be done when it needs to be done, regardless of the consequences.
I believe- that money is a lousy way of keeping score.
I believe- that my best friend and I can do anything or nothing and have the best time.
I believe- that sometimes the people you expect to kick you when you’re down, will be the ones to help you get back up.
I believe- that sometimes when I’m angry I have the right to be angry, but that doesn’t give me the right to be cruel.
I believe- that just because someone doesn’t love you the way you want them to doesn’t mean they don’t love you with all they have.
I believe- that maturity has more to do with what types of experiences you’ve had and what you’ve learned from them and less to do with how many birthdays you’ve celebrated.
I believe- that it isn’t always enough to be forgiven by others.
Sometimes you have to learn to forgive yourself.
I believe- that no matter how bad your heart is broken the world doesn’t stop for your grief.
I believe- that our background and circumstances may have influenced who we are, but we are responsible for who we become.
I believe- that just because two people argue, it doesn’t mean they don’t love each other And just because they don’t argue, it doesn’t mean they do.
I believe- that you shouldn’t be so eager to find out a secret.
It could change your life forever.
I believe- that two people can look at the exact same thing and see something totally different.
I believe- that your life can be changed in a matter of hours by people who don’t even know you.
I believe- that even when you think you have no more to give, when a friend cries out to you, you will find the strength to help.
I believe- that credentials on the wall do not make you a decent human being.
I believe- that the people you care about most in life are taken from you too soon.


TOP OF PAGE                               HOME


If I Could Catch A Rainbow

Author: unknown

If I could catch a rainbow
I would do it just for you
And share with you its beauty
On the days you’re feeling blue

If i could build a mountain
You could call your very own
A place to find serenity
A place to be alone

If i could take your troubles
I would toss them in the sea
But all these things I’m finding
Are impossible for me
I cannot build a mountain
Or catch a rainbow fair
But let me be what I know best
A friend that’s always there

To a Friend

by Amy Lowell

I ask but one thing of you, only one.
That you will always be my dream of you;
That never shall I wake to fine untrue
All this I have believed and rested on,
Forever vanished, like a vision gone
Out into the night. Alas, how few
There are who strike in us a chord we knew
Existed, but so seldom heard its tone
We tremble at the half-forgotten sound.
The world is full of rude awakenings
And heaven-born castles shattered to the ground,
Yet still our human longing vainly clings
To a belief in beauty through all wrongs.
O stay your hand, and leave my heart its songs!

What Makes a Beautiful Person?

©Graeme Cook 1997

A Laugh that’s there, for all to share, A Heart, compassionate and kind, A Soul that makes Friends everywhere, And to Prejudice, is blind.

Eyes that see only, a person’s Best,   A Mouth, that tells no Lies, But Smiles, with the warmth of a Helping Hand, These are Qualities we Prize.

And all these things, we find in You, No need is there to pretend, And the thing that we like, most of all, Is the fact, that You’re our Friend.

You Are My Friend…….

By Author Unknown

You Are My Friend…….
Regardless Of Skin Color….
Regardless Of Size……

I Love You For Who You Are…..
Even Though We Don’t See Each Other
As Often As We’d Like….
I Still Consider You A Friend……

You Will Always Carry A Special Place In My Heart…..
We Can Talk About Anything, And We Do…..

If You Are Ever In A Bind, You Can Count On Me…..
Wherever You Are In This World…..
I Will Always Be By Your Side…..
If You Need Support, You Can Count On Me….
You Call, And I Will Be There…..

So Thank You For Being My Friend….
I Love You For That.


TOP OF PAGE                               HOME


GARBAGE COLLECTORS

Ode To Garbage Man (adapted)

by Lemony Squeeze.

My garbage man, he is the best,
I favour him above the rest.
What would we all do without him,
I do believe his name is Tim.

Tim is such a great, grand fellow,
He takes all our junk, and rotten jello.
He clears the land of all the trash,
And doesn’t stop for new year’s bash.

He doesn’t break on Christmas day,
Nope, with his garbage truck he’ll stay.
Through the thick and through the thin,
Tim will carry out our bins.

So when you see the garbage man,
Weather He be Tim or Stan,
When you give him your garbage can,
You go out shake his hand.

He deserves Our full attention,
Not to mention a good size pension.
Well garbage men I thank you,
For serving me and Australia too.

The Garbage Man

By Lou Szymkow 10/02/2020

He starts the engine as we sleep
Readying to collect all those things we don’t want to keep

Alone he sits in his truck,
Driving almost quietly seeing the bins  ready to pluck

They lift, they tip, they empty quick
And drop to the ground quick and slick

Onto the next and a thousand more
Each outside a house, a unit or store

We forget he is there, unless he is not,
Being alone is the garbage man’s lot
But without him the garbage would pile
Into a stench all rotting and vile

We need him you see
As we slumber so pleasantly
Cleaning our lives so constantly
He takes away all that we no longer need
So that we can live life without impede

When he finishes his shift, he laughs with his mates
Though a few muscles might tend to ache
And he goes home to his home and family
Being Just like you, and me

And so when you hear that grinding truck
Know he is there and it is our luck
That when we wake all the garbage is gone
And a garbage man’s day finishes at dawn

GARDENS & GARDENERS

See also:

Dear Old Dad

By Patience Strong

We miss him in his garden
Doing odd jobs here and there.
We miss him at the table
When we see the empty chair.
We miss him at the fireside
when we gather round the blaze.
We miss him, – oh, we miss him
In a hundred different ways.
When troubles came the family
Would always turn to him.
He always had a cheery word
When things were looking grim….
And now he’s gone we know he wouldn’t
Want us to be sad –
But life can never be the same
Without the Dear Old Dad.

Finding You in Beauty

by Walter Rinder

The rays of light filtered through
The sentinels of trees this morning.
I sat in the garden and contemplated.
The serenity and beauty
Of my feelings and surroundings
Completely captivated me…
I thought of you.
I discovered you tucked
Away in the shadow of the trees.
Then rediscovered you on the smiles of the flowers
As the sun penetrated the petals…
In the rhythm of the leaves
Falling in the garden…
In the freedom of birds
As they fly searching as you do.
Now, you will never leave me,
For I will always find you
In the beauty of life.

God’s Garden

By Author Unknown

God looked around his garden
And found an empty place,
He then looked down upon the earth
And saw your tired face.
He put his arms around you
And lifted you to rest.
God’s garden must be beautiful
He always takes the best.
He knew that you were suffering
He knew you were in pain.
He knew that you would never
Get well on earth again.
He saw the road was getting rough
And the hills were hard to climb.
So he closed your weary eyelids
And whispered, ‘Peace be thine’.
It broke our hearts to lose you
But you didn’t go alone,
For part of us went with you
The day God called you home.

Meet You At The Gate

© By Barbara Bailey, Published: July 2007

A beautiful garden now stands alone,
missing the one who nurtured it,
But now she is gone.
Her flowers still bloom, and the sun it still shines,
But the rain is like tear drops for the ones left behind,
The weeds lay waiting to take the gardens beauty away,
But the beautiful memories of its keeper are in our hearts to stay.
She loved every flower, even some that were weeds.
So much love she would plant with each little seed,
But just like her flowers, she was part of God’s plan.
So when it was her time, he reached down his hand.
He looked through the Garden, searching for the best.
That’s when he found Robin; it was her time to rest.
It was hard for those who loved her to just let her go,
But God had a spot in his garden that needed a gentle soul,
So when you start missing Robin, remember if you just wait,
When God has a spot in his garden, she’ll meet you at the gate…

Our Father Kept A Garden

By Kelly Z

Our father kept a garden.
A garden of the heart
He planted all the good things,
That gave our lives their start.
He turned us to the sunshine,
And encouraged us to dream;
Fostering and nurturing the seeds of self-esteem.
And when the winds and rain came, he protected us enough
But not too much because he knew
We would stand up strong and tough.
His constant good example,
Always taught us right from wrong, markers for our pathway,
to last a life time long.
We are our father’s garden,
We are his legacy
And I hope today he feels the love,
Reflected back from me

Our/My Mother Kept a Garden

By Kelly Z

My Mother kept a garden.
A garden of the heart;
She planted all the good things,
That gave my life it’s start.

She turned me to the sunshine,
And encouraged me to dream:
Fostering and nurturing
The seeds of self-esteem.

And when the winds and rains came,
She protected me enough;
But not too much, she knew I’d need
To stand up strong and tough.

Her constant good example,
Always taught me right from wrong;
Markers for my pathway
To last my whole life long.

I am my Mother’s garden,
I am her legacy.
And I hope today she feels the love,
Reflected back from me

The Garden

By Author Unknown.

I know where the garden of longing is
I’ve been there many a time
To see your beautiful smiling face
And hold your hand in mine

We walk the paths where flowers bloom
And watch the butterflies
We share some childhood memories
Of yesterday’s gone by

Many tears I’ve cried since you went away
My life has changed so much
Without you here to share with me
Or feel your gentle touch

I miss your smile, your laughter too
I miss those days gone by
I often sit and wonder
About all the reasons why

I guess your blooms were so beautiful
All covered with glistening mist
That God sent the angels down that day
And checked you off his list.

 

The Gentle Gardener

By Edgar Albert Guest

I’d like to leave but daffodills
to mark my little way,
To leave but tulips red and white
behind me as I stray;
I’d like to pass away from earth
and feel I’d left behind
But roses and forget-me-nots
for all who come to find.

I’d like to sow the barren spots
with all the flowers of earth,
To leave a path where those who come
should find but gentle mirth;
And when at last I’m called upon
to join the heavenly throng
I’d like to feel along my way
I’d left no sign of wrong.

And yet the cares are many
and the hours of toil are few;
There is not time enough on earth
for all I’d like to do;
But, having lived and having toiled,
I’d like the world to find
Some little touch of beauty
that my soul had left behind.

The Glory of the Garden

by Rudyard Kipling

Our England is a garden that is full of stately views,
Of borders, beds and shrubberies and lawns and avenues,
With statues on the terraces and peacocks strutting by;
But the Glory of the Garden lies in more than meets the eye.

For where the old thick laurels grow, along the thin red wall,
You will find the tool- and potting-sheds which are the heart of all;
The cold-frames and the hot-houses, the dungpits and the tanks:
The rollers, carts and drain-pipes, with the barrows and the planks.

And there you’ll see the gardeners, the men and ‘prentice boys
Told off to do as they are bid and do it without noise;
For, except when seeds are planted and we shout to scare the birds,
The Glory of the Garden it abideth not in words.

And some can pot begonias and some can bud a rose,
And some are hardly fit to trust with anything that grows;
But they can roll and trim the lawns and sift the sand and loam,
For the Glory of the Garden occupieth all who come.

Our England is a garden, and such gardens are not made
By singing:–”Oh, how beautiful!” and sitting in the shade,
While better men than we go out and start their working lives
At grubbing weeds from gravel-paths with broken dinner-knives.

There’s not a pair of legs so thin, there’s not a head so thick,
There’s not a hand so weak and white, nor yet a heart so sick.
But it can find some needful job that’s crying to be done,
For the Glory of the Garden glorifieth every one.

Then seek your job with thankfulness and work till further orders,
If it’s only netting strawberries or killing slugs on borders;
And when your back stops aching and your hands begin to harden,
You will find yourself a partner in the Glory of the Garden.

Oh, Adam was a gardener, and God who made him sees
That half a proper gardener’s work is done upon his knees,
So when your work is finished, you can wash your hands and pray
For the Glory of the Garden, that it may not pass away!
And the Glory of the Garden it shall never pass away!

When Death Comes

by Mary Oliver

When death comes
like the hungry bear in autumn;
when death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse
to buy me, and snap the purse shut;
when death comes
like the measle-pox

when death comes
like an iceberg between the shoulder blades,
I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering:
what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?

And therefore I look upon everything
as a brotherhood and a sisterhood,
and I look upon time as no more than an idea,
and I consider eternity as another possibility,
and I think of each life as a flower, as common
as a field daisy, and as singular,

and each name a comfortable music in the mouth,
tending, as all music does, toward silence,

and each body a lion of courage, and something
precious to the earth.

When it’s over, I want to say all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.

When it’s over, I don’t want to wonder
if I have made of my life something particular, and real.

I don’t want to find myself sighing and frightened,
or full of argument.

I don’t want to end up simply having visited this world.

You Will Always Be There

By Author Unknown

The rays of light filtered through
the sentinels of trees this morning.
I sat in the garden and contemplated.
The serenity and beauty
of my feelings and surroundings
completely captivated me…
I thought of you.
I discovered you tucked away
in the shadows of the trees, then rediscovered you
on the smiles of the flowers
as the sun penetrated the petals …
in the rhythm of the leaves
falling in the garden …
in the freedom of the birds
flying in the clear blue sky.
I’m very happy to have found you.
Now, you will never leave me,
for I will always find you
in the beauty of life.

 


TOP OF PAGE                               HOME


GOLF & GOLFERS

A Golfer Prayer

https://passionist.org/a-golfers-prayer/

God,
You’ve blessed us with the beauty of nature,
the abilities of mind and body,
plus the insights of modern technology.
These blessings join together today in the sport,
Golf.

Be with us, that we may enjoy
each moment of today’s outing:

May our vision be keen as an eagle’s,
our drives straight as aces,
our irons sure as the birdies’ flight,
our putts true and on the mark,
and the fellowship above par!

May we call upon your Holy Name only
in praise, and leave cursing the Devil
to those more qualified…

And, if it be your Will, a good score
would make today heavenly!

Amen!

 

A Golfer’s Prayer

by William Everyman 2000

Blessed art Thou oh Lord our God !
Thou hast made the sand, the grass the trees,
and gently in the tallest oak,
You waft a gentle breeze.
You drew the bubbling little brook.
You painted the placid pond.
You sigh the deepest twilight.
And smile the brightest dawn.
Beneath the fog, beneath the mist,
that drifts across the ground,
You twirl Your mighty finger,
and spin this world around.
The hills, the valleys, the winding wood,
inspire a soul to sing,
was ever there such beauty, Lord
where rolls the emerald green
Oh God, I know You are a golfer,
Your work does thus demand.
It seems Your only handicap,
is this thing that You call man.
Can this be an island, Lord ?
A place of grace and charm.
Away from daily trouble Lord,
away from daily harm ?
We pray that this may be, dear God,
a place where love extends.
Where travellers come as strangers
and golfers leave as friends !

 

A Golfer’s Psalm

By Tony Carpenito 23/12/2007

The LORD is my caddie; I shall not whiff.
He maketh me to drive straight down green fairways:
He leadeth me over the still waters.
He restoreth my swing:
He leadeth me in the paths of truthfulness for the game’s sake.
Yea, though I pitch through the valley of the shadow of the woods,
I will fear no bunkers: for thou art with me;
Thy wedge and thy putter they comfort me.
Thou preparest a line before me in the presence of mind hazards:
Thou anointest my stroke with confidence;

the cup will not be runneth over.
Surely birdies and eagles shall follow me all the rounds of my life:
and I will dwell in the clubhouse of the LORD for ever.

A Golfer’s Dream

By Author Unknown

I must be off to the links again,
For the call of the fairways wide
Is a loud call, and a clear call
That cannot be denied.
It fills me with a mad desire to realise
My dreams of tee-shots long,
And irons strong
To the heart of all the greens.

So I’m off for a golfing holiday,
Far away from
The cares of town.
And I’ll strive each day
Better golf to play
’till my handicap comes down.

Then all I want is the magic puff,
And the straight and powerful drive
To complete the course,
Using skill and force
In a brilliant 65!

A Prayer For a Golf Tournament

by Mary Loudriedger

Dear God,

We are grateful for the chance we had today to play the game of golf.  We are thankful for the exercise it provided for our bodies, for the sense of companionship we experienced with other golfers, and for the opportunity we had to enjoy the beauty of creation. Open our minds and hearts to the lessons this game can teach us about life….. that we shouldn’t give up after a few bad holes, because things will probably get better if we just keep trying….  that we need to be flexible, if the nine iron won’t do the trick, maybe the pitching wedge will…..  that the lowest handicaps aren’t necessarily earned by the women with the latest fashions in golfing attire or the most expensive set of clubs, but by those who work hard at their game with patience and persistence.

Bless each person here whether she ended up a winner or loser when the scorecards were handed in today, for if we enjoyed the game we played together we really were all winners. We ask now for your blessing on this food.

Amen.

Comfortless

By Edgar A. Guest

I found him underneath a tree
“And what is wrong,” quoth I,
“That you so solemn seem to be
Under this summer sky?

“All day I’ve shanked my mashie shot,
My putts rimmed every cup,
I’m doing something I should not;
I think it’s looking up.”

“Poor man,” I said, “’tis very sure
No help for you appears,
The woes you bear I tried to cure
Myself for thirty years.
“And still my mashie shots I shank,
And still I slice the drive,
And with the dubs expect to rank
As long as I’m alive.

“Through time all other griefs my cure,
All other hurts may mend,
The miseries of golf endure:
To them there is no end.”

Golf Pro

By Michael Phillips

There are two types of people:
Those who play golf,
And those who recognize it
for the idiotic malpractice that it is,
that recognize it for the land wasting,
water guzzling, pesticide and herbicide
carcinogen drenched
leeching into the groundwater,
sanitized version of nature,
Bob Hope celebrity goofball,
mundane polo shirt and jackass slacks,
elitist, history of bigotry, racism, sexism,
and anti-Semitism, over-priced, over-rated,
time-wasting, posing-as-a-sport
moronic indulgence that it is.
I’m the first type.

Golfer’s Prayer

By Jeff Hiatt

Lord, as I walk down the fairways of life,
help me to realize that my greatest opportunities to learn
are actually when I am in the rough,
where I discover things I never knew were there,
and when I’m in the deepest sand,
where I learn that there is a time to walk softly,
and clean-up after myself,
and when I’m playing scramble,
where I learn that I have friends
to make up for what I lack,
and when I find the water,
where I learn that some things
are better left alone.
And when the ball rolls into the hole
for that wonderful par,
help me to realize that
all good things come from you.

I Really Am A Golfer

Copyright © Justin Time

I really am a golfer And let me tell you why
Its only when I swing a club I really feel alive
I really am a golfer
And take my driver out
I swing my club and hit the ball
As hard and I have might
I really and a golfer
My ball is in the rough
I swing my metal 3 real hard
To find the grass is tuff
I really am a golfer
My ball goes 50 ft.
It’s out the rough and in the sand
And buried very deep
I really am a golfer
I take my sand wedge out
I open up the face of it
And swing it with a clout
I really am a golfer
My ball is on the green
I swing the putter in an arc
With boggy on the seen
I really am a Golfer
My put goes 10ft past
I’m looking at a double
But the Green is just too fast
I really am a golfer
The balls beside the cup
I make it in the centre
And my friends they call it luck

Life is like a Round of Golf

By Criswell Freeman

Life is like a round of golf
With many a turn and twist.
But the game is much too sweet and short
To curse the shots you’ve missed.

Sometimes you’ll hit it straight and far
Sometimes the putts roll true.
But each round has it’s errant shots
And troubles to play through.

So always swing with courage
No matter what the lie.
And never let the hazards
Destroy the joy inside.

And keep a song within your heart
Give thanks that you can play.
For the round is much too short and sweet
To let it slip away.

Ode To Golf

By Allan Berman

In my hand I hold a ball.
White And Dimpled, Rather Small.
Oh, How Bland It Does Appear.
This Harmless Looking Little Sphere.
By Its Size I Could Not Guess,
The Awesome Strength It Does Possess.
But Since I Fell Beneath Its Spell,
I’ve Wandered Through The Fires Of Hell.
My Life Has Not Been Quite The Same,
Since I Chose To Play This Stupid Game.
It Rules My Mind For Hours On End,
A Fortune It Has Made Me Spend.
It Has Made Me Yell, Curse And sigh,
I Hate Myself And Want To cry.
It Promises A Thing Called Par,
If I Can Hit It Straight And Far.
To Master Such A Tiny Ball,
Should Not Be Very Hard At All.
But My Desires The Ball Refuses,
And Does Exactly As It Chooses.
It Hooks And Slices, Dribbles And Dies,
And Even Disappears Before My Eyes.
Often It Will Have A Whim,
To Hit A Tree Or Take A Swim.
With Miles Of Grass On Which To Land,
It Finds A Tiny Patch Of Sand.
Then Has Me Offering Up My Soul,
If Only It Would Find The Hole.
It’s Made Me Whimper Like A Pup,
And Swear That I Will Give It Up.
And Take To Drink To Ease My Sorrow,
But The Ball Knows … I’ll Be Back
Tomorrow.

The Golf Course In The Sky

By Michael Ashby

As eighteen flags flew at half mast, and
Glasses were soberly raised high
The latest member was having a ball
At the golf course in the sky

Freed from the gravity of the situation
The first tee shot soared through space
Bringing a wondrous, beaming smile
To a kind, down to earth face

Surrounded by old club friends
Once thought never to be seen again
The infinity course beckoned ahead
Eighteen holes were for mere mortal men

The Golfer’s Prayer

By Author unknown

When facing outward on life’s tee
What’er may be my fate,
Grant — I pray — this boom to me
That I may drive them straight …
And if my best be not enough
Then give me courage high,
To go out there into the rough
And play them as they lie —
And when on life’s putting green
Others make the cup,
If I do not — may I come clean
And always be well up…
So when my game of life is played
And my clubs are laid aside,
No matter what mistakes I’ve made
May I have qualified.

 


TOP OF PAGE                               HOME


 

GRANDMOTHER / NANNA

A Grandmother’s Mystery

©Graeme Cook 2004

What is it about a Grandmother, that is such a special bond, Seeing not the years between us, but so very much beyond, For being so much older, just doesn’t seem to be a case, The ages seem to melt to nought, within our own special place.

The place where we share our secrets, and it always just makes sense, Where my soul can be wide open, true and free without defence, Split by a generation, simply makes us both so nearer, To words so true from both, whether you’re the speaker or the hearer.

That very place where children sit, in safety and in pleasure, To bask in love and comfort, is truly a child’s life treasure, Where this child can feel so grown up, and a Gran feel like a kid, Learn and laugh together from stories, of all the things she did.

The parents in the middle though, can’t share this special caring, It’s just for us, my Gran and I, adventures we are sharing, And even if my situation’s bad, my Gran is not deterred, What is it about a Grandmother? I think Love must be the word!

As We Look Back

By Author Unknown

As we look back over time
We find ourselves wondering …..
Did we remember to thank you enough
For all you have done for us?
For all the times you were by our sides
To help and support us …..
To celebrate our successes
To understand our problems
And accept our defeats?
Or for teaching us by your example,
The value of hard work, good judgement,
Courage and integrity?
We wonder if we ever thanked you
For the sacrifices you made.
To let us have the very best?
And for the simple things
Like laughter, smiles and times we shared?
If we have forgotten to show our
Gratitude enough for all the things you did,
We’re thanking you now.
And we are hoping you knew all along,
How much you meant to us.

Legacy Of Love

by Author Unknown

A wife, a mother, a grandmother too,
This is the legacy we have from you.
You taught us love and how to fight,
You gave us strength, you gave us might.
A stronger person would be hard to find,
And in your heart, you were always kind.
You fought for us all in one way or another,
Not just as a wife not just as a mother.
For all of us you gave your best,
Now the time has come for you to rest.
So go in peace, you’ve earned your sleep,
Your love in our hearts, we’ll eternally keep.

Sleep Now Nanna

© Alexandra Burrows

Although I cannot see you,
I feel your presence near.
I will hold you close in memory,
Till I drop my very last tear.
So sleep now with the angels,
And your golden heart let rest.
Although our hearts are broken,
We know GOD took the best.
So dance beyond those golden gates,
And join your loving mum.
I’ll see you when I’m sleeping,
And pray for you to come.
And although this pain is painful,
And I really don’t wanna let you go.
I’ll wait for death to take me Nan,
So we can together one day glow.
Until that day I’ll close my eyes,
And see your smiling face.
I’ll lock you up inside me heart,
Until we again embrace.
So rest now my beautiful Nanna,
I’ll never forget how much you have done.
So until my hand meets yours again,
Sleep now in the sun.

Your Spirit

by Tram-Tiara T. Von Reichenbach

I know that no matter what
You will always be with me.
When life separates us
I’ll know it is only your soul
Saying goodbye to your body
But your spirit will be with me always.
When I see a bird chirping on a nearby branch
I will know it is you singing to me.
When a butterfly brushes gently by me so care freely
I will know it is you assuring me you are free from pain.
When the gentle fragrance of a flower catches my attention
I will know it is you reminding me
To appreciate the simple things in life.
When the sun shining through my window awakens me
I will feel the warmth of your love.
When I hear the rain pitter patter against my window sill
I will hear your words of wisdom
And will remember what you taught me so well’
That without rain trees cannot grow
Without rain flowers cannot bloom
Without life’s challenges I cannot grow strong.
When I look out to the sea
I will think of your endless love for your family.
When I think of mountains, their majesty and magnificence
I will think of your courage for your country.
No matter where I am
Your spirit will be beside me
For I know that no matter what
You will always be with me.

 


TOP OF PAGE                               HOME


GRIEF & LOSS

A Last Breath

by © Lou Szymkow

Published: August 2017

I have breathed my last breath,
But don’t be vexed,
I have finished with this world
And moved on to the next

I’ll visit you from time to time,
Whenever our hearts and memories entwine

So don’t despair at my departure
I’ve just moved on to another pasture,
I have no pain, no anguish, no fears,
My love for you remains, my dears

So think of me now and again
Know that my soul has no end

Cry for me if you have to
But know that I am always proud of you

I would rather that you smile
When you think of me every while,

I want you to live for me, courageously.
Remember the good and the fun, joyously,

I love you, you know,
But now, it is time to let me go.

Always There

© Emma Marie Etwell
Published: February 2015

When you remember me,
Please do not weep.
My body may not be there.
It has chosen to sleep.
I’m not that far away.
My soul lives on,
Looking down, watching over
You and everyone.
And when you feel sad
And life seems so blue,
Just remember
That my spirit has its arms around you.
And on those special days,
Times that you wish I could see,
That cool breeze flowing past you…
Well, that will be me,
So don’t be sad.
Have no fear.
God has taken me under his wing,
But I’ll always be near.
I still watch you
Every minute, every day.
My love and soul are with you,
And that’s where they will stay.

Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep

by Mary Elizabeth Frye or as “Immortality”,  by Clare Harner

Do not stand at my grave and weep:
I am not there; I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow,
I am the sun on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning’s hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circling flight.
I am the soft starshine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry:
I am not there; I did not die.

Epitaph

By Merrit Malloy

When I die
Give what’s left of me away
To children
And old men that wait to die.

And if you need to cry,
Cry for your brother
Walking the street beside you.
And when you need me,
Put your arms
Around anyone
And give them
What you need to give to me.

I want to leave you something,
Something better
Than words
Or sounds.

Look for me
In the people I’ve known
Or loved,
And if you cannot give me away,
At least let me live on in your eyes
And not your mind.

You can love me most
By letting
Hands touch hands,
By letting bodies touch bodies,
And by letting go
Of children
That need to be free.

Love doesn’t die,
People do.
So, when all that’s left of me
Is love,
Give me away.

Grief

©Lou Szymkow 7/2/2017

The air is still
The birds are silent
My loved one has gone
but my heart, is defiant
My soul is in wreaking pain
as I blindly seek for you in vain
You were taken from my now empty arms
I yearn for you, and all of your charms
My life must go on; Please, why are you gone!
Come back to me
Come back to me
You were my life, my only destiny.

I fall to my knees
My heart about to burst
What is this pain, this despicable curse
How do I survive,
when I myself no longer feel worthy to be alive
Why has the sun so dimmed, how have I so sinned

That I should deserve to be so empty and bleak
I’ll rest here in your casket’s shadow, I’m so lonely and so weak

Words have been spoken but none fell to my ears
The curtains have closed and a friends’ arm appears
I rise to my feet, still so empty and so very weak
I struggle to walk, I don’t want to hear them speak,
I must go through the motions of living you know
But this pain will remain until I myself go,
Go to that place where we shall always be together
That mystical place of forever and ever.

Grief Never Ends

By Vicki Harrison

Grief never ends… But it changes.
It’s a passage, not a place to stay.
Grief is not a sign of weakness, nor a lack of faith…
It is the price of love.

Grief is like the ocean; it comes in waves, ebbing and flowing.
Sometimes the water is calm, and sometimes it is overwhelming.
All we can do is learn to swim.

He/She Is Gone (Remember Me)

By David Harkins

(This poem was original named ‘Remember Me’ but is commonly known as ‘She is Gone’ after it was chosen by Queen Elizabeth II as part of the funeral ceremony for her mother, Queen Elizabeth the Queen Mother, in April 2002.  A variation is to use the name of the deceased or ‘he’ instead of ‘she’ )

You can shed tears that (he) she is gone
Or you can smile because (he) she has lived

You can close your eyes and pray that (he) she will come back
Or you can open your eyes and see all that (he) she has left

Your heart can be empty because you can’t see his/her
Or you can be full of the love that you shared

You can turn your back on tomorrow and live yesterday
Or you can be happy for tomorrow because of yesterday

You can remember her and only that (he) she is gone
Or you can cherish her memory and let it live on

You can cry and close your mind, be empty and turn your back
Or you can do what she would want: smile, open your eyes, love and go on.

I Had My Own Notion Of Grief

– by Gwen Flowers

I thought it was the sad time
That followed the death of someone you love.
And you had to push through it
To get to the other side.
But I’m learning there is no other side.
There is no pushing through.
But rather,
There is absorption.
Adjustment.
Acceptance.
And grief is not something you complete,
But rather, you endure.
Grief is not a task to finish
And move on,
But an element of yourself-
An alteration of your being.
A new way of seeing.
A new definition of self.

I Heard Your Voice in the Wind Today

By Tim Edds

I heard your voice in the wind today
and I turned to see your face;
The warmth of the wind caressed me
as I stood silently in place.
I felt your touch in the sun today
as its warmth filled the sky;
I closed my eyes for your embrace
and my spirit soared high.
I saw your eyes in the window pane
as I watched the falling rain;
It seemed as each raindrop fell
it quietly said your name.
I held you close in my heart today
it made me feel complete;
You may have died…but you are not gone
you will always be a part of me.
As long as the sun shines…
the wind blows…
the rain falls…
You will live on inside of me forever
for that is all my heart knows.

Life Is But A Stopping Place

by Author Unknown

Life is but a stopping place,
A pause in what’s to be,
A resting place along the road,
to sweet eternity.
We all have different journeys.
Different paths along the way,
We all were meant to learn some things,
but never meant to stay…
Our destination is a place,
Far greater than we know.
For some the journey’s quicker,
For some the journey’s slow.
And when the journey finally ends,
We’ll claim a great reward,
And find an everlasting peace,
Together with the lord



TOP OF PAGE                               HOME


Memory of a life lived.

Copyright – Lou Szymkow 27/12/2017,
dedicated to my Mum 20/2/1925-19/01/2016)

Life is a collection of moments
Those things that make us care
The sights and the sounds
The aromas and the swirling of the morning air

Life is not the busy-ness of the day
But the moments and feeling, as we make our way

It is the laughter of a loved one
The smile of a child
The sizzle of a breakfast
The dressing up in style

It is the warmth of a tear upon your cheek
The foreboding when the skies are grey and bleak
The joy when the one you love enters the room
And the fear when they leave you, not knowing if they’ll return

Life is the cloud whispering by
The song of the birds applauding the sky
It is the sounds of your baby crying at night
And the pain of your loss when in plight

It is not just the emptiness left deep inside
But the remembering of wisdoms mentioned in stride
Life is but one step at a time
It is the knowledge that love is forever thine

Please Don’t Cry

© Joe Green, Published: February 2010

Please don’t cry
I’m not really gone
When you look out the window
I’ll be standing on the lawn

Please don’t cry
I’ll see you again
Don’t be sad
Keep up your chin

Please don’t cry
I’m not really dead
When you cry yourself to sleep
I’ll be by your bed

Please don’t cry
Just because we had to part
As long as you remember me
I’ll live in your heart

Please don’t cry
I’m not gone forever
I’ll be a cool and gentle breeze
In hot summer weather

Please don’t cry
Don’t run and hide
When you need a shoulder to lean on
I’ll be by your side

Please don’t cry
When you’re sad and weak
I’ll be there
To kiss you on the cheek

Please don’t cry
This is just a goodbye
So please, oh please
Baby, do not cry

Please Don’t Judge Me

by Samantha Higgins

Please don’t judge me by my face,
by my religion,
or my race.
Please don’t laugh at what I wear,
or how I look or do my hair.
Please look a little deeper,
way down deep inside.
And although you may not see it,
I have a lot to hide.
Behind my clothes the secrets lie,
behind my smile, I softly cry.
please look a little deeper,
and maybe you will see.
The lonely little girl,
that lives inside of me.
Please listen carefully to her,
she’ll show that she is insecure.
Please try to be her friend,
and show her that you care.
Please just get to know her,
and maybe you will see,
That if you just look deep enough,
you’ll find the real me.

Song

by Christina Rossetti

When I am dead, my dearest,
Sing no sad songs for me;
Plant thou no roses at my head,
Nor shady cypress tree:
Be the green grass above me
With showers and dewdrops wet;
And if thou wilt, remember,
And if thou wilt, forget.

I shall not see the shadows,
I shall not feel the rain;
I shall not hear the nightingale
Sing on, as if in pain:
And dreaming through the twilight
That doth not rise nor set,
Haply I may remember,
And haply may forget.

Stop All The Clocks (cut off the telephone)/Funeral Blues

By Wystan Hugh Auden

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

(See the scene from  Four Wedding & A Funeral)

The Loss Of Any Life

By Lou Szymkow

The loss of a life, any life, leaves an emptiness and pain in those who mourn.
When we get older, life is not less valuable because of age but more so because it has become obviously limited.
Words can be like daggers, to those it impacts.
Please think of the impact of your words.
The companions, the mourners for the life lost, are in grief and may be grievously hurt by thoughtless words.
Please don’t compound their grief with arrogant and thoughtless nonsense.

Time Will Ease The Hurt

By Bruce B Wilmer

The sadness of the present days Is locked and set in time
and moving to the future is a slow and painful climb.
But all the feelings that are now, so vivid and so real,
can’t hold their fresh intensity, as time begins to heal.
No wound so deep will ever go entirely away,
yet every hurt becomes a little less each day.
Nothing can erase the painful imprints on your mind,
but there are softer memories,
that time will let you find.
Though your heart won’t let the sadness simply slide away,
the echoes will diminish,
even though the memories stay.

To Those I Love and Those Who Loved Me

By Ardis Marletta

When I am gone release me, please just let me go.
I have so many things to do, I leave you now and so;
You must not suffer for my loss or bother with the tears
Just be grateful we shared all these many years;
I gave you my love, and you can only guess
How in return you gave me so much happiness;
I thank you for the love each of you have shown
But now it’s time I travelled went on ahead alone;
So grieve awhile for me, if grieve you must
But know that I am now with the Lord I trust;

It’s only for a while that we must be apart
I am there in the memories encased within your heart;
I won’t be far, for life will go on some.
When you need me, call me, and I will come;
You won’t see me nor touch me, but I’ll be near.
Never too far to comfort your hurt or a tear
Listen to your heart…my whispers you’ll hear.
All my love around you soft and near.

When your time has come to make your way alone
I’ll greet you, smile, and whisper…”Welcome Home”.

Touched by an Angel

by Maya Angelou

We, unaccustomed to courage
exiles from delight
live coiled in shells of loneliness
until love leaves its high holy temple
and comes into our sight
to liberate us into life.
Love arrives
and in its train come ecstasies
old memories of pleasure
ancient histories of pain.
Yet if we are bold,
love strikes away the chains of fear
from our souls.
We are weaned from our timidity
In the flush of love’s light
we dare be brave
And suddenly we see
that love costs all we are
and will ever be.
Yet it is only love
which sets us free.

While You Weren’t Here

By © Janet Michael

While you weren’t here
I cried every night.
A million tears fell,
Still my heart wasn’t right.

While you weren’t here
I did what I could,
Hoping against hope
My decisions were good.

While you weren’t here
I gained some in age.
Things just went on
And life turned a page.

While you weren’t here
I just tried to go on,
Knowing what didn’t kill me
Would only make me strong.

While you weren’t here
A whole lot got changed.
My life became different,
My world rearranged.

While you weren’t here
I had to learn to be alone,
To stand on my two feet,
To make my own home.

So that’s where I am now,
At this stage of my life,
Still scared and alone,
Still coping with strife.

And oh how I wish that
Things could be different,
That I could go back
To a time in the past,

To a time before
You weren’t here

 


TOP OF PAGE                               HOME


GRIEF QUOTES

“Given a choice between grief and nothing, I’d choose grief.”
– William Faulkner

“Grief can’t be shared. Everyone carries it alone; his own burden in his own way.”
– Anne Morrow Lindbergh

“Grief changes shape, but it never ends.”
– Keanu Reeves

“Grief is the price we pay for love.”
– Queen Elizabeth II

“Grief is itself a medicine.”
– William Cowper

“Grief is not a disorder, a disease or a sign of weakness. It is an emotional, physical and spiritual necessity, the price you pay for love. The only cure for grief is to grieve.”
– Earl Grollman

“Grief is like a moving river, it’s always changing. I would say in some ways it just gets worse. It’s just that the more time that passes, the more you miss someone.”
– Michelle Williams

“Grief knits two hearts in closer bonds than happiness ever can; and common sufferings are far stronger links than common joys.”
– Alphonse de Lamartine

“Grieving is a necessary passage and a difficult transition to finally letting go of sorrow – it is not a permanent rest stop.”
– Dodinsky

“Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak whispers the o’er-fraught heart and bids it break.”
– William Shakespeare

“Happiness is beneficial for the body, but it is grief that develops the powers of the mind.”
– Marcel Proust

“If you’ve got to my age, you’ve probably had your heart broken many times. So it’s not that difficult to unpack a bit of grief from some little corner of your heart and cry over it.”
– Emma Thompson

“In times of grief and sorrow I will hold you and rock you and take your grief and make it my own. When you cry I cry and when you hurt I hurt. And together we will try to hold back the floods of tears and despair and make it through the potholed street of life.”
– Nicholas Sparks ‘The Notebook’

“It’s so curious: one can resist tears and ‘behave’ very well in the hardest hours of grief. But then someone makes you a friendly sign behind a window, or one notices that a flower that was in bud only yesterday has suddenly blossomed, or a letter slips from a drawer… and everything collapses.”
Colette

“No one ever told me that grief felt so much like fear.”
– C.S Lewis

“Nothing that grieves us can be called little; by the external laws of proportion a child’s loss of a doll and a king’s loss of a crown are events of the same size.”
– Mark Twain, ‘Which Was The Dream?’

“Our grief is as individual as our lives.”
 – Dr. Elisabeth Kubler-RossStrive for the impossible and achieve the extraordinary.

“There is no grief like the grief that does not speak.”
– Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Poet

“Tears are the silent language of grief.”
– Voltaire

“The pain of grief never lessons, it is just that you get used to living with it”
– Jennifer Szymkow

“The fact that something has happened to a million other people, or that it occurs time and time again, diminishes neither grief nor joy.”
– Author unknown

“The risk of love is loss, and the price of loss is grief – But the pain of grief is only a shadow when compared with the pain of never risking love.”
– Hillary Stanton Zunin

“There is a sacredness in tears. They are not the mark of weakness, but of power. They speak more eloquently than ten thousand tongues. They are the messengers of overwhelming grief, of deep contrition, and of unspeakable love.”
– Washington Irving

“There is no pain so great as the memory of joy in present grief.”
– Aeschylus

“There should be a statute of limitation on grief. A rule book that says it is all right to wake up crying, but only for a month. That after 42 days you will no longer turn with your heart racing, certain you have heard her call out your name. That there will be no fine imposed if you feel the need to clean out her desk; take down her artwork from the refrigerator; turn over a school portrait as you pass – if only because it cuts you fresh again to see it. That it’s okay to measure the time she has been gone, the way we once measured her birthdays.”
– Jodi Picoult

“These days grief seems like walking on a frozen river; most of the time he feels safe enough, but there is always that danger he will plunge through.”
David Nicholls ‘One Day’

“You don’t go around grieving all the time, but the grief is still there and always will be.”
– Nigella Lawson

“Grief is what I feel when someone passes away, Grief is what I feel when I am concerned, Grief is what I feel when I have done wrong, Grief is what I feel when some accident happens, Grief is something that all people have gone through.”
– Brandi Reissig

“Say not in grief ‘he is no more’ but live in thankfulness that he was.”
– Hebrew proverb


TOP OF PAGE                               HOME


HIPPY / HIPPIES

Flower Child

By (c) 1966, 2011 Betty Hayes Albright

Just let me laugh with every tree,
let me be barefoot and free,
let every rock be overturned,
let every blade of grass be learned,
let the sky sleep over me
while I am watching underneath –
let me weave a daisy chain
to make into a bloomin’ wreath.
Give me a flowered path to climb,
I need no food, I need no bed,
just let me live while I’m alive
and I will rest when I am dead.

I Was A Hippy

By Copyright © Charles Messina

To tell you the truth In my days of youth To put it quite mild, I was carefree and wild  A hipster by all means Wearing my wholly bellbottom jeans Always said “Out-of-Sight” Sometimes, I would say “Dynamite” With friends, I was “Tight” Hey, I turned out “Alright”

If The World Were Full Of Hippies

by Copyright © Rachel-Erika Henderson

If the world were full of hippiesthere’d be nothing left to proveexcept peace and understandingand a little bit of groove No-one would be homelessLike many live todayWe’d build beautiful communeswhere anyone could stay Together we’d make musicto the beat of mother earththere’d be no fighting or warEveryone sharing equal worth We’d grow our own vegetables and create trinkets to sellWe’d open up our mindsbreak free from our shell Every colour and every racewould teach one anotherwe’d become a united familyevery sister, every brother We’d bless all gods creaturesshow respect for the landGive free hugs to everyoneopenminded to understand Nature would speak to usOur world would become onewith peace and understandingand a little bit of fun

Ode to my Generation

by (c) 1968, 2015 Betty Hayes Albright (written 1968 – age 21)

You can’t condemn my people
for the way they comb their hair –
they are your people also
and your griping is unfair.
Please don’t condemn my friends
for the way they sit and stare –
perhaps they see much more than you
had ever hoped was there.
They see a different life than you
yet they are still the same,
searching for some truth like you,
trying to find a name.
They live an age apart from you,
you have no right to claim
the world belongs to only you –
we love it just the same.

That’s What Hippies Do

by Copyright © Jim Yerman

They grew up in the ’60’s…and as their lives unfurled
They discovered they were righteous…laid back…two groovy kind of girls.

They had long hair…down to their shoulders…some people thought them wild
They were hippies…free spirits…unconventional…each one a flower child.

They wore their clothing tie-dyed in colors bold and bright
When they made the scene…they were a gas, a blast…so out of sight!

They would have gone to Woodstock but their parents didn’t approve
They believed in peace and love and they were always on the move…

But time has a way of moving too… and though they’re not sure how
Those two hippies of the ‘60s…are in their 60’s now.

Yet, through the years…through jobs and family
though their lives have rearranged….
they stayed as cool as they were back then
and their values haven’t changed….

They were sculpted by their past and no matter how old they grow
There is a universal truth…that they…as hippies…know….

Although there are certain parts of life over which they have no control….
They remain free spirits in their hearts and hippies in her soul.

They oppose violence…
They oppose hate and war…
Their symbol is the dove
They strive for a world of peace
They pursue a world of love.

So here’s to all the old hippies out there….
and any younger hippies too…
Let’s keep trying to make the world a better place…
because that’s what hippies do.


HORSES & HORSE LOVERS

See also:

A Horse Racing Legend

by Hannah Branz

Along comes a horse
So powerful and sleek
He runs with his heart
Not his feet.

The heart of a champion
Is what this horse has
The looks of eagles in his eyes

Just as

He runs and runs with all his heart
While the crowd is awed with his amazing arts
He crosses the wire in first
And becomes a legend,

Know in a time of need
This horse has shown power
He shows no fear
At the passing hour

From a broken-down claimer,
To a racer with heart
This horse was a
Legend, right from the start.

A Parting Prayer

by Kim Crenshaw, March 1998 for Brandy, beloved companion

Dear Lord, please open your gates
and call St. Francis
to come escort this beloved companion
across the Rainbow Bridge.

Assign her to a place of honour,
for she has been a faithful servant
and has always done her best to please me.

Bless the hands that send her to you,
for they are doing so in love and compassion,
freeing her from pain and suffering.

Grant me the strength not to dwell on my loss.
Help me remember the details of her life
with the love she has shown me.
And grant me the courage to honour her
by sharing those memories with others.

Let her remember me as well
and let her know that I will always love her.
And when it’s my time to pass over into your paradise,
please allow her to accompany those
who will bring me home.

Thank you, Lord,
for the gift of her companionship
and for the time we’ve had together.

And thank you, Lord,
for granting me the strength
to give her to you now.

Amen.

Don’t Cry For The Horses

by Brenda Riley-Seymore

Don’t cry for the horses
That life has set free
A million white horses
Forever to be

Don’t cry for the horses
Now in God’s hands
As they dance and they prance
To a heavenly band

They were ours as a gift
But never to keep
As they close their eyes
Forever to sleep

Their spirits unbound
On silver wings they fly
A million white horses
Against the blue sky

Look up into heaven
You’ll see them above
The horses we lost
The horses we loved

Manes and tails flowing
They gallop through time
They were never yours
They were never mine

Don’t cry for the horses
They will be back someday
When our time has come
They will show us the way

On silver wings they will lift us
To the warmth of the sun
When our life is over
And eternity has begun

We will jump the sun
And dance over the moon
A ballet of horses and riders on the winds
Of a heavenly tune

Do you hear that soft nicker
Close to your ear
Don’t cry for the horses
Love the ones that are here

Don’t cry for the horses
Lift up your sad eyes
Can’t you see them
As they fly by

A million white horses
Free from hunger and pain
Their spirits set free
Until we ride again

Hark! Old Horse

By author unknown

Hark! Old horse.
Please meet me at the gate.
Hounds are leaving kennels soon,
And we will not be late.
Step up. Old horse.
Carry me to the meet.
Our years together count for much,
Though you’re no longer fleet.
Trot on. Old horse.
I know you hear the horn.
The hounds are in the valley now,
The fox is in the corn!
Kick on. Old horse,
My soulmate and my friend.
Our years together hunting are
The best that’s ever been.
Leap up. Old horse.
Take the bit and fly!
I still trust you like a brother,
Even though the fence is high.
Walk on. Old horse.
We’ll soon be hacking in.
Your nicker rests beside my heart.
Our souls entwine within.
Hark! Old horse.
The years reveal our fate.
If we should part before we wish.

Please meet me at the gate

Message from a Horse Spirit

by Katie Graham, aka Coyote

Where am I, now that I am gone from your life?
Leaving you lonely and sad, for that I am sorry.
But this is a warm place, and the pastures are green.
And now I know just how much you loved me…
Everyone here shares the kindness of your heart.
What am I doing, now that I have left your care?
Racing with wide-eyed foals, orphaned no longer.
Breathing crisp morning air with wise old work horses, now
grown young and strong again.
Looking at mountains through the eyes of the blind who can
see.
Carrying on my back all of the folk who never had the chance
to know the warmth of my sweet horse breath or the thrill of
a gallop, but always yearned for it.
Visiting little girls who dream of beautiful steeds, flying
over fences and racing past the finish line, keeping them
safe, giving them hope.
Saddest and sweetest of all, greeting the ones who cross
that Rainbow Bridge.
Some were wild and free on the earth, and they remain wild
and free.
Some were loved and cared for, and they will be well loved
and cared for here.
And some of the horses trotting over that Bridge were
neither free nor loved.
Those are the greatest joy to greet, for now they have the
greenest grass and the freshest water, and they will never
be sick or in pain or alone ever again.
And they will always be loved.
So cry for me as humans do, and then move on to tend to the
mortal horses who need your care and kindness.
And take care of the children; help them find their dreams,
nuzzle them for me.
I will be waiting for you when you come to pass that Rainbow
Bridge,
We will piaffe through the clouds and leap the lightning
bolts, and then trot on home together to those green, green
fields,

How can I bear to lose you, my precious gentle one,
to know that you will not be here when my day is done.
So much of my heart, my love, have I given up to you,
how then can I stand the pain now that your life is through.
My sorrow overwhelms me, the tears so freely flow,
how can I carry on my life, with a heart that’s laden so.
Then the answer comes to me from the stillness in my soul,
remembering the love we shared will help to make me whole.
I’ll hold you in a special place, so deep within my heart,
and in these loving memories, we’ll never be apart.
You will not be so far away, your presence I will feel.
I’ll wrap myself in memory and slowly I will heal.
The years we shared, the little joys, the laughter and the
tears,
my love for you will never die, but strengthen with the
years.
So fare you well, my precious love, I gently let you go,
and pray for all the Gods’ there be that you will always
know,
I loved you so, my little one, that love will never cease,
I gave you warmth, I gave you love, and now I give you
peace.

My Grandest Foal

by author unknown

I’ll lend you for a little while
My grandest foal, He said.
For you to love while she’s alive
And morn for when she’s dead.
It may be one or twenty years,
Or days or months , you see.
But, will you, till I take her back,
Take care of her for me?
She’ll bring her charms to gladden you,
And should her stay be brief,
You’ll have treasured memories
As solace for your grief.
I cannot promise she will stay,
Since all from earth return.
But, there are lessons taught on earth
I want this foal to learn.
I’ve looked the wide world over
In my search for teachers true.
And from the throngs that crowd life’s lanes,
With trust, I have selected you.
Now will you give her your total love?
Nor think the labor vain,
Nor hate Me when I come
To take her back again?
I know you’ll give her tenderness
And love will bloom each day.
And for the happiness you’ve known!
Forever grateful stay.
But should I come and call for her
Much sooner than you’d planned
You’ll brave the bitter grief that comes
And someday you’ll understand
For though I’ll call her home to Me
This promise to you I do make,
For all the love and care you gave
She’ll wait for you, inside Heaven’s Gate.

Ode to a Horse

by Ronald Duncan

Where in the world can man find nobility without pride,
Friendship without envy, or beauty without vanity !
Here, where grace is laced with muscle, and strength by gentleness confined.
He serves without servility, has fought without enmity.
There is nothing so powerful, nothing less violent, nothing as quick, nothing as patient.
The world’s past has been borne on his back.
We are his heirs; he is our inheritance.
The Horse

Only The Best

By author unknown

God saw you and you were getting tired And a cure was not to
be
So he put His arms around you and He whispered “come to me”
A golden heart stopped beating Hard working hooves went to
rest
God broke our hearts to prove to us
He only takes the best

The Early-Morning Sun

by Wynford Vaughan-Thomas

Again the early-morning sun was generous with its warmth.
All the sounds dear to a horseman were around me
the snort of the horses as they cleared their throats, the gentle swish of their tails,
the tinkle of irons as we flung the saddles over their backs – little sounds of no importance,
but they stay in the unconscious library of memory.

The Hooves Of Horses

By Will H. Ogilvi

The hooves of horses!
Oh! witching and sweet
Is the music earth steals from the iron-shod feet;
No whisper of lover, no trilling of bird,
Can stir me as much as hooves of horses
Have stirred.

The Horseman’s Prayer 

by Author Unknown

Dearest God in heaven,
Give me the strength to guide my horse.
Make my hands soft and my head clear,
Let my horse understand me, and I him.
My heart you have blessed
with a special love for these animals,
Let me never lose sight of it.
My soul you have gifted with deep need for them,
Let that need never lessen.
Always let my breath catch as the sun gleams on an elegant head,
Always may my throat tighten at the sound of a gentle nicker.
Let the scent of fresh hay and a new bag of grain always be sweet to me.
Let the warm touch of a warm nose on my hand always bring a smile.
I adore the joy of a warm day on the farm.
The grace and splendour of a running horse,
The thunder of its hooves makes my eyes burn and my heart soar.
Let it always be so.
Dearest God grant me patience,
For horses are harnessed wind and wind can be flighty.
Let me not frighten or harm them.
Instead show me ways to understand.
Above all, Dear God, fill my life with them.
I am not whole without them.
When I pass from this world, send my soul to no Heaven without them.
For this love you have given me graces my existence.
I shall cherish it and praise you for it for all time.
Amen


HOSPITALIZED

See also

Cranky Old Man

by Phyllis McCormack, adapted from the original by David L. Griffith

What do you see nurses? What do you see?
What are you thinking, when you’re looking at me?
A cranky old man, not very wise,
Uncertain of habit, with faraway eyes?
Who dribbles his food and makes no reply.
When you say in a loud voice,, ‘I do wish you’d try!’
Who seems not to notice, the things that you do.
And forever is losing, A sock or shoe?
Who, resisting or not, lets you do as you will,
With bathing and feeding, The long day to fill?
Is that what you’re thinking? Is that what you see?
Then open your eyes, nurse, you’re not looking at me.
I’ll tell you who I am, As I sit here so still,
As I do at your bidding, as I eat at your will.
I’m a small child of Ten, with a father and mother,
Brothers and sisters, who love one another
A young boy of Sixteen, with wings on his feet
Dreaming that soon now, a lover he’ll meet.
A groom soon at Twenty, my heart gives a leap.
Remembering, the vows, that I promised to keep.
At Twenty-Five, now, I have young of my own.
Who need me to guide, And a secure happy home.
A man of Thirty, My young now grown fast,
Bound to each other, With ties that should last.
At Forty, my young sons, have grown and are gone,
But my woman is beside me, to see I don’t mourn.
At Fifty, once more, Babies play ’round my knee,
Again, we know children, My loved one and me.
Dark days are upon me , My wife is now dead.
I look at the future, I shudder with dread.
For my young are all rearing, young of their own.
And I think of the years, And the love that I’ve known.
I’m now an old man, and nature is cruel.
It’s jest to make old age, look like a fool.
The body, it crumbles, grace and vigour, depart.
There is now a stone, where I once had a heart.
But inside this old carcass, A young man still dwells,
And now and again , my battered heart swells
I remember the joys; I remember the pain.
And I’m loving and living , life over again.
I think of the years, all too few gone too fast.
And accept the stark fact, that nothing can last.
So open your eyes, people, open and see.
Not a cranky old man,
Look closer, see ME!!

Look Closer Nurse

by Phyllis McCormack

What do you see nurses? What do you see?
What are you thinking, when you’re looking at me?
A cranky old woman, not very wise,
Uncertain of habit, with faraway eyes?
Who dribbles his food and makes no reply.
When you say in a loud voice, ‘I do wish you’d try!’
Who seems not to notice the things that you do.
And forever is losing , A sock or shoe?
Who, resisting or not, let’s you do as you will,
With bathing and feeding, The long day to fill?
Is that what you’re thinking? Is that what you see?
Then open your eyes, nurse, you’re not looking at me.
I’ll tell you who I am, As I sit here so still,
As I do at your bidding, as I eat at your will.
I’m a small child of Ten, with a father and mother,
Brothers and sisters, who love one another
A young girl of Sixteen, with wings on her feet
Dreaming that soon now, a lover she’ll meet.
A bride soon at Twenty, my heart gives a leap.
Remembering, the vows, that I promised to keep.
At Twenty-Five, now, I have young of my own.
Who need me to guide, And a secure happy home.
A woman of Thirty, My young now grown fast,
Bound to each other With ties that should last.
At Forty, my young son, have grown and are gone,
But my man is beside me, to see I don’t mourn.
At Fifty, once more,, Babies play ’round my knee,
Again, we know children , My loved one and me.
Dark days are upon me , My husband is now dead.
I look at the future, I shudder with dread.
For my young are all rearing, young of their own.
And I think of the years, And the love that I’ve known.
I’m now an old woman, and nature is cruel.
It’s jest to make old age , look like a fool.
The body, it crumbles, grace and vigour, depart.
There is now a stone, where I once had a heart.
But inside this old carcass, A young woman still dwells,
And now and again, my battered heart swells
I remember the joys; I remember the pain.
And I’m loving and living , life over again.
I think of the years, all too few gone too fast.
And accept the stark fact, that nothing can last.
So open your eyes, people, open and see.
Not a cranky old woman,
Look closer , see, ME!!

 


TOP OF PAGE                               HOME


INDIGENOUS

Epitaph

by Kevin Gilbert

Weep not for me for Death is
but the vehicle that unites my soul
with the Creative Essence, God.
My spiritual Being, my love, is
still with you, wherever you are
until forever.
You will find me in quiet moments
in the trees, amidst the rocks,
the clouds and beams of sunshine
indeed, everywhere for I, too, am
a part of the total essence of
creation that radiates everywhere
about you eternally.
Life after all is just a
passing phase

Mother Earth

By Wesley Marne 1992,  Copyright owned by Louise Marne

He is the ultimate hunter
A Bushman without peer
Nothing is safe when he is hunting
With his ancient wommera and spear.

But what of the one who goes with him
The one who walks in his tracks
Usually with one child behind her
And another on her back.

With a coolamon under her arm
A dillbagaround her waist
She wanders along gathering
The food is an everlasting chase.

She wanders back and forth
Gathering the seed for bread
Looking and digging for yams
To be cooked in the camp ahead.

At dusk she builds their shelter
And the please the evening food
Always busy moving around
There is always something to do.

Next time you look at a picture
Of a warrior of the land
Look for the behind him
For the one who is always on hand.

She is the eternal companion
The one you never see
And she is the reason that life goes on
The and the children at her knee

Our little ones

By Frank Doolan

But we lose a little ones
It’s hard to understand
We’re indigenous Australians
Just living in our land
The plane we feel is real
Its ongoing and its hurts
We would rather give ourselves
back to Mother Earth
Instead we have to give
A tiny, child so dear
There’s confusion and some anger
More than a touch of fear
The road ahead seems so uncertain
Pot holed, winding and long
We will try to draw together
Together we’ll be strong
The great spirit takes a little one
We don’t understand
It’s hard to believe
It’s part of a bigger plan
Our culture is based on sharing
We will share this pain
We’ll talk through it together
We won’t accuse or blame
Maybe the good ones get taken
Before they get too old
Cause even the Creator knows
They’re worth twice the weight in gold

Spiritual Song of the Aborigine

Poem by Hyllus Maris 1988.

I am a child of the Dreamtime People
Part of this land, like the gnarled gumtree
I am the river, softly singing
Chanting our songs on my way to the sea
My spirit is the dust-devils
Mirages, that dance on the plain
I’m the snow, the wind and the falling rain
I’m part of the rocks and the red desert earth
Red as the blood that flows in my veins
I am eagle, crow and snake that glides
Through the rainforest that clings to the mountainside
I awakened here when the earth was new
There was emu, wombat, kangaroo
No other man of a different hue
I am this land
And this land is me
I am Australia.

We Endure

By Kokawara

From the womb herb of the dreaming we come
Nurtured it by the mother earth,
Sustained and by the spirit and essence of our being-
Our Culture
Our Spirit will always endure
In the affinity and harmony between
A spirit and the mother earth,
Between the sun and Moon,
Between woman and man,
In the heat of the summer’s zenity,
Between the cool, timeless, rock pool waters
And all living things.
There are a spirit and culture dwells,
Eternally, Forever,
In the embers of a thousand camp fires,
In the cold winter wind that lifts the
Red sands from the deserts’ infinity,
There are spirit dwells,
We and the land are one,
We Endure

 


TOP OF PAGE                               HOME


 INDIGENOUS/CHRISTIAN PRAYERS

An Australian Creed (1)

I believe in God the father of us all,
who is given the earth to all people.
And I believe in people as the image of God.
I believe in Jesus Christ,
who came to encourage us and to heal us,
to proclaim the peace of God to human kind.
I believe in the spirit of God who works in everyman and woman.
I believe in the church, moved by the spirit to serve all people.
I believe in Australians
In the courage and spirit of adventure,
in a perseverance and hard work
In the ordinariness and at-homeness,
in the black and original beauty,
In the migrant struggles,
in a search for identity.
I believe in our responsibility for creation,
the trust of every mountain range,
Of every forest, of every harbour,
on every city, of every plan to build a future.
I do not believe the light in fighting faraway if I tolerate injustice here.
I do not believe that conflict and hunger are inevitable and peace unattainable
I do not believe that all suffering is in vain, nor that our dreams will remain dreams, nor that death is the end.
But I did to believe, always in spite of everything, in a new humanity; in God’s own dream of a new heaven and a new earth where justice flourish, and peace will reign in our land, in our world

An Australian Creed (2)

From http://www.stmarys.qld.edu.au/indigenous_prayers.htm

We believe in God, creator and sustainer of life,
creator of the black woman and the white woman
of the black man and the white man
of the woman who is not quite black and not quite white
of the man who is not quite white and not quite black.
We believe in God, the Creator
who gave us the desert pea and the flowering gum,
the Murray cod and the platypus,
the Southern Cross and the Milky Way.
We believe in God,
who gave us a land to keep,
to reverence and to cultivate.
We believe in Jesus, born of a woman
who was not quite black and not quite white,
a woman who was not quite sure of who she was or who she was to be,
a woman who faithfully struggled to believe.
We believe in Jesus – risen,
liberator of all humanity, Emmanuel, God-with-us, God-for-us.
We, women and men of the Great South Land of the Holy Spirit,
believe in the power of the Spirit to set us free to regenerate our land, to transform our world, to work for peace,
to listen to the loneliness of ‘the drover’s wife’ and the ‘weeping man’.
We believe in the power of the Spirit to transform our dealings with our sisters and our brothers of other colours and diverse creeds.

Creed for Australia

By Bruce Prewer

We believe
That this ancient land,
With all its unique creatures, is a precious gift is a precious gift
From a loving God,
Who’s mercy is over all his works.

We believe
In God’s care
For aboriginal people who treasure it
Through unnumbered generations:
The one who grieves in their suffering
And rejoices in every noble aspiration.

We believe
In God’s compassion
For the patchwork of refugees
Who for two hundred years
Have come to this continent
Looking for a place to call their home.

We believe
In God’s steadfast love
this notion and all its children,
That God is creating a new people
From many races, colours and gifts,
To fulfil a high destiny.

We believe
That the best way forward
If the way revealed by Jesus,
Of faith, hope and love,
Where no needy person is neglected
And no bidding of the spirit ignored.


TOP OF PAGE                               HOME


 IRISH BLESSINGS

  • Many Irish blessing are recognised as being wedding related but they each have a special message that may be a pleasant reminder, or may offer comfort at any time.

Blessing (Irish)

May St. Pat himself be looking down with joy upon you today!

May the luck of the Irish be with you!

May joy and peace surround you,
contentment latch your door,
and happiness be with you now
and bless you evermore!

May the road rise to meet you,
may the wind be ever at your back.
May the sun shine warm upon your face,
and the rains fall soft upon your fields.
And until we meet again,
may God hold you in the palm of his hand.

May the blessing of God’s soft rain be on you,
Falling gently on your head, refreshing your soul
With the sweetness of little flowers newly blooming.
May the strength of the winds of Heaven bless you,
Carrying the rain to wash your spirit clean
Sparkling after in the sunlight.
May the blessing of God’s earth be on you,
And as you walk the roads,
May you always have a kind word
for those you meet.

May the blessing of light be upon you,
Light on the outside,
Light on the inside.

With God’s sunlight shining on you,
May your heart glow with warmth,
Like a turf fire
that welcomes friends and strangers alike.

May the light of the Lord shine from your eyes,
Like a candle in the window,
Welcoming the weary traveller.

May there always be work for your hands to do
May your purse always hold a coin or two;
May the sun always shine on your windowpane;
May a rainbow be certain to follow each rain;
May the hand of a friend always be near you;
May God fill your heart with gladness to cheer you.

May your neighbours respect you,
Trouble neglect you,
The angels protect you,
And heaven accept you.

May you always have…
Walls for the winds
A roof for the rain
Tea beside the fire
Laughter to cheer you
Those you love near you
And all your heart might desire
May those who love us, love us;
And for those who don’t love us,
May God turn their hearts;
And if He doesn’t turn their hearts,
May He turn their ankles,
So we will know them by their limping!

Blessing (Irish)

May you always walk in sunshine.
May you never want for more.
May Irish angels rest their wings
Right beside your door.

Death is Nothing At All

By Henry Scott-Holland

The author, Henry Scott-Holland (1847 – 1918), a priest at St. Paul’s Cathedral of London, did not intend it as a poem, it was actually delivered as part of a 1910 sermon  titled, “Death the King of Terrors” preached while the body of King Edward VII was lying in state at Westminster.

Death is nothing at all.
It does not count.
I have only slipped away into the next room.
Everything remains as it was.
The old life that we lived so fondly together is untouched, unchanged.
Whatever we were to each other, that we are still.
Call me by the old familiar name.
Speak of me in the easy way which you always used.
Put no sorrow in your tone.
Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes that we enjoyed together.
Play, smile, think of me, pray for me.
Let my name be ever the household word that it always was.
Let it be spoken without  effort
Life means all that it ever meant. It is the same as it ever was.
There is unbroken continuity.
Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight?
I am but waiting for you, for an interval, somewhere very near, just around the corner.
All is well. Nothing is hurt; nothing is lost.
One brief moment and all will be as it was before.
How we shall laugh at the trouble of parting, when we meet again.

 


TOP OF PAGE                               HOME


JOCKEYS, PUNTERS & HORSE RACING

 A Day At The Races

©Graeme Cook,  August 2006

It’s not only just the silks, and the colour and the flair, Or all the many kindred folk that I find gathered there, Sharing the excitement of the journey jockey’s facing, That whips me to action, for another day of racing.

Nor is it the game of chance, that punting always brings, From TAB and bookies, and bar-room betting rings, The heady smell of fine manure, turf so lush and green, Fine dressed folk and superb horseflesh, making up the scene.

Maybe the glorious legends, from Phar Lap to the Diva, That leaves me so infected, with the flush of racing fever, The buzz as they are mustered, from the starting gate they lurch, With the Form Guide as my bible, the racetrack as my church.

I’ve seen them win, lose and draw, rush by in charging blur, Neck and neck, nose to nose, to the photo we refer, The weight is right, the track is fair, the sun will always shine, As once more past the Judges, and I cross that Finish Line

Racing Through My Eyes

By Henry Birtles

Some love it for mingling with their upstanding crowd
The drinking, the laughter, the gossip so loud
They arrive at the track wearing yesterday’s shopping
For racing you say, more a spot of Box hopping

A trip to the Ring, it’s all part of the game
to lay down a tenner on the horse with the name
that sounds like a winner, a worthwhile bet
but tarry no longer, we’ll miss the jet set

Ambitious new money tries hard to compete
to break into the circle, become the elite
By trying too hard, their case is rejected
Those subtle old judgements, still roundly respected

So to the gamblers, the men here for business
The track shows no mercy, their wives less forgiveness
No time for a banter, or a welcoming kiss
For they come here to deal, this arena their office

A broad demographic, some salt of the earth
Who with them they bring passion, character and worth
The owners, the trainers, the jockeys, the stride
the horses, the strappers, the dreams and the pride

And so now to me, what does it all mean
for me not the fashion, or the high social scene
but the thundering hooves pounding down on the earth
The grace and the power of these kings of the turf.

The Horse Race

By Author Unknown

Racehorses trot around the parade ring
these wonderful animals from the sport of kings
The jockeys on board in colours so bright
like modern day gladiators into the fight

The public around the stands do amble
trying to guess on which to gamble
The bookmakers standing there shouting out names
enticing the punters to give up their gains

The horses are cantering down to the start
all riders hear is one beating heart
That of their own drums in their ears
the tension, adrenalin drowns out the fears

Horses are locked away one by one
the gates fly open the race has begun
Wind beats their faces, rain stings their eyes
as these galloping stars race for the prize
The post, it comes nearer whips they do crack
every effort’s made not to be at the back
Who will end up in the 1, 2 or 3
public with binoculars craning too see

The race it is over gone in a flash
bookmakers curse as they hand out their cash
The winner, a hero greeted with cheers
the trainer is happy the owners in tears

With joy unconfined another horse wins
and all losing tickets are tossed in dustbins
The last sprint has run, the crowd gone away
Hopes and dreams wait for another race day.

The Music of the Morn 

by Fran Cleland

While most of us are fast asleep
As the moon begins its fall,
And drifts it’s gentle light
Across the clock upon the wall;
There’s others who have left their beds
There’s hoof beats in the dawn,
And out upon the training track
The music of the morn.
The frost lays thick upon the ground
And shines upon the roofs,
And all around, the lovely sound
A thousand steel shod hoofs,
A scraping here, a snorting there
A jockey’s curse, a whinny;
A trainer feeling tender legs
“Damn, that colt’s gone shinny.”
The flaring nostrils show soft red,
A roll, hose, scrape and lead,
The rug thrown on, and off back home
To munch the morning feed
And as they leave, some more come in
While the sun turns red at dawn
To the clatter of a thousand hoofs,
The music of the morn.
So when I die I hope that I
Can chat with old Saint Peter,
And that dear chap would understand
That nothing could be sweeter
For me, to go where the horses run
Down a track that’s long and worn,
To hear once more, the glorious sound;
The music of the morn.


TOP OF PAGE                               HOME


KNITTING

Clickety Clack

by Robyn O’Connell ( Poems & Verses for Funerals & Memorials Book 2)

Knit one purl one, knit one purl one
The band was almost done
The soft sound of the needles’ clickety clack
Finish one row, turn around and go back

Finally, it was taking shape,
like a bird making a home in its nest
we know whatever <name> made
it was sure to be one of the best

wonderful gifts each stitch made with love
a creative gift that was so easy to see
a jumper for this one, some scarves for them
or for a new baby a layette of three

A bonnet, a jacket and bootees too
Will they need to be made in blue or in pink?
Perhaps lemon is safe, she could do them there and then
Instead of having to guess or even to think

Her knitting needles are now silent
Not a sound more will they make
But what a wonderful lesson <name> has left us
To give always more than you take.

Prayer Shawl Knitters & Crocheters

I call nine blessings from above
In the name of God:
the creator, the giver of life, the holder of time
In the name of Jesus: the savior, the healer, the lifter of pain.
In the name of the Spirit:
the comforter, the consoler, the sustainer of life.
I knit a mantle of caring
I knit a mantle of protection
I knit a mantle of wholeness
I knit a mantle of strength I knit a mantle of healing
I knit a mantle of patience
I knit a mantle to enfold you
I knit a mantle to encircle you
I knit a mantle to empower you.

Rows of Stitches

by Ilene Bauer

I watch the magic happening
As yarn becomes a shawl;
The knitting needles of my aunt
Are at her beck and call.

Her fingers wind the wool around
Without her even thinking
And rows and rows of stitches show
Without her even blinking.

Her expertise is such that
I just really can’t compare it,
But best of all is when she’s done,
Then I will get to wear it!

Together Again

By Author Unknown

A wonderful reunion has occurred,
Of the sweetest and most joyful kind,
As <name>’s spirit moved beyond this earth,
Released from her mortal life.

And what a reunion it must have been,
A joy beyond our conceiving,
When <name> met her <name> once again,
Ending years of dignified grieving.

And we are certain <name> is holding <name>’s hand,
While he cherishes each moment by her side,
And they are experiencing the joy
of being together again
Catching up on the years they were denied.

We are confident they are also looking over us
Hoping this happiness will lessen our pain
As we contemplate the joy they finally feel
Now that they are together again.

And though we’ll miss them terribly,
And will long for them with deepest grief,
We are reminded that love is more powerful than death,
And this knowledge gives us comfort and peace.

We can still feel their love surrounding us,
Giving us a desire to continue on,
To try our best to live our lives well,
In the ways they would have done.

So although we’ll miss <name>xx profoundly
Our grief is somewhat lessened
For we are comforted knowing that she led a good life
And that she and <name> are now together forever.


TOP OF PAGE                               HOME


LEAVING & LETTING GO

Don’t Cry For Me

© Deborah Garcia Gaitan

Don’t cry for me.
I will be okay.
Heaven is my home now,
and this is where I’ll stay.
Don’t cry for me.
I’m where I belong.
I want you to be happy
and try to stay strong.
Don’t cry for me.
It was just my time,
but I will see you someday
on the other side.
Don’t cry for me.
I am not alone.
The angels are with me
to welcome me home.
Don’t cry for me,
for I have no fear.
All my pain is gone,
and Jesus took my tears.
Don’t cry for me.
This is not the end.
I’ll be waiting here for you
when we meet again.

His Journey’s Just Begun.

By Ellen Brenneman

Don’t think of him as gone away..
His journey’s just begun
Life holds so many facets This earth is only one.
Just think of him as resting
From the sorrows and the tears
In a place of warmth and comfort
Where there are no days and years.
Think of how he must be wishing
That we could know today
How nothing but the immediate sadness
Can really pass away.

And think of him as living
In the hearts of those he touched..
For nothing loved is ever lost
And he was loved so much!

 Let Me Go

by Christina Georgina Rossetti (5 December 1830 – 29 December 1894)

When I come to the end of the road
And the sun has set for me
I want no rites in a gloom filled room
Why cry for a soul set free?

Miss me a little, but not for long
And not with your head bowed low
Remember the love that once we shared
Miss me, but let me go.

For this is a journey we all must take
And each must go alone.
It’s all part of the master plan
A step on the road to home.

When you are lonely and sick at heart
Go to the friends we know.
Laugh at all the things we used to do
Miss me, but let me go.

Letting Go

by Author Unknown

Let go of yesterday,
For it is gone anyway
Let go off tomorrow,
for it is not yet here yet
Let me hold onto today,
For it is what I have
Let me be hopeful,
For hope is what lights the darkness
Let me be loving, For love is
What matters most

Time Will Ease The Hurt

– Author Unknown

The sadness of the present days is locked and set in time,
and moving to the future is a slow and painful climb.
But all the feelings that are now so vivid and so real
can’t hold their fresh intensity as time begins to heal.
No wound so deep will ever go entirely away
yet every hurt becomes a little less from day to day.
Nothing can erase the painful imprints on your mind
but there are softer memories that time will let you find.
Though your heart won’t let the sadness simply slide away
the echoes will diminish even though the memories stay

When I Must Leave You

By Helen Steiner Rice

When I must leave you for a little while,
Please do not grieve and shed wild tears
And hug your sorrow to you through the years,
But start out bravely with a gallant smile;
And for my sake and in my name
Live on and do all things the same,
Feed not your loneliness on empty days,
But fill each waking hour in useful ways,
Reach out your hand in comfort and cheer
And I in turn will comfort you and hold you near;
And never, never be afraid to die,
For I am waiting for you in the sky!


TOP OF PAGE                               HOME


 LIFE & DEATH

A Prayer For Angels

I prayed for Angels to guard you night and day.
I prayed they would hover and keep harm away.
If you hear the swish of wings or feel a gentle touch.
know God heard my prayer today
and loves you very much.

Live as if you were to die tomorrow.
Learn as if you were to live forever.

A Death Has Occurred

By Paul Orion

A death as occurred and everything is changed.
We are painfully aware that life can never be the same again,
That yesterday is over,
That relationships once rich have ended.

But there is another way to look upon this truth.
If life now went on the same,
Without the presence of the one who had died,
we could only conclude that the life we remember
made no contribution,
filled no space,
meant nothing.

The fact that this person left behind a place
that cannot be filled is a high tribute to this individual.

Life can be the same after a trinket has been lost,
but never after the loss of a treasure.

Boots of Another Me

by L.P. Stribling

There they sit, right by the door,
Those boots of mine, don’t fit no more,
Fit the feet of a younger me,
A shorter shade of a younger tree.

Those boots of mine, those leather cases,
They’ve tread with me, past prior faces,
Concrete, mud, rock, snow and rain,
Tempests, breezes, joy and pain.

Those boots of mine, and all these years,
Walked me through my path of fears,
To come out smilin’ on the other end,
Gone through Hell and back again.

Now there they sit, don’t make a sound,
Memories of footsteps on a younger ground,
But that’s all talk of a different time,
Don’t fit no more, those boots of mine.

Catullus 101

by the Roman poet Gaius Valerius Catullus
(to honour his brother’s cremated remains)

Carried through many nations and over many seas, I arrive, brother, for these wretched funeral rites,
So that I might present you with the last tribute of death
And speak in vain to silent ash,
Since Fortune has carried you, yourself, away from me.
Alas, poor brother, unfairly taken away from me,
Now in the meantime, nevertheless, these things which in the ancient custom of
ancestors
Are handed over as a sad tribute to the rites
Receive, dripping much with brotherly weeping. And forever, brother, hail and farewell.

Death Defined

Death is that state in which One exists only in the memory of others
Which is why it is not an end
No goodbyes, just good memories
(Star Trek TNG)

Dear old Dad

By Patience Strong

We miss him in his garden
Doing odd jobs here and there.
We miss him at the table
When we see the empty chair.
We miss him at the fireside
when we gather round the blaze.
We miss him, – oh, we miss him
In a hundred different ways.
When troubles came the family
Would always turn to him.
He always had a cheery word
When things were looking grim….
And now he’s gone we know he wouldn’t
Want us to be sad –
But life can never be the same
Without the Dear Old Dad.

Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night

by Dylan Thomas

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

In My Life

song by John Lennon/Paul McCartney

There are places I’ll remember
All my life though some have changed
Some forever not for better
Some have gone and some remain
All these places have their moments
With lovers and friends I still can recall
Some are dead and some are living
In my life I’ve loved them all

But of all these friends and lovers
There is no one compares with you
And these memories lose their meaning
When I think of love as something new
Though I know I’ll never lose affection
For people and things that went before
I know I’ll often stop and think about them
In my life I love you more

Though I know I’ll never lose affection
For people and things that went before
I know I’ll often stop and think about them
In my life I love you more
In my life I love you more

Learn to be Grateful

by Edgar A. Guest

Be grateful for the kindly friends
that walk along your way;
Be grateful for the skies of blue
that smile from day to day;

Be grateful for the health you own,
the work you find to do,
For round about you there are men
less fortunate than you.

Be grateful for the growing trees,
the roses soon to bloom,
The tenderness of kindly hearts
that shared your days of gloom;

Be grateful for the morning dew,
the grass beneath your feet,
The soft caresses of your babes
and all their laughter sweet.

Acquire the grateful habit,
learn to see how blest you are,
How much there is to gladden life,
how little life to mar!

And what if rain shall fall today
and you with grief are sad;
Be grateful that you can recall
the joys that you have had.

Life is a Game

By Author Unknown

Life is a game with a glorious prize,
If we can only play it right.
It is give and take, build and break,
And often it ends in a fight;

But he surely wins who honestly tries
(Regardless of wealth or fame),
He can never despair who plays it fair
How are you playing the game?

Do you wilt and whine, if you fail to win
In the manner you think your due?
Do you sneer at the man in case that he can
And does, do better than you?

Do you take your rebuffs with a knowing grin?
Do you laugh tho’ you pull up lame?
Does your faith hold true when the whole world’s blue?
How are you playing the game?

Get into the thick of it – wade in, boys!
Whatever your cherished goal;
Brace up your will till your pulses thrill,
And you dare to your very soul!

Do something more than make a noise;
Let your purpose leap into flame
As you plunge with a cry, “I shall do or die,”
Then you will be playing the game.

Life Is But A Stopping Place

By Author unknown

Life is but a stopping place,
A pause in what’s to be,
A resting place along the road,
to sweet eternity.
We all have different journeys.
Different paths along the way,
We all were meant to learn some things,
but never meant to stay…
Our destination is a place,
Far greater than we know.
For some the journey’s quicker,
For some the journey’s slow.
And when the journey finally ends,
We’ll claim a great reward,
And find an everlasting peace,
Together with the lord

Looking Back

by Edgar A. Guest

I haven’t built much of a fortune to leave
to those who shall carry my name,
And nothing I’ve done shall entitle me now
to a place on the tablets of fame.

But I’ve loved the great sky and its spaces of blue;
I’ve lived with the birds and the trees;
I’ve turned from the splendor of silver and gold
to share in such pleasures as these.

I’ve given my time to the children who came;
together we’ve romped and we’ve played,
And I wouldn’t exchange the glad hours spent
with them for the money that I might have made.

I chose to be known and be loved by the few,
and was deaf to the plaudits of men;
And I’d make the same choice should the chance
come to me to live my life over again.

I’ve lived with my friends and I’ve shared in their joys,
known sorrow with all of its tears;
I have harvested much from my acres of life,
though some say I’ve squandered my years.

For much that is fine has been mine to enjoy,
and I think I have lived to my best,
And I have no regret, as I’m nearing the end,
for the gold that I might have possessed.

On the Day I Die

By John Pavlovitz, February 29, 2016







 They will be unable to touch me.
   
 Their great urgency will be quieted.






  thing that will happen.







  still alive I’ll try to remember that my time with them is finite and fleeting and so very precious—and I’ll do my best not to waste a second of it.


  with those who love you and want only to share it with you.




 

Remember Me – I Will Live Forever

By Robert Test

The day will come when my body will lie upon a white sheet neatly tucked under four corners of a mattress located in a hospital; busily occupied with the living and the dying.
At a certain moment a doctor will determine that my brain has ceased to function and that, for all intents and purposes, my life has stopped.
When that happens, do not attempt to instil artificial life into my body by the use of a machine, and don’t call this my deathbed, let it be called the bed of life, and let my body be taken from it to help others lead fuller lives.
Give my sight to the man who has never seen a sunrise, a baby’s face or love in the eyes of a woman.
Give my heart to a person whose own heart has caused nothing but endless days of pain.
Give my blood to the teenager who was pulled from the wreckage of his car, so that he might live to see his grandchildren play.
Give my kidneys to the one who depends on a machine to exist from week to week.
Take my bones, every muscle, every fibre and nerve in my body and find a way to make a crippled child walk.
Explore every corner of my brain.
Take my cells, if necessary, and let them grow so that, someday a speechless boy will shout at the crack of a bat and a deaf girl will hear the sound of rain against her window.
Burn what is left of me and scatter the ashes to the winds to help the flowers grow.
If you must bury something, let it be my faults, my weakness and all prejudice against my fellow man.
Give my sins to the devil.
Give my soul to God.
If, by chance, you wish to remember me, do it with a kind deed or word to someone who needs you.
If you do all I have asked, I will live forever.”

What Is Dying?

by Rev. Luther F. Beecher

‘What is Dying’, written by Rev. Luther F. Beecher is often misattributed as ‘Gone from My Sight’ by Henry van Dyke,  Victor Hugo and others. 

I am standing upon the seashore. A ship at my side spreads her white sails to the morning breeze, and starts for the blue ocean. She is an object of beauty and strength, and I stand and watch until at last she hangs like a speck of white cloud just where the sea and sky come down to meet and mingle with each other. Then someone at my side says, “There! She’s gone!” Gone where? Gone from my sight
— that is all. She is just as large in mast and hull and spar as she was when she
left my side, and just as able to bear her load of living freight to the place of her destination. Her diminished size is in me, not in her.
And just at the moment when someone at my side says, “There! She’s gone!” there are other eyes watching her coming; and other voices ready to take up the glad shout: “There she comes!”
And that is — “dying.”


TOP OF PAGE                               HOME


LOVE & MARRIAGE

  • Some of these are Irish Blessings. Many Irish blessing are recognised as being wedding related but they each have a special message that may be a pleasant reminder, or may offer comfort at any time, when in context.

 

Eternal Love

By Pravin Gupta

What is there, which heart can ask more,
When your love is there forever for me,
I feel that this distance from you,
Means nothing as awake or asleep together are we.

Not for a little moment do despair,
Even when the oceans lie between,
We are entwined so much together,
Never can they separate, the forces unseen.

May be my voice you may not hear as before,
May be your eyes not see the face you knew,
May be no rustling you feel of my body on you,
But you will still feel my love flowing to you.

Much beyond this world of dreams,
Where the eternal world of beauty lies,
You and me together shall forever be,
One day our love will get that prize.

If I were loved, as I desire to be

by Alfred, Lord Tennyson

If I were loved, as I desire to be,
What is there in the great sphere of the earth,
And range of evil between death and birth,
That I should fear, – if I were loved by thee?
All the inner, all the outer world of pain
Clear love would pierce and cleave, if thou wert mine,
As I have heard that, somewhere in the main,
Fresh-water springs come up through bitter brine.
‘Twere joy, not fear, clasped hand-in-hand with thee,
To wait for death – mute – careless of all ills,
Apart upon a mountain, though the surge
Of some new deluge from a thousand hills
Flung leagues of roaring foam into the gorge
Below us, as far on as eye could see.

Irish Marriage Blessing)

May you have love that never ends,
lots of money, and lots of friends.
Health be yours, whatever you do,
and may God send many blessings to you!

I Will Always Be There For You

By © Nidhi Kaul,  Published: April 2008

I will always be there for you,
I am your little friend..
I will always be in love with you,
all the way till the end..

I will always care for you,
I will never leave…
you are one person,
I can never deceive

I shall go off to sleep,
much before you think,
Maybe I’m not with you,
The next second you blink

The day, when I’m not with you,
Just close your eyes
and take my name,
I promise you dear.
Your life will be the same.

I will love you more and more,
with each rising day,
I will always be there for you
even if we are far away

Love Conquers All

By Fred G Weatherby KC (author not verified)

Sweathearts’ love brings you roses and wakes the old world anew
And life today unlocks the gates of joy for you
Pass in: tis love discovers the sweet, mysterious land
The land where only lovers walk ever hand in hand.
So when your evening closes, so when your hair is grey
Age will bring back the roses love gave to you today.

Love Isn’t Always Perfect

By Author Unknown

Love isn’t always perfect
It isn’t a fairy-tale or a storybook.
And it doesn’t always come easy.
Love is overcoming obstacles, facing challenges, fighting to be together, holding on and never letting go. It is a short word, easy to spell, difficult to define, and impossible to live without. Love is work, but most of all, love is realising that every hour, every minute, and every second it was worth it because you did it together.

Marriage Blessing (Irish)

May God be with you and bless you
May you see your children’s children
May you be poor in misfortunes and rich in blessings
May you know nothing but happiness
from this day forward.

Marriage or Wedding Prayer (Irish)

May the raindrops fall lightly on your brow
May the soft winds freshen your spirit
May the sunshine brighten your heart
May the burdens of the day rest lightly upon you
And may God enfold you in the mantle of His love.

Marriage Toast From Ireland

May there be a generation of children
On the children of your children.
May your mornings bring joy and your evenings bring peace.
May your troubles grow few as your blessings increase.
May the saddest day of your future
Be no worse than the happiest day of your past.
May your hands be forever clasped in friendship
And your hearts joined forever in love.
Your lives are very special,
God has touched you in many ways.
May his blessings rest upon you
And fill all your coming days.

Of Man and Wife

by Richard Edes

No love to love of man and wife;
No hope to hope of constant heart;
No joy to joy in wedded life;
No faith to faith in either part:
Flesh is of flesh, and bone of bone
When deeds and words and thoughts are one.

Thy friend an other friend may be,
But other self is not the same;
Thy spouse the self-same is with thee,
In body, mind, in goods and name:
No thine, no mine, may other call,
For all is one, and one is all.

“Oh no – not even when first we loved”

by Thomas Moore

Oh, no – not even when first we loved
Wert thou as dear as now thou art;
Thy beauty then my senses moved,
But now thy virtues bind my heart.
What was but passion’s sigh before,
Has since been turned to reason’s vow;
And, though I then might love thee more
Trust me, I love thee better now.

Although my heart in earlier youth
Might kindle with more wild desire,
Believe me, it has gained in truth
Much more than it has lost in fire.
The flame now warms my inmost core,
That then but sparkled over my brow,
And, though I seemed to love thee more,
Yet, oh, I love thee better now.

To My Dear and Loving Husband

by Anne Bradstreet

If ever two were one, then surely we.
If every man were loved by wife, then thee.
If ever wife was happy in a man,
Compare with me, ye women, if you can.
I prize thy love more than whole mines of gold,
Or all the riches that the East doth hold.
My love is such that rivers cannot quench,
Nor aught but love from thee give recompense.
Thy love is such I can no way repay,
The heavens reward thee manifold, I pray.
Then while we live, in love let’s so perséver,
That when we live no more, we may live ever.

Traditional  Wedding Toast (Irish Marriage Blessing)

Bless you and yours,
As well as the cottage you live in.
May the roof overhead be well thatched
And those inside be well matched.

Traditional Irish Marriage Blessing

May the road rise to meet you,
May the wind be always at your back.
May the sun shine warm upon your face,
The rains fall soft upon your fields.
And until we meet again,
May God hold you in the palm of his hand.

May the road rise to meet you
May the wind be always at your back
May the warm rays of sun fall upon your home
And may the hand of a friend always be near.

May green be the grass you walk on,
May blue be the skies above you,
May pure be the joys that surround you,
May true be the hearts that love you.

Wedding Blessing  (Irish Marriage Blessing)

May the sun shine, all day long,
everything go right, and nothing wrong.
May those you love bring love back to you,
and may all the wishes you wish come true!

Wedding Day Blessing  (Irish)

May your troubles be less,
And your blessings be more.
And nothing but happiness,
Come through your door.

Wedding Day Blessing (Irish Marriage Blessing)

With the first light of sun-
Bless you.
When the long day is done-
Bless you.
In your smiles and your tears-
Bless you.
Through each day of your years-
Bless you.

Wedding Day Blessing  (Irish Marriage Blessing)

May the blessings of light be upon you,
Light without and light within.
And in all your comings and goings,
May you ever have a kindly greeting
From them you meet along the road.

Wedding Day Blessing (Irish Marriage Blessing)

May you be poor in misfortune,
rich in blessings,
slow to make enemies,
quick to make friends.
But rich or poor,
quick or slow,
may you know nothing but happiness
from this day forward.

Wedding Day Blessing (Irish Marriage Blessing)

Be you rich or poor, quick or slow,
May you know nothing but happiness
From this day forward.
And, may the joys of today
Be those of tomorrow.

You Are Strong, Dearest One

(author unknown)

You are strong, dearest one,
you have carried a load
that many could not even hold,
through hungry days
of just enough,
you have been strong.

You are tired, dearest one,
your heart craves the gentle space,
to lay down your weary head,
to hear a tender lullaby that begins with your name.

You are lonely, dearest one,
For the living breath,
of hearts that understand,
that open wide to welcome you home.

You are in pain dearest one,
in places that others cannot see,
that those around you cannot hear.

I am here dearest one,
Holding you.
I am here dearest one,
Seeing you.
I am here dearest one,
Hearing you.
I ask the night to cast you gently
into the arms of grace.


TOP OF PAGE                               HOME


MEMORIES

See also:

I Am at Peace

By Jennifer Alderton

There was a time when I was free
To live my life in harmony,
Before the illness, which blighted me,
Swept faces and places from my mind,
People I loved from my memory.

Remember me as I used to be.
Think of me; remember my smile,
The love we shared; linger awhile.
I am at Peace now, I am me.
At rest for all eternity.

I Heard Your Voice in the Wind Today

By Tim Edds

I heard your voice in the wind today
and I turned to see your face;
The warmth of the wind caressed me
as I stood silently in place.
I felt your touch in the sun today
as its warmth filled the sky;
I closed my eyes for your embrace
and my spirit soared high.
I saw your eyes in the window pane
as I watched the falling rain;
It seemed as each raindrop fell
it quietly said your name.
I held you close in my heart today
it made me feel complete;
You may have died…but you are not gone
you will always be a part of me.
As long as the sun shines…
the wind blows…
the rain falls…
You will live on inside of me forever
for that is all my heart knows.

Memories

By Piers Lane

When the years of my life have come to an end,
The time of farewell comes to pass,
Remember the days that we have all shared,
Say my name, tell a tale, raise a glass.

Each day of my life, I’ve been blessed to have known
Good friends who have travelled each mile;
I ask of you this, if you will, now and then:
Think of me, picture us, with a smile.

Because life is a gift that cannot be kept
protected, avoiding the end,
Live for each truth that you already know:
Seize the day, care for all, love your friends.

My time here is over, I’m resting elsewhere
At peace, I have fallen asleep;
The memories that I held in my heart
Are now yours to treasure and keep.

Memory Of A Life Lived.

Copyright – Lou Szymkow 27/12/2017,
dedicated to my Mum 20/2/1925-19/01/2016)

Life is a collection of moments
Those things that make us care
The sights and the sounds
The aromas and the swirling of the morning air

Life is not the busy-ness of the day
But the moments and feeling, as we make our way

It is the laughter of a loved one
The smile of a child
The sizzle of a breakfast
The dressing up in style

It is the warmth of a tear upon your cheek
The foreboding when the skies are grey and bleak
The joy when the one you love enters the room
And the fear when they leave you, not knowing if they’ll return

Life is the cloud whispering by
The song of the birds applauding the sky
It is the sounds of your baby crying at night
And the pain of your loss when in plight

It is not just the emptiness left deep inside
But the remembering of wisdoms mentioned in stride
Life is but one step at a time
It is the knowledge that love is forever thine

Remember Me

by © Anthony Dowson

Speak of me as you have always done.
Remember the good times, laughter, and fun.

Share the happy memories we’ve made.
Do not let them wither or fade.

I’ll be with you in the summer’s sun
And when the winter’s chill has come.

I’ll be the voice that whispers in the breeze.
I’m peaceful now, put your mind at ease.

I’ve rested my eyes and gone to sleep,
But memories we’ve shared are yours to keep.

Sometimes our final days may be a test,
But remember me when I was at my best.

Although things may not be the same,
Don’t be afraid to use my name.

Let your sorrow last for just a while.
Comfort each other and try to smile.

I’ve lived a life filled with joy and fun.
Live on now, make me proud of what you’ll become.

The Memory Of Me

An adaptation, author unknown, of the poem ‘Afterglow’ by Helen Lowrie Marshall

I’d like the memory of me
to be a happy one.
I’d like to leave an afterglow
of smiles when life is done.
I’d like to leave an echo
whispering softly down the ways,
Of happy times and laughing times
and bright and sunny days.
I’d like the tears of those who grieve,
to dry before the sun
of happy memories
that I leave when life is done.
You didn’t die just recently,
You died some time ago.
Although your body stayed a while,
And didn’t really know.
For you had got Alzheimer’s,
You failed to comprehend.
Your body went on living.
But your mind had reached its end.
So we’ve already said, “Goodbye”,
To the person that we knew.
The person that we truly loved,
The person that was, “You”.
And so, we meet again today,
To toast your bodies end.
For it was true and faithful,
Until right at the end.
And so, when we remember,
We’ll think of all the rest.
We’ll concentrate on earlier,
And remember all the best.
For in the real scheme of things,
Your illness wasn’t long.
Compared to all the happiness,
You brought your whole life long.
We think of you as yesterday,
When you were fit and well.
And when we’re asked about you,
It’s those things that we’ll tell.
And so, we meet in ‘membrance,
Of a mind so fit and true.
We’re here to pay our last respects
To say that, “We love you”.

MEN

A Difficult Life

by Mrs Lyman Hancock

When I have come to the end of my journey
And I travel my last weary mile,
Just forget if you can, that I ever frowned
And remember only the smile.

Forget unkind words I have spoken
Remember some good that I’ve done
Forget that I ever had heartache
And remember I had loads of fun.

Forget that I’ve stumbled and blundered
And sometimes fell by the way.
Remember that I have fought some hard battles,
Yet won at the end of the day.

Then forget to grieve for my going
I would not have you sad for a day
But in summer just gather some flowers
And remember the place where I lay

And come in the shade of the evening
When the sun paints the sky in the west
Stand for a few moments beside me
And remember only my best.

Good Timber

by Douglas Malloch

The tree that never had to fight
For sun and sky and air and light,
But stood out in the open plain
And always got its share of rain,
Never became a forest king
But lived and died a scrubby thing.

The man who never had to toil
To gain and farm his patch of soil,
Who never had to win his share
Of sun and sky and light and air,
Never became a manly man
But lived and died as he began.

Good timber does not grow with ease:
The stronger wind, the stronger trees;
The further sky, the greater length;
The more the storm, the more the strength.

By sun and cold, by rain and snow,
In trees and men good timbers grow.

Where thickest lies the forest growth,
We find the patriarchs of both.

And they hold counsel with the stars
Whose broken branches show the scars
Of many winds and much of strife.
This is the common law of life.

 

Solitary Man

by Robert Edgar Burns

Sometimes I feel like a solitary man.
Under the night sky writing what I can.
No one else is moving or driving cars.
The world belongs to me under the stars.

While pondering in my solitude
Without a thought or plan,
Thoughts jump into the mind
Of this solitary man.

I don’t know where they come from.
They are just my own surprise.
Sometimes I’d swear that they have come
Through a different set of eyes.

In prison I know that solitary
Can drive a person mad.
But in those I once sent there,
For the solitude they seem glad.

The Lord needed His solitude
For at one time forty days.
And again when in the garden,
Where for the souls of men He prayed.

So in my time of solitude
I also have time to pray.
It’s when I feel the closest,
To Him in my night each day!

The Men Who Try and Try

by Joseph Cummings, (R M Williams father in law)

I was never a great believer
In the things that men call luck
For it takes hard downright digging
Ere the vein of gold is struck

Dame Fortune may be fickle,
but no one can deny
Ah, she loves to lay her treasures
at the feet of men who try.

I’ve read the records closely
And I’ve watched the battles too
And it’s taught me one good lesson
Which I pass on to you:

Fate cannot build a barrier
So rugged or so high
That cannot be surmounted
By the men who try and try.

And when in life’s grand procession
Of people that pass on by
I’ll raise my hat the highest
To the men who try and try


TOP OF PAGE                               HOME


MARATHON

Life’s A Marathon

By Cedric McClester, Copyright 2016. All rights reserved

Life’s a marathon
It’s never been a sprint
But time goes by so fast
You’ll wonder where it went
So make the most of it
Would be my comment
And when the clock runs out
You can die content

Life’s a marathon
It’s never been a dash
You must conserve energy
If you want to last
It’s not won by the swiftest
Because they run real fast
Is it won by the wisest
You might want to ask

Life’s a marathon
So to stay in the running
More than being fast
You’ll have to be cunning
If you want to last
And be deemed as stunning
Once the dye is cast
Your victory is coming

Life’s a marathon
Not a simple race
If you want to win
You’ll have to keep pace
And time yourself
To stay in the chase
In order to cross the line
And come in first place

Life Is Like A Marathon

By © Ella Phillips, Published: June 2018

Life is like a marathon
That we cannot reject, we must run
It’s a continuous route that we travel on
At some points the path is tough, sometimes it’s fun

Even though the trek is lengthy
We don’t have to do it alone
By your side, I’m fierce and I’m frail
With you I can navigate through the unknown

In this race, we may stumble
We are likely to collapse or trip
In this marathon we learn to get back up
And fight furiously through every dip

This road is extensive and coarse
But we must battle forward
Striding past every obstacle
And looking past the pain onward

So run this race to your utmost ability
Give everything that you got
Because at the precious finish line
People will remember how hard you fought

MATES

A Mate Can Do No Wrong

By Henry Lawson

We learnt the creed at Hungerford,
We learnt the creed at Bourke;
We learnt it in the good times
And learnt it out of work.
We learnt it by the harbour-side
And on the billabong:
“No matter what a mate may do,
A mate can do no wrong!”
He’s like a king in this respect
(No matter what they do),
And, king-like, shares in storm and shine
The Throne of Life with you.
We learnt it when we were in gaol
And put it in a song:
” No matter what a mate may do,
A mate can do no wrong!”
They’ll say he said a bitter word
When he’s away or dead.
We’re loyal to his memory,
No matter what he said.
And we should never hesitate,
But strike out good and strong,
And jolt the slanderer on the jaw –
A mate can do no wrong !

Aussie Mateship

By Bill Hornadge wrote, 1926

What is a mate nowadays?
Somebody you can rely on – through thick, thin and middling; past hell and high-water.
Like the mariner’s compass he always points north to you.  In any trouble, you know what he will do, without argument; because, since he is your mate, it is exactly what you would do yourself.
Your mate is indeed yourself in another fellow’s skin – perhaps your better self, perhaps your worse self; but always the same old six-and-eightpence (68 cents), even when he measures up to thirteen and fourpence ($1.34), or down to five and tuppence (52 cents).
Seems contradictory, doesn’t he? – Your mate.
He is!  My Australian oath he is!
Look at my mate!
Take it from me, there never was such a dogmatic, obstinate, prejudiced, pig-headed son of a twisted mallee root since mates were discovered.
Yet I stick to him; I can’t get rid of him; he is inside my skin; he’s me, bother him!”

Mates …

By Melbourne poet Duncan Harold Butler, 1906-1987

I’ve travelled down some dusty roads, both crooked tracks and straight,
And I have learnt life’s noblest creed summed up in one word, “Mate”.
‘m thinkin’ back across the years, a thing I do of late
And these words stick between me ears “You gotta have a mate.”
Someone who’ll take you as you are regardless of your state
and stand as firm as Ayers Rock because he is your mate.
Me mind goes back to ’43 to slavery and hate
when man’s one chance to stay alive depended on his mate.
With bamboo for a billy-can and bamboo for a plate,
A bamboo paradise for bugs was bed for me and mate.
You’d slip and slither through the mud and curse your rotten fate
But then you’d hear a quiet word – “Don’t drop your bundle, mate.”
And though it’s all so long ago this truth I have to state,
A man don’t know what lonely means ’til he has lost his mate.
If there’s a life that follers this, if there’s a Golden Gate,
The welcome that I wanna hear is just “Goodonya mate”.
And so to all who ask us why we keep these special dates,
Like ANZAC Day, I tell ’em “Why? We’re thinkin’ of our mates.”
And when I’ve left the driver’s seat and ‘anded in me plates
I’ll tell Ol’ Peter at the door “I’ve come to join me mates.”

The Glass On The Bar

By Henry Lawson

Three bushmen one morning rode up to an inn, And one of them called for the drinks with a grin;
They’d only returned from a trip to the North, And, eager to greet them, the landlord came forth.
He absently poured out a glass of Three Star.
And set down that drink with the rest on the bar.
`There, that is for Harry,’ he said, `and it’s queer, ‘Tis the very same glass that he drank from last year;
His name’s on the glass, you can read it like print,
He scratched it himself with an old piece of flint;
I remember his drink it was always Three Star’ And the landlord looked out through the door of the bar.
He looked at the horses, and counted but three:
`You were always together where’s Harry?’ cried he.
Oh, sadly they looked at the glass as they said,
`You may put it away, for our old mate is dead;’
But one, gazing out o’er the ridges afar, Said,
`We owe him a shout leave the glass on the bar.’
They thought of the far-away grave on the plain,
They thought of the comrade who came not again,
They lifted their glasses, and sadly they said:
`We drink to the name of the mate who is dead.’
And the sunlight streamed in, and a light like a star
Seemed to glow in the depth of the glass on the bar.
And still in that shanty a tumbler is seen,
It stands by the clock, ever polished and clean;
And often the strangers will read as they pass
The name of a bushman engraved on the glass;
And though on the shelf but a dozen there are,
That glass never stands with the rest on the bar.


TOP OF PAGE                               HOME


MENTAL ILLNESS

See also:

Time Will Ease The Hurt

By Author Unknown

The sadness of the present days
is locked and set in time,
and moving to the future
is a slow and painful climb.
But all the feelings that are now
so vivid and so real
can’t hold their fresh intensity
as time begins to heal.
No wound so deep will ever go
entirely away
yet every hurt becomes
a little less from day to day.
Nothing can erase the painful
imprints on your mind
but there are softer memories
that time will let you find.
Though your heart won’t let the sadness
simply slide away
the echoes will diminish
even though the memories stay

MILITARY  & RETURNED SERVICES

(see also: AVIATION)

A Diggers job!

By Nick Latham

Coo-ee is called why don’t you come
Australia flagged  her cherished son’s

As mates they drilled to a drum at dawn
Friendships for life were forever formed

Destined to fight in a distant land
Always ready to lend a hand

The Digger’s legend  is second to none
As always prepared a job well done

In life willing to give without regret
In passing  remembered, lest we forget.

A Soldier Came Home Today

By Rev. Bob Leonard

Today a soldier came home
not marching down the street
to waves and cheers
but in a box covered
with a flag of Red, White and Blue

the flags are at half staff
And the people line the road home
with bowed heads
and tears in their eyes
For a soldier came home today

As the hearse came to its final stop
His brothers in olive green gathered round
They gently lifted that flag draped box
and then carried him, and gently put him down

Mother, Father and family followed in
with tears flowing down
There was a silence, that screamed with pain
for all knew a great loss
for a soldier came home today

Why did he have to die,
the question rings out
He was so full young and full of life
There was so much he had to offer,
And yet he went to fight for what
he felt was right
always knowing full well
that he might be asked to make
that supreme sacrifice

He is home now and soon
He will lie with those other
Honoured dead in that hallowed ground
Called Arlington
A soldier has come home toda

Cadet’s Prayer (Adapted)

(Adapted by Gemma Christina, from ‘Soldiers Farewell’ by Mike Subritzky, for an Army Cadet Forces’ (ACF), friends’ funeral)

I’ve dropped my basher, packed my kit, I’m gonna bug out now,
my Tour of Duty’s over mates, I won’t be coming back.
I’m done with diggin’ shell scrapes, getting lost on exercise,
I’m sick of setting trip flares, and coming under fire.
So, no more training areas, and no more foot patrols,
and no more eating ration packs, and sleepin’ in muddy holes.
I’ve fired my last machine gun, and ambushed my last track,

I’m sick of all the Cadet brass, and I sure ain’t coming back.
I’ve handed in my webbing, and thrown my cam cream away,
I’ve cleaned my rifle for the last time, and returned it to the store.
So, no more spit and polish, and make sure I get paid,
and strike me from the ACF, today’s my last parade

Dulce et Decorum Est 

By Wilfred Owen

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind.
Gas! Gas! Quick, boys!–An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And flound’ring like a man in fire or lime…
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,–
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest

To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est Pro patria mori. (“It is sweet and right to die for your country.”)

Fallen Heroes

By Joyce Atkinson

From the time I was conceived God had for me a plan
He wanted me to get involved to help my fellow man
I know some were against it but God knows what is best
Since the day He took me home I’ve had perfect rest
Heaven is so beautiful I’m walking streets of gold
Now I’m serving others including saints of old
I know some still have anger about the way I died
But God and I both have seen the many tears you’ve cried
He is a God of comfort whose love will never cease
Give your feelings to Him and He will give you peace
As difficult as it may be please don’t hold a grudge
Remember this my loved ones God alone will judge
Then on that resurrection day when all the dead will rise;
the Lord will reunite us together in the skies
So don’t give up my loved ones my memory is still alive
Put your trust in the Lord; I know you will survive!

For the Fallen

by Robert Laurence Binyon (1869-1943), published in The Times newspaper on 21st September 1914.

With proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children,
England mourns for her dead across the sea.
Flesh of her flesh they were, spirit of her spirit,
Fallen in the cause of the free.

Solemn the drums thrill: Death august and royal
Sings sorrow up into immortal spheres.
There is music in the midst of desolation
And a glory that shines upon our tears.

They went with songs to the battle, they were young,
Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow.
They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted,
They fell with their faces to the foe.

They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.

They mingle not with their laughing comrades again;
They sit no more at familiar tables of home;
They have no lot in our labour of the day-time;
They sleep beyond England’s foam.

But where our desires are and our hopes profound,
Felt as a well-spring that is hidden from sight,
To the innermost heart of their own land they are known
As the stars are known to the Night;

As the stars that shall be bright when we are dust,
Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain,
As the stars that are starry in the time of our darkness,
To the end, to the end, they remain.

In Your Honour

By Author Unknown

Unselfishly, you left your fathers and your mothers,

You left behind your sisters and your brothers.
Leaving your beloved children and wives,

You put on hold, your dreams-your lives.
On foreign soil, you found yourself planted

To fight for those whose freedom you granted.
Without your sacrifice, their cause would be lost

But you carried onward, no matter the cost.

Many horrors you had endured and seen.

Many faces had haunted your dreams.
You cheered as your enemies littered the ground;

You cried as your brothers fell all around.

When it was over, you all came back home,

Some were left with memories to face all alone;
Some found themselves in the company of friends

As their crosses cast shadows across the land.

Those who survived were forever scarred

Emotionally, physically, permanently marred.
Those who did not now sleep eternally

‘Neath the ground they had given their lives to keep free.

With a hand upon my heart, I feel The pride and respect; my reverence is revealed
In the tears that now stream down my upturned face

As our flag waves above you, in her glory and grace.
Freedom was the gift that you unselfishly gave

Pain and death was the price that you ultimately paid.
Every day, I give my utmost admiration

To those who had fought to defend our nation.

Legacy Of Love 

by Author Unknown

A wife, a mother, a grandmother too,
This is the legacy we have from you.
You taught us love and how to fight,
You gave us strength, you gave us might.
A stronger person would be hard to find,
And in your heart, you were always kind.
You fought for us all in one way or another,
Not just as a wife not just as a mother.
For all of us you gave your best,
Now the time has come for you to rest.
So go in peace, you’ve earned your sleep,
Your love in our hearts, we’ll eternally keep.

My Father

By Anita Guindon

He was a jolly little man full of fun and laughter,
He played jokes on his fellow men
And to him it did not matter.
Education he had not,
But what he learned he never forgot.
He wrote what he knew all about cancer
so that someday, there will be an answer.
He joined the Canadian Medical Corps.
And served in the Second World War.
He risked his life, to save others,
This man, that I call my Father.
Seein’ my Father in me is the title of a song
Which I can relate to as I do see my Father in me.
I have a French accent just like my Father,
I love walking, just like my Father,
I love being with people, just like my father.
But most of all, is my love for children, like my Father.

Soldier

by George L. Skypeck

I was that which others did not want to be.
I went where others feared to go, and did what others failed to do.
I asked nothing from those who gave nothing, and reluctantly accepted the thought of eternal loneliness … should I fail.
I have seen the face of terror; felt the stinging cold of fear; and enjoyed the sweet taste of a moment’s love.
I have cried, pained, and hoped … but most of all, I have lived times others would say were best forgotten.
At least someday I will be able to say that I was proud of what I was … a soldier.

Soldier’s Farewell

NZATMC – AP Lima: Rhodesian War

©Copyright 1980 by Mike Subritzky

I’ve saddled up,
and dropped me hooch,
I’m going to take the gap,
my Tour of Duty’s over mates,
and I won’t be coming back.

I’m done with diggin’ shell scrapes,
and laying out barbed wire,
I’m sick of setting Claymore Mines,
and coming under fire.

So, no more Fire Support Base,
and no more foot patrols,
and no more eating ration packs,
and sleepin’ in muddy holes.

I’ve fired my last machine gun,
and ambushed my last track,
I’m sick of all the Army brass,
and I sure ain’t coming back.

I’ll hand my bayonet to the clerk,
he ain’t seen one before,
and clean my rifle one more time,
and return it to the store.

So, no more spit and polish,
and make sure I get paid,
and sign me from the Regiment,
today’s my last parade.

Still a Soldier

Copyright © Timothy Emmons 2014

I lay here today a soldier
I know some don’t understand
I will try to explain
So maybe you can
I served my country
For many a year
I retired long ago
The soldier still here

I put on my uniform
I wore it to foreign lands
The soldier I was
Is still in the man

I have been a husband, father, and friend
To some of you here
But I’ve been a soldier all along
Even after so many a year

My final salute
I render today
I’m still a soldier
I’m just on my way

The Ode

(an extract from the For the Fallen)

They shall grow not old,
As we that are left grow old,
Age shall not weary them,
Nor the years condemn,
At the going down of the sun,
And in the morning,
We will remember them.

We will remember them.

Lest We Forget

The Old Salt

By Mac McGovern

The Old Salt was a special man
who came along in a time
when he was needed most.

A time that is now gone forever.
When men believed and sacrificed,
when hero’s walked the earth in mass.

When patriotism was not just a word
but,
by what men lived and judged
the worth of each,
a man who lived a life
most of us cannot comprehend.

An era now gone
as this warriors tour of duty ends
at this station, and begins anew
in the heavenly fleet.

Sail on Sailor into your unaccompanied tour,
we salute you.

What greater honor, that when a man moves forward,
he leaves behind in each of us
the best of what he was.

A defender, protector, supporter, victor, a warrior,
the last of the breed from an era
when ships were made of wood
and men were made of steel.

The Old Salt has reported for duty
that takes him away from us for now.

Those of us who remain behind,
remember, and will continue to remember,
because he now resides forever in our hearts.

As I look up at night, I envision The Old Salt,
a beret draped just above the eye,
as he draws upon his pipe,
quietly he waits.
The guardian of heaven’s gate.

There Will Come Soft Rains

By Sara Teasdale

There will come soft rains and the smell of the ground,
And swallows circling with their shimmering sound;
And frogs in the pools singing at night,
And wild plum-trees in tremulous white;
Robins will wear their feathery fire
Whistling their whims on a low fence-wire;
And not one will know of the war, not one
Will care at last when it is done.
Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree
If mankind perished utterly;
And Spring herself, when she woke at dawn,
Would scarcely know that we were gone.

The Soldier’s Prayer

(From an inscription on a USA marine’s grave on Guadalcanal, 1942)

And When He Gets To Heaven,
To Saint Peter He Will Tell;
One More Marine Reporting Sir,
I’ve Served My Time In Hell.

Why

by Author Unknown

Far above the storm clouds gathering
Far above that midnight sky
Looking out just past the rainbow
Where eagles dare not fly

Out among the ashes
Of heroes long since past
I will take my place among them
When that final die is cast

Let not your heart be troubled
That’s what I’ve always heard
But I stood for what I believed in
With these my final words

For in this life but few things matter
In this short time that we have here
Leaving nothing behind but our honour
The thing we hold most dear


TOP OF PAGE                               HOME


MINING & MINERS

A Miners Prayer

By Roxanne Hall

Lead me to the light of another day.
Safely to my family a God I pray
Keep me strong so I can provide
For the needs of my family, my joy, my pride
Guide me safely to the skies of blue
And let me not take for granted the work that I do
As a labour and toil through the night of day
My face and my hopes show me the way
See me not as a man burdened with strive
But as one who respects the meaning of life
I am the anthracite minor, come walk with me
Today, tomorrow and eternity

Big Bad John

Sung by Jimmy Dean, Produced by Don Law,
from the Album Big Bad John and Other Fabulous Songs and Tales

Big John
Big John

Ev’ry mornin’ at the mine you could see him arrive
He stood six foot six and weighed two forty five
Kinda broad at the shoulder and narrow at the hip
And everybody knew, ya didn’t give no lip to Big John

(Big John, Big John)
Big Bad John
(Big John)

Nobody seemed to know where John called home
He just drifted into town and stayed all alone
He didn’t say much, he kinda quiet and shy
And if you spoke at all, he just said, “Hi” to Big John

Somebody said he came from New Orleans
Where he got in a fight over a Cajun Queen
And a crashin’ blow from a huge right hand
Sent a Louisiana fellow to the Promised Land, Big John

(Big John, Big John)
Big Bad John
(Big John)

Then came the day at the bottom of the mine
When a timber cracked and men started cryin’
Miners were prayin’ and hearts beat fast
And everybody thought that they’d breathed their last, ‘cept John

Through the dust and the smoke of this man made hell
Walked a giant of a man that the miners knew well
Grabbed a saggin’ timber, gave out with a groan
And like a giant Oak tree, he just stood there alone, Big John

(Big John, Big John)
Big Bad John
(Big John)

And with all of his strength he gave a mighty shove
Then a miner yelled out, “There’s a light up above”
And twenty men scrambled from a would-be grave
Now there’s only one left down there to save, Big John

With jacks and timbers they started back down
Then came that rumble way down in the ground
And then smoke and gas belched out of that mine
Everybody knew it was the end of the line for Big John

(Big John, Big John)
Big Bad John
(Big John)

Now they never reopened that worthless pit
They just placed a marble stand in front of it
These few words are written on that stand
At the bottom of this mine lies a big, big man, Big John

(Big John, Big John)
Big Bad John
(Big John)

(Big John)
Big Bad John

Coal Miner’s Prayer (St Barbara’s Prayer for Miners)

By Author Unknown

O Lord, after I have worked my last day
and come out of the earth and have placed my feet on Thy footstool,
let me use the tools of Prudence, Faith, Hope and Charity.
From now on till I will be called to sign my last payroll,
make all the cables in the machinery strong with Thy Love.
Supply all the gangways, slopes and chambers
with The Pure Air Of Thy Grace and
let The Light Of Hope be my guidance and
when my last picking and shovelling is done,
may my last car be Full Of Thy Grace and
give me The Holy Bible for my last shift,
so that Thou, The General Superintendent of all collieries can say:
“WELL DONE THOU GOOD, FAITHFUL MINER
COME AND SIGN THE PAYROLL AND RECEIVE THE CHECK
OF ETERNAL HAPPINESS.”
Amen

Coal Miner’s Son

A Song by Martin Doherty©Martin Doherty 2011

I was born in Lithgow town many years ago,
I seen my father work so hard for the coal down below,
His eyes so red and spitting dust,
Conditions they were poor,
It’s not easy to survive the Black Lung, that’s for sure.

Chorus:
I’m a coal miner’s son,
I’m a coal miner’s son.

Now and then he’d stop and smile
And tell us of days gone by,
How he’d roamed the fields of Ireland,
Where he grew up as a boy,
Killarney was the place where the salmon did fly
And the wild birds sang their tune,
But times got hard, so he packed his bag
And said goodbye to the land of his youth.

10 pounds got him to New South Wales,
The journey it was long,
The dream he had, kept him strong,
It was the reason he carried on,
There was no work around in Sydney town
’til he read in the paper one day,
There were coal miners wanted in the Lithgow valley,
A place many miles away.

He settled down with a girl from Wang,
They were happy with a daughter and two sons,
But when the Black Lung calls you have no choice,
It comes and takes you down,
All miner’s know it’s just a matter of time,
But still they carry on,
It’s not easy, but it’s the way of life,
On the Long Wall, underground.

So now I’ve packed my bags and said goodbye,
The mine could never set me free,
I’ll take a chance and chase my dreams,
Killarney is the place for me,
I’ll roam the fields where the wild birds sing,
Fish the streams where the salmon run,
But I’ll always remember the land of my youth,
I’m proud to be a coal miner’s son.

Chorus x2

I Spent My Life In Darkness So That Others Would Have Light

By Copyright © 2014 Poems and Reflections LLC.  Some Rights Reserved.

Lay my body in the cold, dark cave
I spent my life in darkness
I’ve got no fear of the grave

My spirit will soar in a Godly flight
I spent my life in darkness
So that others would have light

I bent my back inside those hills
Carving out the mountains in a test of wills
Giving all my strength, yet keeping my pride
Facing death daily as I walked inside

Yet what I’ve done meant more to me
Than the risks to my life and family
Light, warmth, and joy was my goal
And I drew each one from the black, dusty coal

My work has kept people safe and warm
Kept the sick alive, and others from harm
Brought people together, making sweet memories
And provided a living for my own family

But none of us live forever, we know
I know it too well…a life risked for the coal
So when my number’s up- bravely I’ll leave
Trusting God to comfort my loved ones who’ll grieve

And confidently toward His heaven I’ll fly
Where I’ll join that peace with my head held high
Approaching God’s throne…seeking His mighty grace
Never again to wear that dust on my face

Trusting God to accept me…
All the ways I’ve blessed others in life
For I spent years in darkness
So that others would have light

Miner’s Prayer

Lyrics by Dwight Yoakam

When the whistle blows each morning
And I walk down in that cold, dark mine
I say a prayer to my dear Saviour
Please, let me see the sunshine one more time

When oh when will it be over
When will I lay these burdens down
And when I die, dear Lord in heaven
Please, take my soul from ‘neath that cold, dark ground

I still grieve for my poor brother
And I still hear my dear old mother cry
When late that night they came and told her
He’d lost his life down in the Big Shoal Mine

When oh when will it be over
When will I lay these burdens down
And when I die, dear Lord in heaven
Please, take my soul from ‘neath that cold, dark ground

I have no shame, I feel no sorrow
If on this earth not much I own
I have the love of my sweet children
An old plough mule, a shovel and a hoe

When oh when will it be over
When will I lay these burdens down
And when I die, dear Lord in heaven
Please, take my soul from ‘neath that cold, dark ground

Yeah, when I die, dear Lord in heaven
Please, take my soul from ‘neath that cold, dark ground

My Father was a Miner

By William Hollman

My father was a minor
He would deep underground
The rush of dreams and clinking chains.
They were his daily sounds.
He worked so far below the ground,
with coal was huge by pic,
The work so hard and wages small,
he didn’t they go sick.
He called upon his belly,
In drift so low and narrow,
The wind it with salt down the shaft,
Chilled him to the Marrow.
He ate his food from a Tommy box,
shaped like a slice of bread,
While squatting down upon the ground,
with spit and crumbs with shed.
His water, it was a Jack,
to wet down the clouds of dust,
That gathered in his throat and lungs.
Where it formed a deadly crust.
We would listen for his footsteps,
he then came into site:
This man, dad, as black as black,
just like the darkest night;
His bath was always ready,
set down in front of fire,
My mother then would wash his back,
and tell us to retire;
Right down his back white rivers ran
amongst the dirt and grime,
but you cannot wash away blue scars.
Don’t you get down in the mine,
Years now past, my father gone,
but I am proud to say,
My father was a minor,
until he’s dying day.

The Miners 

by Wilfred Owen

There was a whispering in my hearth,
A sigh of the coal,
Grown wistful of a former earth It might recall.
I listened for a tale of leaves
And smothered ferns,
Frond-forests, and the low sly lives
Before the fauns.
My fire might show steam-phantoms simmer
From Time’s old cauldron,
Before the birds made nests in summer,
Or men had children.
But the coals were murmuring of their mine,
And moans down there
Of boys that slept wry sleep, and men
Writhing for air.
And I saw white bones in the cinder-shard,
Bones without number.
Many the muscled bodies charred,
And few remember.
I thought of all that worked dark pits
Of war, and died
Digging the rock where Death reputes
Peace lies indeed.
Comforted years will sit soft-chaired,
In rooms of amber;
The years will stretch their hands, well-cheered
By our life’s ember;
The centuries will burn rich loads
With which we groaned,
Whose warmth shall lull their dreaming lids,
While songs are crooned;
But they will not dream of us poor lads,
Left in the ground.

The Miners Tale

by Jayne Davies

An old Miner, sits by the fireside,
Thinking back over the years,
The memories, drift upon him,
Of the toil, the sweat and the tears.

He started work as a young lad,
He wanted to follow his Pa,
There was nothing else, the money was good,
And he thought it would get him far.

But now nearly fifty years later,
After working that big black hole,
His lungs are scarred with the memory,
Of the dirt and the dust from the coal.

A Coal Miner’s Prayer

By author unknown

Take a look at these hands, Lord,
They’re worn and rough.
My face scarred with coal marks,
My language is tough.
But you know in the heart, Lord,
Lies the soul of a man
Who toils at a living
That few men can stand
There’s sulphur and coal dust
And sweat on my brow.
To live like a rich man,
I’d never learn how.
But if you’ve got a corner
When my work is through,
I’d be mighty proud to live
Neighbors with you.
Each dawn as I rise, Lord,
I know all to well…

I face only one thing:
A pit filled with hell.
To scratch out a living
The best that I can.
But deep in this heart
Lies the soul of a man.
With black covered faces
And hard calloused hands,
We ride the dark tunnels,
Our work to begin.
To labor and toil
As we harvest the coal
We silently pray,
Lord, please harvest our souls
Just a corner in Heaven
When I’ve grown too old
And my back it won’t bend, Lord,
To shovel the coal.
Lift me out of the pit, Lord.
Where the sun never shines,
‘Cause it get mighty weary
Down there in the mine.
But I’d rather be me, Lord.
Though no riches I show,
Though tired and weary.
I’m just glad to know
When the Great Seal is broken
The pages will tell
That I’ve already spent
My time in hell.

Your Daddy’s Not Coming Home

By Vance Freeman

A siren had been a-blowing
I had heard it above the rain
And the sound of people running
On past my window pane
I took a look out through the glass
There were people gathered everywhere
But soon the streets, they were empty
And only silence filled the air
My mother had been crying
I could see the teardrops in her eyes
And as I reached out to comfort her
Her distress she tried to disguise
She took me by the hand
And we sat down so she could explain
That my daddy’s not coming home …
No … never again
She said that there’d been an explosion
And she said that there wasn’t much chance
Of my daddy coming on home
Oh … my daddy’s not coming home …
He gave his life to keep us all warm
Through the raging winters, and the storms
Working all the hours that he’d been lent
So he could earn the money to pay our rent
But what a price to pay for a little coal
Two miles underground down in that hole
And what have you got at the end of it all?
You’re told …  daddy’s not coming home
No, your daddy’s not coming home
Oh, no, your daddy’s not coming home … ever a-gain


TOP OF PAGE                               HOME


MOTHER


Anyu (Mum) – Mother’s Day Poem in Hungarian & English

(Hungarian)

Anyu
Tudok egy varázsszót,
ha én azt kimondom,
egyszerre elmúlik
minden bajom, gondom.
Ha kávé keserű,
ha mártás savanyú,
csak egy szót kiáltok,
csak annyit, hogy: anyu!
Mindjárt porcukor hull
kávéba, mártásba,
csak egy szóba került,
csak egy kiáltásba.
Keserűből édes,
rosszból csuda jó lesz,
sírásból mosolygás,
olyan csuda-szó ez.
“Anyu, anyu! Anyu!”
hangzik este-reggel,
jaj de sok baj is van
ilyen kis gyerekkel.
“Anyu, anyu, anyu!”
most is kiabálom,
most semmi baj nincsen,
mégis meg nem állom.
Csak látni akarlak,
Anyu, fényes csillag,
látni, ahogy jössz, jössz,
mindig jössz, ha hívlak.
Látni sietséged,
angyal szelídséged,
odabújni hozzád,
megölelni téged.

(English translation by Zakor Dóra)

Mom
I know a magic word
When I say that
My troubles, worries
Are gone at right.
If the coffee were bitter,
If the sauce were sour,
I just shout a word,
Only just: mom!
Sugar falling into
Coffee, souce at once,
It cost only a word,
Only a shout.
Bitter will be sweet,
Bad will be wondergood,
Crying will be smiling,
Such a magic word this.
“Mom! Mom! Mom!”
Can be heard in the evening and morning,
How much trouble there is
With such a small child.
“Mom! Mom! Mom!”
I’m crying this now also,
There is no matter now,
I can’t help shouting,
I just want to see you,
Mom shiny star,
To see you coming,
You’re always coming when I call you
To see your haste
Your angel gentleness
To cuddle you, to enfold you
In my arms.

A Mother’s Crown

By Author Unknown

Heaven lit up with a mighty presence,
as the Angels all looked down.
Today the Lord was placing the jewels
Into my mother’s crown.
He held up a golden crown,
as my darling mother looked on.
He said in His gentle voice,
‘I will now explain each one.’
‘The first gem,’ He said, ‘is a Ruby,
and it’s for endurance alone,
for all the nights you waited up
for your children to come home.’
‘For all the nights by their bedside,
you stayed till the fever went down.
For nursing every little wound,
I add this ruby to your crown.’
‘An emerald, I’ll place by the ruby,
for leading your child in the right way.
For teaching them the lessons,
That made them who they are today.’
‘For always being right there,
through all life’s important events.
I give you a sapphire stone,
for the time and love you spent.’
‘For untying the strings that held them,
when they grew up and left home.
I give you this one for courage.’
Then the Lord added a garnet stone.
‘I’ll place a stone of amethyst,’ He said.
‘For all the times you spent on your knees,
when you asked if I’d take care of your children,
and then for having faith in Me.’
‘I have a pearl for every little sacrifice
that you made without them knowing.
For all the times you went without,
to keep them happy, healthy and growing.’
‘And last of all I have a diamond,
the greatest one of all,
for sharing unconditional love
whether they were big or small.’
‘It was you love that helped them grow
Feeling safe and happy and proud
A love so strong and pure
It could shift the darkest cloud.’
After the Lord placed the last jewel in,
He said, ‘Your crown is now complete,
You’ve earned your place in Heaven
With your children at your feet.’


A Parent’s Love

– by Helen Steiner Rice

A Mother’s love is something
that no one can explain,
It is made of deep devotion
and of sacrifice and pain,
It is endless and unselfish
and enduring come what may
For nothing can destroy it
or take that love away . . .
It is patient and forgiving
when all others are forsaking,
And it never fails or falters
even though the heart is breaking . . .
It believes beyond believing
when the world around condemns,
And it glows with all the beauty
of the rarest, brightest gems . . .
It is far beyond defining,
it defies all explanation,
And it still remains a secret
like the mysteries of creation . . .
A many splendoured miracle
man cannot understand
And another wondrous evidence
of God’s tender guiding hand.

As We Look Back’

By Author Unknown

As we look back over time
We find ourselves wondering …..
Did we remember to thank you enough
For all you have done for us?
For all the times you were by our sides
To help and support us …..
To celebrate our successes
To understand our problems
And accept our defeats?
Or for teaching us by your example,
The value of hard work, good judgment,
Courage and integrity?
We wonder if we ever thanked you
For the sacrifices you made.
To let us have the very best?
And for the simple things
Like laughter, smiles and times we shared?
If we have forgotten to show our
Gratitude enough for all the things you did,
We’re thanking you now.
And we are hoping you knew all along,
How much you meant to us.

Farewell, Dear Mother

By Author Unknown

Somewhere in our heart beneath all our grief and pain,
Is a smile we still wear, at the sound of your dear name.
The precious word is ‘MOTHER’, she was our world you see,
But now our hearts are breaking cause she’s no longer here with us.
When I think of her kind heart and all those loving years,
My memories surround me and I can’t hold back the tears.
She truly was our best friend, someone we could confide in,
She always had a tender touch and a warm and gentle grin.
We want to thank you Mother for teaching us so well,
And though the time has come that we must bid you this farewell.
We’ll remember all you’ve taught us and make you proud you’ll see.
Thank you our Dear Mother for all the love you showed us.
Although you’ve left this earth and now you’ve taken flight,
I know that you are here with us each morning, noon and night.

My Mother Kept a Garden

By Kelly Z

My Mother kept a garden.
A garden of the heart;
She planted all the good things,
That gave my life it’s start.

She turned me to the sunshine,
And encouraged me to dream:
Fostering and nurturing
The seeds of self-esteem.

And when the winds and rains came,
She protected me enough;
But not too much, she knew I’d need
To stand up strong and tough.

Her constant good example,
Always taught me right from wrong;
Markers for my pathway
To last my whole life long.

I am my Mother’s garden,
I am her legacy.
And I hope today she feels the love,
Reflected back from me

My Mother Wasn’t Perfect

By Dick Underwood

My mother wasn’t perfect, but she loved me and she cared
She often made mistakes and caused me deep despair
I know it wasn’t easy and I know she tried her best
To keep us neat and tidy and bright and cleanly dressed

I’m glad I had a mother, who’d seen a bit of life
Who’d shared the very best of times and inner painful strife
For life is for the living and that she surely did
We didn’t see the half of it, from us the worst she hid

So no, she wasn’t perfect, but she loved us and she cared
She did the very best she could and all of us have erred
For nobody is perfect, not her and no, not me
We do the very best we can and all our love is free

So in my mother’s memory, I’ll try to live with love
Knowing that she’s looking down, from heaven up above
I know I won’t be perfect, but like her I’ll try my best
To cope with life’s misfortunes without becoming stressed

So thank you Mum for being there, despite your troubled days
We’ll forget your imperfections and remember you always.

There Is A New Star Shining In The Sky Tonight

by Sarah Hartwell

There is an old belief that the stars shining in the night sky are the spirits of those who have died.
They have shed their earthly bodies and exchanged them for bodies made of light;
thousands upon thousands of our dear departed friends all promoted to glory in the night sky.
There is another saying that the brightest flame burns the shortest.
Mummy, is now the brightest star in our sky tonight – burning on, with a flame dimmed with sadness and sorrow for us still here.
The stars are watching us. They are too far away for us to touch, just as she has gone somewhere we cannot follow until our own star-time comes.
The stars cannot be held close for comfort, just as we can no longer hold Mummy close – but the stars will burn forever.
One day, our own star-time will come, and our spirit will soar into the sky to burn with all those lovely family and friends who have gone before us.
On the inky cloth of space, we will be reunited in constellations of joy.
Until then, our own flame burns low and dim and cold without you. Through our tears we look upwards to see Mummy watching over us and what do they see ….?
There is a new star shining in the sky tonight –

Tough Love

© by Mool Chand Gupta, Published: February 2006
Source: https://www.familyfriendpoems.com/poem/poem-honoring-a-father-and-mother

I have matured, think as a philosopher.
Remember the days, used to play with flowers.
Became naughty, sounded the trumpets and blowers.
My tricks proving difficult not only to family but also to others.

Recollect your advice, rebuke and scolding
Problems I created, sufferers narrating.
My version of the events, you were not accepting.
To your views, reluctantly, I was submitting.

To me, the world was wrong, you were no exception.
To reform me, you contemplated many prescriptions.
My response, I did not like to show devotion.
Your suggestions, however, led to my promotion.

Today, I have lot of economic strength.
Socially, I have traversed a vast length.
I have made progress in many branches.
Problems on the way, overcame as crunches.

Much has been gained, because of the discipline you inculcated.
Popularity attained due to the principles you named.
Ideals of your life stand venerated.
Because of you, I have been exceptionally rated.

Charming beauty of mother, made me handsome.
Your teachings made me wholesome.
Parents shape the life and bring cheer.
Children can move forward without stress and fear.

People talk of Father’s Day, Mother’s Day.
Wish to have their blessings’ ray.
No dear Father, dear Mother, not only one day.
I remember you happily, merrily every day.

Your Mother

©Irene Conner 22/5/2012

Although you cannot hear her voice
Or see her smile no more,
Your mother walks beside you still
Just as she did before
She listens to your stories and
She wipes away your tears;
She wraps her arms around you
And she understands your fears.

It’s just she isn’t visible
To see with human eye,
Talk to her in silence and
The spirit will reply.
You’ll feel the love she has for you –
You’ll hear her in your heart;
She’s left her human body but
your souls will never part

Your Mother Is Always With You

By Deborah R. Culver

She’s the whisper of the leaves as you walk down the street.
She’s the smell of certain foods you remember, flowers you pick, the fragrance of life itself.
She’s the cool hand on your brow when you’re not feeling well.
She’s your breath in the air on a cold winters’ day.
She is the sound of the rain that lulls you to sleep, the colours of a rainbow.
She is Christmas morning.
Your mother lives inside your laughter.
She’s the place you come from, your first home.
She’s the map you follow with every step you take.
She’s your first love, your first friend, even your first enemy.
But nothing on Earth can separate you.
Not time.
Not space.
Not even death


TOP OF PAGE                               HOME


MUSICALS

Oh Yes, Forever

By Madelyn Morgan  – Italics are lyrics from Meredith Wilson’s, The Music Man.

They say do as an adult what you dreamt of doing as a kid
Dream of now, dream of then
And you will find fulfillment in your work
Dream of a love song that might have been
As a child, Julie Andrews kindled the spark
Do I love you?
And as an adult Barbara Cook rekindled it
Oh, yes, I love you
I banished my fears and set a goal
And I’ll bravely tell you
To become the person I once knew instinctively—I must become
But only when we dream again

Sweet and low, sweet and low
Now, the songs that forever will dazzle me
How sweet that mem’ry how long ago
And the writers… Rogers and Hammerstein, Meredith Willson…
Forever?
Dazzle me again. And they teach me the same vigor
Oh yes, forever
That will keep me in love till I’m right there with them
Will I ever tell you?
Hopefully someday
Ah, no

 

The Seven Ages Of Man

By Shakespeare, (Jaques, Act 2 Scene 7)

All the world’s a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse’s arms.
Then, the whining school-boy with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress’ eyebrow. Then, a soldier,
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honour, sudden, and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon’s mouth. And then, the justice,
In fair round belly, with a good capon lined,
With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws, and modern instances,
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slippered pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side,
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.

What if Life was Like a Musical

By Hazel Rymell

What if life was like a musical,
We’d dance all day
And sing like Mary Poppins did,
Practically perfect in every way!

No stress in go slow traffic queues,
If we sang to drown our moans.
Songs played from in-car stereos,
In harmony our tuneful tones.

As we wait in traffic standstills,
We get out and dance around.
Like in the film La La Land,
We would soon attract a crowd.

In classrooms children doing sums,
Burst into many songs.
Times tables like they used to be,
Learnt through sing-a-longs

Trips to the local supermarket,
Wouldn’t be such a chore.
If we sang and danced along the aisles,
Whilst we were in the store.

Tap dancing on the desktops,
To tunes from office PCs.
Factory workers on their lines,
Belt out their harmonies.

“All operators are busy at present”,
As the music starts to play.
On speaker phones we get to share,
The call dance for the day.

Then there are those in Parliament,
Who think they know it all.
Make a song and dance from everything,
Whilst in Westminster Hall.

Imagine how different life would be,
Come rain, wind, snow or sun.
If we lived just like a musical,
Wouldn’t life be so much fun!

Music & Musicians – Quotes

After silence, that which comes nearest to expressing the inexpressible is music.
-By Aldous Huxley, Music at Night and Other Essays

Alas for those that never sing,
But die with all their music in them!
-By Oliver Wendell Holmes

All deep things are song. It seems somehow the very central essence of us, song; as if all the rest were but wrappages and hulls!
-By Thomas Carlyle

And the night shall be filled with music,
And the cares that infest the day
Shall fold their tents like the Arabs
And as silently steal away.
-By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, (The Day Is Done)

Are we not formed, as notes of music are,
For one another, though dissimilar?
-By Percy -Bysshe Shelley

A song has a few rights the same as ordinary citizens… if it happens to feel like flying where humans cannot fly… to scale mountains that are not there, who shall stop it?
-By Charles Ives

Bach opens a vista to the universe. After experiencing him, people feel there is meaning to life after all.
-By Helmut Walcha

He who sings scares away his woes.
-By Cervantes

It is incontestable that music induces in us a sense of the infinite and the contemplation of the invisible.
-By Victor de LaPrade

In music the passions enjoy themselves.
-By Nietzsche, Beyond Good and Evil, 1886

If this word “music” is sacred and reserved for eighteenth and nineteenth century instruments, we can substitute a more meaningful term: organization of sound.
-By John Cage

Its language is a language which the soul alone understands, but which the soul can never translate.
-By Arnold Bennett

A painter paints pictures on canvas. But musicians paint their pictures on silence.
-By Leopold Stokowski

I have my own particular sorrows, loves, delights; and you have yours. But sorrow, gladness, yearning, hope, love, belong to all of us, in all times and in all places. Music is the only means where -By we feel these emotions in their universality.
-By H.A. Overstreet

Life is one grand, sweet song, so start the music.
-By Ronald Reagan

My whole trick is to keep the tune well out in front. If I play Tchaikovsky, I play his melodies and skip his spiritual struggle.
-By Liberace

Music that gentlier on the spirit lies,
Than tired eyelids upon tired eyes.
-By Alfred Lord Tennyson

Music is what feelings sound like out loud. I sing songs that speak from my heart. They tell my story, how I feel.
-By Georgia Cates, Beauty from Pain

Music washes away from the soul the dust of everyday life.
-By Berthold Auerbach

Music was my refuge. I could crawl into the space between the notes and curl my back to loneliness.
-By Maya Angelou, (Gather Together in My Name)

Musical compositions, it should be remembered, do not inhabit certain countries, certain museums, like paintings and statues. The Mozart Quintet is not shut up in Salzburg: I have it in my pocket.
-By Henri Rabaud

Music is the mediator between the spiritual and the sensual life.
-By Ludwig van Beethoven

Music is the wine which inspires one to new generative processes, and I am Bacchus who presses out this glorious wine for mankind and makes them spiritually drunken.
-By Ludwig van Beethoven

Were it not for music, we might in these days say, the Beautiful is dead.
-By Benjamin Disraeli

There’s music in the sighing of a reed;
There’s music in the gushing of a rill;
There’s music in all things, if men had ears:
Their earth is but an echo of the spheres.
-By Lord Byron

My idea is that there is music in the air, music all around us; the world is full of it, and you simply take as much as you require.
-By Edward Elgar

Music cleanses the understanding; inspires it, and lifts it into a realm which it would not reach if it were left to itself.
-By Henry Ward Beecher

Music is the cup which holds the wine of silence.
-By Robert Fripp

Music’s the medicine of the mind.
-By John A. Logan

Music produces a kind of pleasure which human nature cannot do without.
Confucius

Music can noble hints impart,
Engender fury, kindle love,

Music is the universal language of mankind.
-By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

He who hears music, feels his solitude peopled at once.
-By Robert Browning

Music expresses that which cannot be said and on which it is impossible to be silent.
-By Victor Hugo

…where music dwells
Lingering -By and wandering on as loth to die…
-By William Wordsworth

Music is an outburst of the soul.
-By Frederick Delius

Music is the art which is most nigh to tears and memory.
-By Oscar Wilde

Music is what life sounds like.
-By Eric Olson

Music expresses feeling and thought, without language; it was below and before speech, and it is above and beyond all words.
-By Robert G. Ingersoll

Music is the literature of the heart; it commences where speech ends.
-By Alphonse de Lamartine

Music is the shorthand of emotion.
-By Leo Tolstoy

Music, when soft voices die
Vibrates in the memory
-By Percy -Bysshe Shelley

Music, once admitted to the soul, becomes a sort of spirit, and never dies.
-By Edward George Bulwer -By Lytton

Music is love in search of a word.
-By Sidney Lanier

Music is moonlight in the gloomy night of life.
-By Jean Paul Richter

Music is a friend of labour for it lightens the task -By refreshing the nerves and spirit of the worker.
-By William Green

Music is well said to be the speech of angels.
-By Thomas Carlyle, Essays, (The Opera)

Silence is the fabric upon which the notes are woven.
-By Lawrence Duncan

The discovery of song and the creation of musical instruments both owed their origin to a human impulse which lies much deeper than conscious intention: the need for rhythm in life… the need is a deep one, transcending thought, and disregarded at our peril.
-By Richard Baker

There is in souls a sympathy with sounds:
And as the mind is pitch’d the ear is pleased
With melting airs, or martial, brisk or grave;
Some chord in unison with what we hear
Is touch’d within us, and the heart replies.
-By William Cowper

Truly to sing, that is a different breath.
-By Rainer Maria Rilke

There is no truer truth obtainable, by Man than comes of music.
-By Robert Browning

The city is built
To music, therefore never built at all,
And therefore built forever.
-By Alfred Lord Tennyson

The pleasure we obtain from music comes from counting, but counting unconsciously. Music is nothing but unconscious arithmetic.
-By Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz

When words leave off, music begins.
-By Heinrich Heine

With unsuspected eloquence can move,
And manage all the man with secret art.
-By Joseph Addison

You are the music while the music lasts.
-By T.S. Eliot


TOP OF PAGE                               HOME


NAVY

Crossing The Bar.

By Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Sunset and evening star,
And one clear call for me!
And may there be no moaning of the bar,
When I put out to sea,

But such a tide as moving seems asleep,
Too full for sound and foam,
When that which drew from out the boundless deep
Turns again home.

Twilight and evening bell,
And after that the dark!
And may there be no sadness of farewell,

When I embark;
For tho’ from out our bourne of Time and Place
The flood may bear me far,
I hope to see my Pilot face to face
When I have crossed the bar

Eternal Father, Strong to Save (Navel Hymn)

Original hymn by 1860 by Rev. William Whiting, Winchester, United Kingdom

Eternal Father, strong to save,
Whose arm does bind the restless wave,
Who bids the mighty ocean deep
Its own appointed limits keep;
O hear us when we cry to Thee
For those in peril on the sea.

O Saviour, whose almighty word
The winds and waves submissive heard,
Who walked upon the foaming deep,
And calm amid the rage did sleep;
O hear us when we cry to Thee
For those in peril on the sea.

O Holy Spirit, who did brood
Upon the waters dark and rude,
And bid their angry tumult cease,
And give for wild confusion peace;
O hear us when we cry to Thee
For those in peril on the sea.

O Trinity of love and pow’r,
Your children shield in danger’s hour;
From rock and tempest, fire, and foe,
Protect them where-so-e’er they go;
Thus, evermore shall rise to Thee
Glad hymns of praise from land and sea.

I Was A Sailor Once… (Australian version)

By Author Unknown.

I LIKE standing on the bridge wing at sunrise with salt spray in my face and clean ocean winds whipping in from the four quarters of the globe, the ship beneath me feeling like a living thing as her turbines drive her through the sea.
I LIKE the sounds of the navy the piercing trill of the boatswains call the syncopated clanger of the ship’s bell, the harsh squawk of the main broadcast Tannoy and the strong language and laughter of sailors at work.
I LIKE navy vessels, nervous darting destroyers, plodding fleet auxiliaries, sleek submarines, purposeful minehunters and steady solid carriers.
I LKE the proud names of capital navy ships Australia, Melbourne, Sydney
I LIKE the lean angular names of navy destroyers ANZAC, VAMPIRE, VENDETTA, VOYAGER, BRISBANE, HOBART, PERTH.
I LIKE the tempo of a navy band blaring through the upper deck speakers as we pull away from the tanker after refuelling at sea.
I LIKE the pipe “libertymen fall in” and the spicy scent of a foreign port.
I LIKE sailors, men from all parts of the land, from city and country alike and all walks of life, I trust and depend on them as they trust and depend on me for professional competence, comradeship and courage, in a word they are shipmates.
I LIKE the surge of adventure in my heart when the word is passed “special sea dutymen close up”.
I LIKE the infectious thrill of sighting home again, the waving hands of welcome from family and friends, the work is hard and dangerous, the going rough at times, the parting from loved ones painful but the companionship of robust navy laughter, the all for one and one for all philosophy of the sea is ever present.
I LIKE the serenity of the sea after a day of hard ships work, the beer issue, watching flying fish flit across the wave tops as sunset gives way to night.
I LIKE the feel of the navy in darkness the masthead lights, the red and green navigation lights and the stern light, the pulsating phosphorescence of the ships wake.
I LIKE drifting off to sleep lulled by the myriad noises large and small that tell me that my ship is alive and well and that my shipmates are on watch and will keep me safe.
I LIKE quiet middle watches with the aroma of kai on a winter’s night.
I LIKE the bow slicing through the mirror calm of the sea and the frolicking of dolphins as they dart in and out of the bow wave.
I LIKE watching the track disappearing back towards the horizon knowing that it will be gone in a short time and being aware of the fact that we  were not the first or will not be the last to leave our mark on the water.
I LIKE the foaming phosphorescence at night, dancing from the wake of the screws as they constantly push tons of water astern of the ship, carrying us to our next exciting rendezvous.
I LIKE hectic watches when the exacting minuet of haze grey shapes racing at full speed keeps all hands on a razor edge of alertness.
I LIKE the sudden electricity of “action stations” followed by the hurried clamour of running feet on ladders and the resounding thump of watertight doors and hatches as the ship transforms herself from the peaceful workplace to a weapon of war ready for anything.
I LIKE the sight of space age equipment manned by youngsters clad in No8’s and sound powered phones that their grandfathers would still recognise.
I LIKE the traditions of the navy and the men who made them and the heroism of the men who sailed in the ships of yesteryear.
In years to come when sailors are home from the sea they will still remember with fondness and respect the ocean in all its moods, the impossible shimmering mirror calm, and the storm tossed green water surging over the bow, and then there will come again a faint whiff of stack gas, a faint echo of engine and rudder orders, a vision of the bright bunting of signal flags snapping at the yardarm, a refrain of hearty laughter.
Gone ashore for good they will grow wistful about their navy days, when the seas belonged to them and a new port of call was ever over the horizon, remembering this they will stand taller and say:
I was a sailor once, and numbers will never be the same again:
Kit: 1’s 2’s 3’s 4’s 6’s 8’s 10’s 10A’s
Punishment Number 9’s, 10 days stoppage, 7 days cells
And can someone explain why are 2 4 6 heavy?
Only a sailor knows…
I was a sailor once and I look back and realise it was not just a job, it was a way of life. A family where shipmates became brothers and part of a team.
I was a sailor once and I still can’t forget my Official Number.
When medical science receives my body, as they examine it they will find a tattoo inside my brain with my Official Number and an anchor where my heart is.
I was a sailor once and I Like the navy because even as times change, and the youth takes over from the old seadogs, some things never change:
The bitching is still the same.
The old days were always harder
The recruits were always greener
Official Numbers were always smaller
Men of steel and ships of wood
The goffers were always bigger
The girls were not as good looking
I recently had the good fortune to attend a naval reunion and sat back and observed that friendships and respect are still as strong and binding as ever.
The ditties are still as interesting – only the tale gets bigger.
If I haven’t been there, it doesn’t exist – or we blew it off the map.
Only a sailor knows.
I was a sailor once and I know.
I was a sailor once, I was part of the navy and the navy will always be a part of me,
that’s why I love the navy.

Requiem

By Robert Louis Stevenson – 1850-1894

Under the wide and starry sky,
Dig the grave and let me lie,
Glad did I live and gladly die,
And I laid me down with a will.

his be the verse you grave for me:
Here he lies where he longed to be;
Home is the sailor, home from sea,
And the hunter home from the hill

Sailor’s Rest

By David R. Block, ENCS(SS),USN,RET

When my sailing days are over,
and I sail the seas no more,
I shall build myself a refuge
By the oceans murmuring shore.
As I watch the foaming breakers
When the tide comes rushing in,
I will contemplate my lifetime
With its virtues and it sends.

Where the azure of the heavens
Meets the undulating blue,
With the sweeping, soaring seagull
Flies it’s endless quest for food.
It is there that I would rest,
When my work on earth is done,
At the endless blue horizon
Date the crimson, setting sun

Sea Calm

By Langston Hughes

How still,
How strangely still
The water is today,
It is not good
For water
To be so still that way.

 

Sea Fever

by John Masefield

I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by;
And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea’s face, and a grey dawn breaking.
I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the seagulls crying.
I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull’s way and the whale’s way where the wind’s like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick’s over.

The End

By Mark Strand

Not every man knows what he shall sing at the end,
Watching the pier as the ship sails away, or what it will seem like
When he’s held by the sea’s roar, motionless, there at the end,
Or what he shall hope for once it is clear that he’ll never go back.
When the time has passed to prune the rose or caress the cat,
When the sunset torching the lawn and the full moon icing it down
No longer appear, not every man knows what he’ll discover instead.
When the weight of the past leans against nothing, and the sky
Is no more than remembered light, and the stories of cirrus
And cumulus come to a close, and all the birds are suspended in flight,
Not every man knows what is waiting for him, or what he shall sing
When the ship he is on slips into darkness, there at the end.

The Sailor’s Prayer

Lord, hear my prayer,
send your angels,
to guard well, we sailors,
serving in your fleet,
protect us from harm or defeat,
give us guidance and wisdom,
to pursue diplomacy, instead of war,
peace, instead of hatred,
life, over death,
when I die, permit me appear first
at your gate,
allow the devil, to think, I am late,
and, before he realizes his mistake,
grant me entrance, and assign me to serve,
life eternal, in your heavenly fleet

The Sailors Farewell 

by The Mowjo

The funeral was over,
And all the mourners gone,
We’re going to miss you Sailor,
But guess your work here’s done.

I bet your sailing other seas
Yes! Seas so glassy calm
And telling Angels stories
But meaning them no harm.

The stories that you told me
I knew that somewhere lies
I’d heard them all a thousand times
But always played surprised.

You had some really hard times mate
And that can’t be denied
But you just got right on with life,
While other people cried.

The only time I saw you cry
Was because you missed your wife
I know she meant the world to you
In fact she was your life.

But now you’re up there with her
Both sailing heavens seas
I know you’ll take good care of her
A job you did with ease.

The mast is rigid, sails are taut
As you both sail away
And Angels light your path for you
As you go on your way.

Still Sailor memories linger on
And will do now your gone
But I will miss your stories
And so will everyone.

One thing I never told you
That often makes me sad,
I never said I loved you,
I really miss you Dad.

The Submariner’s Prayer

O Father, Hear our prayer to thee
For your humble servants
Beneath the sea

In the depths of oceans, as oft they stray
So far from night, so far from day
We would ask your guiding light to glow
To make their journey safe below

Please oft times grant them patient mind
Then ‘ere the darkness won’t them blind
They seek thy protection from the deep
Please grant them peace when ‘ere they sleep

Of their homes and loved ones far away
We ask you care for them each day
Until they surface once again
To drink the air and feel the rain

We ask your guiding hand to show
A safe progression sure and slow.
Dear Lord, please hear our prayer to thee,
For your humble servants
Beneath the sea.
Amen

The Watch

By Author Unknown

For twenty years
This sailor has stood the watch

While some of us were in our bunks at night
This sailor stood the watch

While some of us were in school learning our trade
This shipmate stood the watch

Yes.. even before some of us were born into this world
This shipmate stood the watch

In those years when the storm clouds of war were seen brewing on the horizon of history
This shipmate stood the watch

Many times he would cast an eye ashore and see his family standing there
Needing his guidance and help
Needing that hand to hold during those hard times
But he still stood the watch

He stood the watch for twenty years
He stood the watch so that we, our families and
Our fellow countrymen could sleep soundly in safety, Each and every night
Knowing that a sailor stood the watch

Today we are here to say
‘Shipmate… the watch stands relieved
Relieved by those You have trained ,Guided, and Led
Shipmate you stand relieved.. we have the watch…”

“Boatswain..Standby to pipe the side…Shipmate’s going Ashore..”

 


TOP OF PAGE                               HOME


NON-RELIGIOUS

Do Not Stand At My Grave and Weep

by Mary Elizabeth Frye or as “Immortality”,  by Clare Harner

Do not stand at my grave and weep:
I am not there; I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow,
I am the sun on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning’s hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circling flight.
I am the soft starshine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry:
I am not there; I did not die.

One At Rest

By Unknown

Think of me as one at rest,
for me you should not weep
I have no pain no troubled thoughts
for I am just asleep
The living thinking me that was,
is now forever still
And life goes on without me now,
as time forever will.

If your heart is heavy now
because I’ve gone away
Dwell not long upon it friend
For none of us can stay
Those of you who liked me,
I sincerely thank you all
And those of you who loved me,
I thank you most of all.

And in my fleeting lifespan,
as time went rushing by
I found some time to hesitate,
to laugh, to love, to cry
Matters it now if time began
If time will ever cease?
I was here, I used it all,
and now I am at peace.


TOP OF PAGE                               HOME


PAGAN

At one with the Universe

By Abby Willowroot © 1999

At one with the Universe
My spirit is free
All creation pulses in me
Floating upon the wind
Sparking with the energy of fire
Flowing with the waters
Dancing the rhythms of Earth
Spinning and Spiraling
into Elemental re-birth
The magic of being renews
Floating upon the wind
Sparking with the energy of fire
Flowing with the waters
Dancing the rhythms of Earth
Between the Moon and Sun.

PARENTS & PARENTING

When You Thought I Wasn’t Looking

By Mary Rita Schilke Korzan

When you thought I wasn’t looking,
I saw you hang up my first painting on the refrigerator,
and I wanted to paint another one.

When you thought I wasn’t looking,
I saw you feed a stray cat,
and I thought it was good to be kind to animals.

When you thought I wasn’t looking,
I saw you make my favourite cake for me,
and I knew that little things are special things.

When you thought I wasn’t looking,
I heard you say a prayer,
and I believed there is a God I could always talk to.

When you thought I wasn’t looking,
I felt you kiss me goodnight,
and I felt loved.

When you thought I wasn’t looking,
I saw that you cared,
and I wanted to be everything that I could be.

When you thought I wasn’t looking,
I LOOKED… and wanted to say thanks for all the things I saw
when you thought I wasn’t looking.


TOP OF PAGE                               HOME


PARTY

Afterglow

By Helen Lowrie Marshall

I’d like the memory of me
To be a happy one.
I’d like to leave an afterglow
Of smiles when day is done.

I’d like to leave an echo
Whispering softly down the ways,
Of happy times and laughing times
And bright and sunny days.

I’d like the tears of those who grieve,
To dry before the sun
Of happy memories I leave
Behind – when day is done.

I Want You To Be Happy

by author unknown

I want you to be happy.
I want you to fill your heart with feelings of wonder and to be full of courage and hope.
I want you to have the type of friendship that is a treasure – and the kind of love that is beautiful forever.
I wish you contentment: the sweet, quiet, inner kind that comes around and never goes away.
I want you to have hopes and have them all come true.
I want you to have a real understanding of how unique and rare you truly are.
I want to remind you that the sun may disappear for a while, but it never forgets to shine.
May the words you listen to say the things you need to hear.
And may a cheerful face lovingly look back at you when you happen to glance in your mirror.
I wish you the insight to see your inner and outer beauty.
I wish you sweet dreams.
I want you to have times when you feel like singing and dancing and laughing out loud.
I want you to be able to make your good times better and your hard times easier to handle.
I wish I could find a way to tell you – in untold ways – how important you are to me.
Of all the things I’ll be wishing for, wherever you are and whatever I may do,
there will never be a day in my life when I won’t be wishing for the best… for you.

Party Time

By Lou Szymkow Feb 2021

Oh bugger this dying busines,
It’s not for me.
I’d rather be out and partying ‘till three
A drink, a laugh, a dance across the floor
Life is for living, not for a bore

Yeah so what, I’ve been called away,
And yes, I know I cannot stay,
But wasn’t it fun while it lasted
The singing and dancing and music blasted

When you hear that thunder, think of me,
That’ll  you think of me,
That’ll be me and the Angels dancing with glee

And so a toast to you, and to all.
Live your lives, and have a ball

I loves you all, yeah I do,
And I hopes you loved me through and through,
‘cause it’s party time again,
And so have a drink for me
I hope you’ll be dancin’ ‘till 3.

 

Put The Keg On My Coffin

By Chris Trapper (song lyrics)

(CHORUS):

Put the keg on my coffin
And think of me every so often
Have a losers day parade for all my friends
Drink up life like a river
‘Til the pizza man delivers
And smile and know I loved you ’til the end

Here’s what you do when my time comes to pass
Charlie told me through the reflection in his glass
Don’t waste time praying
‘Cause I’m never coming back
Just throw a party in my name

(CHORUS)

Here’s what to write on the stone over my grave
His friends were earned and not a penny saved
Don’t waste time crying
‘Cause you too are on your way
To meet me at the pawn shop in the sky

(CHORUS)

The Glorious Passing

By Philip Ward

Don’t be afraid of dying
It’s just a journey home.
To meet old friends you haven’t seen,
The ones you couldn’t phone.
They’re all around you waiting,
So come on through the gate.
They’re waiting here to welcome you,
So come on, don’t be late.
It is your time for passing,
The glory is all yours.
With cheers and hugs and kisses,
And a round of loud applause.
You’ve been away a while they say,
They thought you’d never come,
The party’s here so give a cheer
Your job on earth is done.


TOP OF PAGE                               HOME


PETS & FURRY FAMILY MEMBERS

A Bridge Called Love

By Author Unknown

It takes us back to brighter years,
to happier sunlit days
and to precious moments
that will be with us always.

And these fond recollections
are treasured in the heart
to bring us always close to those
from whom we had to part.

There is a bridge of memories
from Earth to Heaven above…
It keeps our dear ones near us
It’s the bridge that we call love.

A Dog Sits Waiting

By Kathy Flood

A dog sits waiting in the cold autumn sun,
Too faithful to leave, too frightened to run.
He’s been here for days now, with nothing to do,
But sit by the road, waiting for you.
He can’t understand why you left him that day.
He thought you and he were stopping to play.
He’s sure you’ll be back, and that’s why he stays.
How long will he suffer? How many more days?
His legs have grown weak, his throat’s parched and dry,
He’s sick now from hunger and falls, with a sigh.
He lays down his head and closes his eyes,
I wish you could see how a waiting dog dies.

A Dog’s Plea

by Author Unknown

“Treat me kindly, my beloved friend
for no heart in all the world is
more grateful for kindness than
the loving heart of me.
Do not break my spirit with a stick,
for although I might lick your hand between blows,
your patience and understanding will more quickly
teach me the things you would have me learn.
Speak to me often,
for your voice is the world’s sweetest music,
as you must know by the fierce wagging of my tail
when the sound of your footsteps falls
upon my waiting ear.
Please take me inside when it is cold and wet,
for I am a domesticated animal,
no longer accustomed to bitter elements.
I ask no greater glory than the privilege
of sitting at your feet beside the hearth.
Keep my pan filled with fresh water,
for I cannot tell you when I suffer thirst.
Feed me clean food that I may stay well,
to romp and play and do your bidding,
to walk by our side and stand ready,
willing and able to protect you with my life.
And, my friend, when I am very old
and I no longer enjoy good health, hearing and sight,
do not make heroic efforts to keep me going.
I am not having any fun.
Please see to it that my life is taken gently.
I shall leave this earth knowing
with the last breath I draw that my
fate was always safest in your hands.”

A Happy End

By Author Unknown

The greatest thing I’ve ever known,
Someone came and took me home,
Away from the track; hope I’ll never go back!
Like a nightmare in my memory, my future looked Black,
Then I was adopted and my life spared.
I thank God everyday that someone cared;
‘Cause this must be heaven, I’m a winner this time,
Got a ball, a bone, and a bed all mine.
And I’m crazy ’bout my family;
Devoted, you might say.
Like a shadow beside them.
You can bet I want to stay!
And I’m special too, they call me “sweetheart,”
And they hug and kiss me and tell me I’m smart.
Even dreams are peaceful now; no stress or strife.
And I run for fun, ‘stead of running for my life!

Lucky Greyhound, Someone’s Sofa, USA

All Creatures Great and Small

by Shell (Shell0203@aol.com)

Precious are all creatures great and small
One of God’s little mysteries.
The glorious colors of the winged ones
And the swimmers of the sea
Are a beautiful and wondrous thing to me.

Then why all the suffering and inhumanity?
Are we really superior or just arrogant?
There’s an easier way, of that I’m sure.
Isn’t there enough pain without adding more?

Think about dolphins doing tricks and confined to a pool
They once swam free, it’s really so cruel.
Hunters with guns and arrows out for the “sport”
I’d much rather see the sports left on the court.
And foxes in leg traps for fur on your back
It’s really not fair that they can’t attack.

And the poor rabbit’s eyes bleeding for naught
I’m only sorry that they got caught.
Horses and greyhounds running to their death
Running and panting until their last breath.
Do you really feel that plate of veal
Is worth the calf’s life they surely did steal?

More questions than there are answers
One can only try to make things better
Do what you can to end all the suffering
It certainly can’t hurt to be a little more loving.

Stop for a moment and look in their eyes
Do they not feel pain? If they could, would they cry?
What do they think when they see the end coming?
Do they not fear death? Do they not love?

There was a time when they roamed the Earth free
Living in peace, all God’s creatures together in harmony.
“Herb-bearing seeds and fruit of the trees I give you to eat”
Said the Lord God in the beginning from Heaven above.

All I Need

by M Rivera  (MRivera008@aol.com)

A cool breeze,
A safe house,
& furry creatures
with soft paws and warm kisses
This is all I’ll ever need.

A Message from “The Bridge

By Author Unknown

Sorrow fills a barren space;
You close your eyes and see my face
And think of times I made you laugh,
The love we shared, the bond we had,
The special way I needed you –
The friendship shared by just we two.

The day’s too quiet, the world seems older,
The wind blows now a little colder.
You gaze into the empty air
And look for me, but I’m not there –
I’m in heaven and I watch you,
And I see the world around you too.

I see little souls wearing fur,
Souls who bark and souls who purr
Born unwanted and unloved –
I see all this and more above –
I watch them suffer, I see them cry,
I see them lost, I watch them die.
I see unwanted thousands born –
And when they die, nobody mourns.

These little souls wearing fur
(Some who bark and some who purr)
are castaways who – unlike me –
will never know love or security.
A few short months they starve and roam,
Or caged in shelters – nobody takes home.
They’re special too (furballs of pleasure),
Filled with love and each one, a treasure.

My pain and suffering came to an end,
So don’t cry for me, my person, my friend.
But think of the living – those souls with fur
(some who bark and some who purr) –
And though our bond can’t be broken apart,
Make room for another in your home and your heart.

A Pets Prayer

by Author Unknown

If it should be, that I grow frail and weak,
And pain should keep me from my sleep,
Then, you must do what must be done
For this, the last battle, can’t be won.
Don’t let your grief stay your hand,
For this day more than the rest,
Your love and friendship stand the test.
We’ve had so many years,
What is to come can hold no fear.
You’d not want me to suffer, so
When the time comes, please let me go.
Take me where my needs they’ll tend,
Only, stay with me to the end
And hold me firm and speak to me
Until my eyes no longer see.
I know in time you’ll see it is a kindness you do for me
Although my tail its last has waved,
From pain and suffering I’ve been saved.
Don’t grieve it should be you who this thing decides to do.
We’ve been so close, we two, these years,
Don’t let your heart hold tears.
Smile, for we walked together for awhile.

A Prayer For Animals

By Albert Schweitzer

Hear our humble prayer,
O God,
for our friends, the animals,
especially for those who are suffering;
for any that are lost or deserted
or frightened or hungry.

We entreat for them all
Thy mercy and pity,
and for those who deal with them,
we ask a heart of compassion
and gentle hands and kindly words.

Make us, ourselves,
to be true friends to animals
and so to share
the blessings
of the merciful.

A Prayer For Little Paws

By Author Unknown

This is a prayer for little paws
All up and down the land
Driven away, no friendly voice,
Never an outstretched hand.
For weary little paws of beasts
Torn and stained with red.
And never a home and never a rest
Til little beasts are dead.
Oh God of homeless things, look down
And try to ease the way
Of all the little weary paws
That walk the world today.

Brown Eyes

by Becky L. Rauvola

Brown eyes – warm and sparkling
With the glow of friendship and life.
Deep pools of compassion revealing a loving soul
Of innocence and trust too freely given.
“Never mind the cage and bars –
Ignore the dark and the loneliness
Just for a touch – a pat
Of the superior being’s hand
(Which never comes – but maybe…..).
Never mind the fear and uncertainty –
Ignore the pain and suffering
That exist as the experiments are done.
Maybe then I will be loved – after.
Just think, for now, of home, so long ago.
My old owners – do they know where I am?
They loved me almost as much as I loved them.”
Brown eyes – confused and dulled by drugs.
As the hand reaches for him
A flicker of hope still lights his eyes,
His tail still thumps feebly, and a soft whimper
Breaks the sterility of science.
Another needle punctures his hopes –
And he gasps for breath as the hand records the time.
Brown eyes – clouding and staring.
The last signs of life convulse through his helpless body.
One last useless whine escapes from his tightening throat.
Followed by his final fight for LIFE.
The hand reaches for his neck to check
For the last pulsation of blood – of life….
His tongue reaches out to touch the hand
In his last loving gesture of gentleness and forgiveness.
Through all the hell and torture
He still loved, and believed, and hoped.
He still dreamed of his home, the field he once ran in,
The love and happiness he knew, the freedom he had.
Go – find your home now –
Rest in peace at last, Brown Eyes.
The experiment is done.

But Hey, I’m Just A Dog

By Kim Malone, Vet Asst.

Your grass is cut your flowers in bloom
but my fence is broken, I haven’t much room

You have nice things in your home
Like your Sony TV and new cordless phone

I have a cute face no arms just four feet
I can’t clean my own mess or keep my pen neat

BUT HEY, I’M JUST A DOG

you paid $40 on your new hairdoo
And $6.95 for the salon shampoo

I itch and I scratch what’s crawling on me
I feel ticks, mites and a few hundred fleas

Go ahead with your bath use shower gel
While I lay here dirty, gosh how I smell

BUT HEY, I’M JUST A DOG

You have shelter and clothes, never go hungry
Plenty to drink, so full is your tummy

I need fresh water and good food to eat
A warm place in the winter, shade from the heat

BUT HEY, I’M JUST A DOG

Entering Heaven

Author unknown, however based on the Twilight Zone episode “the Hunt” by Earl Hamner Jr

A man and his dog were walking along a road. The man was enjoying the scenery, when it suddenly occurred to him that he was dead.
He remembered dying, and that the dog walking beside him had been dead for years. He wondered where the road was leading them.
After a while, they came to a high, white stone wall along one side of the road. It looked like fine marble… At the top of a long hill, it was broken by a tall arch that glowed in the sunlight.
When he was standing before it he saw a magnificent gate in the arch that looked like mother-of-pearl, and the street that led to the gate looked like pure gold. He and the dog walked toward the gate, and as he got closer, he saw a man at a desk to one side.
When he was close enough, he called out, ‘Excuse me, where are we?’
‘This is Heaven, sir,’ the man answered.. ‘Wow! Would you happen to have some water?’ the man asked.
Of course, sir. Come right in, and I’ll have some ice water brought right up. ‘The man gestured, and the gate began to open.
‘Can my friend,’ gesturing toward his dog, ‘come in, too?’ the traveller asked.
‘I’m sorry, sir, but we don’t accept pets.’
The man thought a moment and then turned back toward the road and continued the way he had been going with his dog.
After another long walk, and at the top of another long hill, he came to a dirt road leading through a farm gate that looked as if it had never been closed. There was no fence.
As he approached the gate, he saw a man inside, leaning against a tree and reading a book.
‘Excuse me!’ he called to the man. ‘Do you have any water?’
‘Yeah, sure, there’s a pump over there, come on in.’
‘How about my friend here?’ the traveller gestured to the dog.
‘There should be a bowl by the pump.’
They went through the gate, and sure enough, there was an old-fashioned hand pump with a bowl beside it.
The traveller filled the water bowl and took a long drink himself, then he gave some to the dog.
When they were full, he and the dog walked back toward the man who was standing by the tree..
‘What do you call this place?’ the traveller asked.
‘This is Heaven,’ he answered.
‘Well, that’s confusing,’ the traveller said. ‘The man down the road said that was Heaven, too.’
‘Oh, you mean the place with the gold street and pearly gates? Nope. That’s hell.’
‘Doesn’t it make you mad for them to use your name like that?’
‘No, we’re just happy that they screen out the folks who would leave their best friends behind.

Four Feet In Heaven

By Alice E. Chase

Your favorite chair is vacant now…
No eager purrs to greet me
No softly padded paws to run
ecstatically to meet me
No coaxing rubs, no plaintive cry
Will say it’s time for feeding
I’ve put away your bowl,
And all the things you won’t be needing.

But I will miss you little friend,
For I could never measure
the happiness you brought me,
the comfort and the pleasure.
And since God put you here to share
in earthly joy and sorrow
I’m sure there’ll be a place for you
in Heaven’s bright tomorrow…

Gone, But Not Forgotten

by Michael Joseph

I shall walk in the sun alone
Whose golden light you loved;
I shall sleep alone
And, stirring, touch an empty place:
I shall write uninterrupted
(Would that your gentle paw
Could stay my moving pen just once again!)

I shall see beauty
But none to match your living grace;
I shall hear music
But not so sweet as the droning sound
With which you loved me.

I shall fill my days
But I shall not, cannot forget;
Sleep soft, dear friend,
For while I live you shall not die.

I Only Wanted You

By Vicki Holder

They say memories are golden
well maybe that is true.
I never wanted memories,
I only wanted you.

A million times I needed you,
a million times I cried.
If love alone could have saved you
you never would have died.

In life I loved you dearly,
In death I love you still.
In my heart you hold a place
no one could ever fill.

If tears could build a stairway
and heartache make a lane,
I’d walk the path to heaven
and bring you back again.

Our family chain is broken,
and nothing seems the same.
But as God calls us one by one,
the chain will link again.

I’m Still Here

By Author Unknown.

Friend, please don’t mourn for me,
I’m still here, though you don’t see.
I’m right by your side each night and day
and within your heart I long to stay.

My body is gone but I’m always near.
I’m everything you feel, see or hear.
My spirit is free, but I’ll never depart
as long as you keep me alive in your heart.

I’ll never wander out of your sight-
I’m the brightest star on a summer’s night.
I’ll never be beyond your reach-
I’m the warm moist sand when you’re at the beach.

I’m the colourful leaves when fall comes around
and the pure white snow that blankets the ground.
I’m the beautiful flowers of which you’re so fond,
The clear cool water in a quiet pond.

I’m the first bright blossom you’ll see in the spring,
The first warm raindrop that April will bring.
I’m the first ray of light when the sun starts to shine,
and you’ll see that the face in the moon shine is mine.

When you start thinking there’s no one to love you,
you can talk to through the Lord up above you.
I’ll whisper my answer through the leaves on the trees,
and you’ll feel my presence in the soft summer breeze.

I’m the hot salty tears that flow when you weep
and the beautiful dreams that come while you sleep.
I’m the smile you see on a baby’s face.
Just look for me friend, I’m every place!

Lend Me A Pup

By Author Unknown

I will lend to you for awhile a puppy, God said,
For you to love him while he lives
and to mourn for him when he is gone.
Maybe for 12 or 14 years, or maybe for 2 or 3
But will you, till I call him back
take care of him for me?

He’ll bring his charms to gladden you and
(should his stay be brief)
you’ll always have his memories
as solace for your grief.
I cannot promise that he will stay
since all from Earth return,
But there are lessons taught below
I want this pup to learn.

I’ve looked the whole world over
in search of teachers true,
And from the fold that crowd life’s land
I have chosen you.
Now will you give him all your love
Nor think the labour vain,
nor hate me when I come to take
my pup back again?

I fancied that I heard them say,
“Dear Lord, They Will Be Done,”
For all the joys this pup will bring
the risk of grief you’ll run.
Will you shelter him with tenderness,
Will you love him while you may?
And for the happiness you’ll know
forever grateful stay?

But should I call him back
much sooner than you’ve planned,
please brave the bitter grief that comes
and try to understand.
If, by your love, you’ve managed
my wishes to achieve,
In memory of him that you’ve loved,
cherish every moment with your faithful bundle,
and know he loved you too.

Member of the Family

By S M Valles  (SMValles@aol.com), https://www.all-creatures.org/aro/p.html

What would I do without you,
My precious, furry friend?…
Part mischief, but all blessing,
And faithful to the end!

You look at me with eyes of love:
You never hold a grudge…
You think I’m far too wonderful
To criticize or judge.

It seems your greatest joy in life
is being close to me…
I think God knew how comforting
Your warm, soft fur would be.

I know you think you are human,
But I’m glad it isn’t true…
The world would be a nicer place
If folks were more like you!

A few short years are all we have;
One day we’ll be apart…
But you, my pet, will always have
A place within my heart.

My Puppy

by Brenda Meier-Hans, 2012

My puppy sure loves to lick me
He thinks I’m a lollypop.
Every time I get home he attacks me
Then kisses me nonstop.

You’d think I was gone forever
When I just left the house for the mail,
He is right at the door when I get back
With a rapidly wiggling tail.

He wants to eat everything I do,
Mom says, that’s not good for a dog.
We want to keep him fit and healthy
So daily we go for a jog.

My toys are all tattered and ragged
My socks are his ultimate aim,
Doesn’t matter how much it upsets us
He thinks it’s all some kind of game.

I know he’s a bit of a stinker
That always wants to be fed.
But I sure am in love with my puppy,
Every night when we cuddle in bed.

NEVER Just A Cat

by Gregory R Barden

Oh little one, mine
     How you have stolen my soul, completely
          You worked your furry way inside, and grew my heart to twice its size
     You taught me, in your endlessly patient way, what is truly important
You have the sweetest, most gentle spirit of any creature I’ve ever known

And I can no longer imagine a world without your fuzzy smile.
     You are the very embodiment of love, unconditional
          And my bright spirit grows every day with my need of your need of me.
     I once told someone how much you mean to me
And they replied, “But it’s only a cat!”

“Oh, how foolish you are”, I said..
     “How much joy and love and tenderness you deny yourself!”
          If only they, and every other cold-hearted person, could know You
     Or have something in their life as sweet as you
What a different world this would be..

Full of abiding happiness and love.
     You are everything to me, little one
          And I care not who finds me silly or foolish because of that
     Or who finds my time spent with you as wasted
Or who sees you as “just a cat”..

For you are a part of me, and always will be
     As surely and deeply as any other creature I’ve ever known.
          You are a blessing and a miracle sent from heaven
     And I have a full, full heart and a charmed life
All because.of You.

Pigs

By Derren Gallo, 2019

Ashley loved all animals,
This we know is true
For Ducks and Donkeys, Cats and dogs
There was nothing he wouldn’t do
But there is only one real creature
That caused his heart to jig
That was when he caught the sight
Of a humble Saddleback Pig
His love of pigs was legendary
He’d learnt it from his dad
But when he got to work with them
It was the best time he ever had.
The smell it never bothered him
As he’d join them in their pen
Cleaning, feeding and loving those pigs
Over and over again.
Ashley truly adored those pigs
And if there is a God up there
He’d pair him up with a Saddleback
For Ashley’s love and devotion to shared

Rainbow Bridge

By Author unknown

Just this side of heaven is a place called Rainbow Bridge.
When an animal dies who has been especially close to someone here, that pet goes to Rainbow Bridge.
There are meadows and hills for all of our special friends, so they can run and play together.
There is plenty of food, water and sunshine, and our friends are warm and comfortable.
All the animals who had been ill and old are restored to health and vigour;
those who were hurt or maimed are made whole and strong again, just as we remember them in our dreams of days and times gone by.
The animals are happy and content, except for one small thing;
they each miss someone very special to them, who had to be left behind.
They all run and play together, but the day comes when one suddenly stops and looks into the distance.
His bright eyes are intent;
his eager body quivers.
Suddenly he begins to run from the group, flying over the green grass, his legs carrying him faster and faster.
You have been spotted, and when you and your special friend finally meet, you cling together in joyous reunion, never to be parted again. The happy kisses rain upon your face; your hands again caress the beloved head, and you look once more into the trusting eyes of your pet, so long gone from your life but never absent from your heart.
Then you cross Rainbow Bridge together….

Reflection

By Aileen Hawkes, 2018, (in memory of her faithful companion Peppi)

The sweet escape of sleep Won’t come.
The silence of emptiness Echoes too loudly in my ears
The void is resonating With the sounds Of happy days.
Of years filled With the presence Of our being.
So small But dominating.
Dictating every movement.
Your needs uppermost In every decision.
In turn You gave security
But also love and obedience.
The hours spent Enriched by your company
Are treasured moments.
Sunset on the river,
Windswept walks on the beach,
Your head thrust in a lap
For comfort In times of need.
The loss of these Reverberates in my mind.
The pain of parting Is overwhelming.

The Ad-Dressing of Cats

By Ts Elliot

And my opinion now is that
You should need no interpreter
To understand their character.
You now have learned enough to see
That Cats are much like you and me
And other people whom we find
Possessed of various types of mind.
For some are sane and some are mad
And some are good and some are bad
And some are better, some are worse —
But all may be described in verse.
You’ve seen them both at work and games,
And learnt about their proper names,
Their habits and their habitat:
But

How would you ad-dress a Cat?

So first, your memory I’ll jog,
And say: A CAT IS NOT A DOG.

Now Dogs pretend they like to fight;
They often bark, more seldom bite;
But yet a Dog is, on the whole,
What you would call a simple soul.
Of course I’m not including Pekes,
And such fantastic canine freaks.
The usual Dog about the Town
Is much inclined to play the clown,
And far from showing too much pride
Is frequently undignified.
He’s very easily taken in —
Just chuck him underneath the chin
Or slap his back or shake his paw,
And he will gambol and guffaw.
He’s such an easy-going lout,
He’ll answer any hail or shout.

Again I must remind you that
A Dog’s a Dog — A CAT’S A CAT.

With Cats, some say, one rule is true:
Don’t speak till you are spoken to.
Myself, I do not hold with that –
I say, you should ad-dress a Cat.
But always keep in mind that he
Resents familiarity.
I bow, and taking off my hat,
Ad-dress him in this form: O CAT!
But if he is the Cat next door,
Whom I have often met before
(He comes to see me in my flat)
I greet him with an OOPSA CAT!
I’ve heard them call him James Buz-James —
But we’ve not got so far as names.
Before a Cat will condescend
To treat you as a trusted friend,
Some little token of esteem
Is needed, like a dish of cream;
And you might now and then supply
Some caviare, or Strassburg Pie,
Some potted grouse, or salmon paste —
He’s sure to have his personal taste.
(I know a Cat, who makes a habit
Of eating nothing else but rabbit,
And when he’s finished, licks his paws
So’s not to waste the onion sauce.)
A Cat’s entitled to expect
These evidences of respect.
And so in time you reach your aim,
And finally call him by his NAME.

So this is this, and that is that:
And there’s how you AD-DRESS A CAT.

The Last Battle

By Author Unknown

If it should be that I grow frail and weak
And pain should keep me from my sleep,
Then will you do what must be done,
For this, the last battle, can’t be won.

You will be sad I understand,
But don’t let grief then stay your hand,
For on this day, more than the rest,
Your love and friendship must stand the test.

We have had so many happy years,
You wouldn’t want me to suffer so.
When the time comes, please, let me go.
Take me to where to my needs they’ll tend.

Only, stay with me till the end
And hold me firm and speak to me
Until my eyes no longer see.

I know in time you will agree
It is a kindness you do to me.
Although my tail its last has waved,
From pain and suffering I have been saved.

Don’t grieve that it must be you
Who has to decide this thing to do;
We’ve been so close — we two — these years,
Don’t let your heart hold any tears.

To Love Again

By Author Unknown

Oh what unhappy twist of fate
Has brought you homeless to my gate,
The gate where once another stood
To beg for shelter, warmth and food?

For from that day I ceased to be
The master of my destiny,
While she, with purr and velvet paw
Became within my house the law.

She scratched the furniture and shed
And claimed the middle of my bed,
She ruled in arrogance and pride
And broke my heart the day she died.

So if you really think, oh cat
I’d willingly relive all that,
Because you come forlorn and thin
Well don’t just stand there – come on in!

Treasured Friend

By Author Unknown

I lost a treasured friend today
The little dog who used to lay
Her gentle head upon my knee
And shared her silent thoughts with me.

She’ll come no longer to my call
Retrieve no more her favourite ball
A voice far greater than my own
Has called her to his golden throne.

Although my eyes are filled with tears
I thank him for the happy years
He let her spend down here with me
And for her love and loyalty.

When it is time for me to go
And join her there, this much I know
I shall not fear the transient dark
For she will greet me with a bark.

Tribute To A Best Friend

By Author Unknown

Sunlight streams through window pane onto a spot on the floor…..
then I remember,
it’s where you used to lie, but now you are no more.

Our feet walk down a hall of carpet, and muted echoes sound…..
then I remember,
it’s where your paws would joyously abound.

A voice is heard along the road, and up beyond the hill,
then I remember,
it can’t be yours….. your golden voice is still.

But I’ll take that vacant spot of floor and empty muted hall,
and lay them with the absent voice and unused dish along the wall.

I’ll wrap these treasured memories in a blanket of my love,
and keep them for my best friend until we meet above.

We Have A Secret

By Author Unknown

We have a secret, you and I
that no one else shall know,
for who but I can see you lie
each night in fire glow?

And who but I can reach my hand
before we go to bed
and feel the living warmth of you
and touch your silken head?

And only I walk woodland paths
and see ahead of me,
your small form racing with the wind
so young again, and free.

And only I can see you swim
in every brook I pass
and when I call, no one but I
can see the bending grass.

What do you do with your dog grows old?

By Jackie Short-Nguyen

What do you do with your dog grows old?
When his feet are tied on the pads are worn?
When your words of praise a muffled in his ears,
and his eyes are milky from the years of use?
What is face is grizzled and his colour isn’t as vibrant?

You love him

You rub the feet the dutifully carried him by your side
You speak your praises more loudly,
so everybody else can hear the words that he can’t.
You guide him the way he has guided you,
and prevent him from getting lost as you were before he came along.
You kiss his muscle and admire the wisdom that has a percent him in his later years.

And when it comes time to put him to his final rest,
knowing that an irreplaceable part of your heart will follow him,
you will do so knowing that you loved him

And he loved you more.


TOP OF PAGE                               HOME


PHOTOS & PHOTOGRAPHY

Lines on a Young Lady’s Photograph Album

By Philip Larkin (1922-85)

At last you yielded up the album, which
Once open, sent me distracted. All your ages
Matt and glossy on the thick black pages!
Too much confectionery, too rich:
I choke on such nutritious images.

My swivel eye hungers from pose to pose —
In pigtails, clutching a reluctant cat;
Or furred yourself, a sweet girl-graduate;
Or lifting a heavy-headed rose
Beneath a trellis, or in a trilby-hat

(Faintly disturbing, that, in several ways) —
From every side you strike at my control,
Not least through those these disquieting chaps who loll
At ease about your earlier days:
Not quite your class, I’d say, dear, on the whole.

But o, photography! as no art is,
Faithful and disappointing! that records
Dull days as dull, and hold-it smiles as frauds,
And will not censor blemishes
Like washing-lines, and Hall’s-Distemper boards,

But shows a cat as disinclined, and shades
A chin as doubled when it is, what grace
Your candour thus confers upon her face!
How overwhelmingly persuades
That this is a real girl in a real place,

In every sense empirically true!
Or is it just the past? Those flowers, that gate,
These misty parks and motors, lacerate
Simply by being you; you
Contract my heart by looking out of date.

Yes, true; but in the end, surely, we cry
Not only at exclusion, but because
It leaves us free to cry. We know what was
Won’t call on us to justify
Our grief, however hard we yowl across

The gap from eye to page. So I am left
To mourn (without a chance of consequence)
You, balanced on a bike against a fence;
To wonder if you’d spot the theft
Of this one of you bathing; to condense,

In short, a past that no one now can share,
No matter whose your future; calm and dry,
It holds you like a heaven, and you lie
Unvariably lovely there,
Smaller and clearer as the years go by.

Photography

by James Metcalfe

A photograph is more than just
A gift to bring or send.
And more than just the likeness of
A relative or friend.

It is a kindly greeting and
A memory to hold.
Of happy times and pleasant things.
However new or old.

It is a mirror that reflects
Companionship and cheer.
And now and then the wistfulness
That turns into a tear.

A photograph is something to
Adorn a desk or wall.
Or carry in a pocket and
Display to one and all.

It is a faithful portrait
The smile that friendship shares
To add its sunshine and to show
That someone really cares.

 

The Photograph Album

Like a photograph album memories of me should be
With treasured moments captured for all to see
When you open that album they come falling so fast
Then you hold your breath and hope that it lasts

You see pictures of family, as precious as gold
Scrapped knees from first bike rides, and scooters so old
You see kisses on noses and tender embraces
And surprises for children showing glee on their faces

Memories of laughter and silly times that we had
Will come rolling back fondly and sometimes make you feel sad
But those memories are yours for you to treasure and share
And by speaking my name they will always be there

So turn each page of that album and cry not one tear
Just hold each picture of me so close and so dear
Laugh as we all used to and capture each smile
Call me close my dear family and I’ll be there all the while.

POLICE

Police Ode

By West Australia Police Senior Sergeant Des Noonan & West Australian Police Chaplain, Reverend Barry May, in 1995

As the sun surely sets,
dawn will see it arise.
For service above self,
demands it’s own prize.
You have fought the good fight,
life’s race has been run,
and peace, your reward,
for eternity begun.
And we that are left,
shall never forget,
rest in peace friend and colleague,
for sun has now set.
We will remember, We will remember ,
hasten the dawn.

The Final Inspection

By Author Unknown

The policeman stood and faced his God,
Which must always come to pass.
He hoped his shoes were shining.
Just as brightly as his brass.

“Step forward now, policeman.
How shall I deal with you?
Have you always turned the other cheek?
To My church have you been true?”

The policeman squared his shoulders and said,
“No, Lord, I guess I ain’t,
Because those of us who carry badges
can’t always be a saint.

I’ve had to work most Sundays,
and at times my talk was rough,
and sometimes I’ve been violent,
Because the streets are awfully tough.

But I never took a penny,
That wasn’t mine to keep….
Though I worked a lot of overtime
When the bills got just too steep.

And I never passed a cry for help,
Though at times I shook with fear.
And sometimes, God forgive me,
I’ve wept unmanly tears.

I know I don’t deserve a place
Among the people here.
They never wanted me around
Except to calm their fear.

If you’ve a place for me here,
Lord, It needn’t be so grand.
I never expected or had too much,
But if you don’t…..I’ll understand.

There was silence all around the throne
Where the saints had often trod.
As the policeman waited quietly,
For the judgment of his God.

“Step forward now, policeman,
You’ve borne your burdens well.
Come walk a beat on Heaven’s streets,
You’ve done your time in hell.

The Police Prayer (Nation Police Museum)

By Author unknown

God of all people, we know it is from you that we have learned what goodness and justice are.
You have given us the task of maintaining law and order in our community.
We seek the strength to meet the many challenges encountered in this endeavour.
Give us the courage and the resolution to do our duty at all times,
and such a respect and love for justice that neither promise nor threat will ever make us depart from it.
Help us with your guidance to be the Guardian and the Friend of the whole community;
a friend to children, an example to youth, a counsellor and adviser to all citizens.
Grant us the skill, and the wisdom, to make us always stronger in protecting and supporting the community.
Guide us in knowing when to enforce and when to relax the letter of the law.
Help us to be a personal example of the honesty, the goodness,
and the justice which it is our duty to maintain,
and grant that our actions will inspire in our community confidence in its police officers.
We make our prayer to you, confident of your love and your compassion.
Amen

 

The Police Prayer (NSW)

By Author unknown

God, we know it is from you that we have learned what goodness and justice are.
You have given members of the New South Wales Police Service the task of maintaining law and order in the community.
We seek the strength to meet the many challenges encountered in this endeavour.
Give us the courage and the resolution to do our duty at all times,
and such a respect and love for justice, that neither promise nor threat, will ever make us depart from it.
Enable us, by your presence, to be protector of the endangered, friend to all,
and role model to the children and youth of the community, when called upon to be adviser,
may we be inspired with your wisdom and truth.
Grant us the skill and wisdom we need to triumph over wrong, in our role of protecting the community.
Guide us when to enforce, and when to relax the letter of the law.
Help us to be perfect examples of the honesty, the goodness, and the justice which is our duty to maintain,
and grant that our actions will inspire in our community, confidence in its police officers.
We make our prayer through you, the one true life affirming God.
Amen

When God Created Police Officers…

By Author Unknown

When the Lord was creating police officers, he was into his sixth day of overtime when an angel appeared and said, “You’re doing a lot of fiddling around on this one.”
And the Lord said, “Have you read the specs on this order? A police officer has to be able to run five miles through alleys in the dark, scale walls, enter homes the health inspector wouldn’t touch, and not wrinkle his uniform. He must be able to sit in an unmarked car all day on a stakeout, cover a murder scene that night, canvass the neighbourhood for witnesses, and testify in court the next day. He has to be in top physical condition at all times, running on black coffee and half-eaten meals. And he has to have six pairs of hands.”
The angel shook her head slowly and said, “Six pairs of hands… no way.”
“It’s not the hands that are causing me problems,” said the Lord. “It’s the three pairs of eyes an officer has to have.”
“That’s on the standard model?” asked the angel.
The Lord nodded. “One pair that sees through a bulge in a pocket before he asks, ‘May I see what’s in there, sir?’ (when he already knows) Another pair here, in the side of his head, for his partner’s safety. And another pair here in front that can look reassuringly at a bleeding victim and say, ‘You’ll be all right ma’am,’ when he knows it isn’t so.”
“Lord,” said the angel, touching His sleeve, “rest and work on this tomorrow.”
“I can’t,” said the Lord. “I already have a model that can talk a 250-pound drunk into a patrol car without incident, and feed a family of five on a civil service paycheck.”
The angel circled the model of the police officer very slowly. “Can it think?” she asked.
“You bet,” said the Lord. “It can tell you the elements of a hundred crimes; detain, investigate, search, and arrest a gang member on the street in less time that it takes five learned judges to debate the legality of the stop… and still, it keeps its sense of humour.”
“This officer also has phenomenal personal control. He can deal with crime scenes painted in hell, coax a confession from a child abuser, comfort a murder victim’s family, and then read in the daily paper how law enforcement isn’t sensitive to the rights of criminal suspects.”
Finally, the angel bent over and ran her finger across the cheek of the police officer. “There’s a leak,” she pronounced. “I told You that You were trying to put too much into this model.”
“That’s not a leak,” said the Lord. “It’s a tear.”
“What’s the tear for?” asked the angel.
“It’s for bottled-up emotions, for fallen comrades, for commitment to the job, for justice.”
“You’re a genius, Lord,” said the angel.
The Lord looked sombre. “I didn’t put it there,” He said.


TOP OF PAGE                               HOME


 

POLISH LINKS – external

The First Letter of Saint Paul to the Corinthians (in Polish)

Gdybym mówił językami ludzi i aniołów,
a miłości bym nie miał,
stałbym się jak miedź brzęcząca
albo cymbał brzmiący.
Gdybym też miał dar prorokowania
i znał wszystkie tajemnice,
i posiadał wszelką wiedzę,
i wszelką [możliwą] wiarę, tak iżbym góry przenosił.
a miłości bym nie miał,
byłbym niczym.
I gdybym rozdał na jałmużnę całą majętność
moją,
a ciało wystawił na spalenie,
lecz miłości bym nie miał,
nic bym nie zyskał.
Miłość cierpliwa jest,
łaskawa jest.
Miłość nie zazdrości,
nie szuka poklasku,
nie unosi się pychą;
nie dopuszcza się bezwstydu,
nie szuka swego,
nie unosi się gniewem,
nie pamięta złego;
nie cieszy się z niesprawiedliwości,
lecz współweseli się z prawdą.
Wszystko znosi,
wszystkiemu wierzy,
we wszystkim pokłada nadzieję,
wszystko przetrzyma.
Miłość nigdy nie ustaje,
nie jest] jak proroctwa, które się skończą,
albo jak dar języków, który zniknie,
lub jak wiedza, której zabraknie.
Po części bowiem tylko poznajemy,
po części prorokujemy.
Gdy zaś przyjdzie to, co jest doskonałe,
zniknie to, co jest tylko częściowe.
Gdy byłem dzieckiem,
mówiłem jak dziecko,
czułem jak dziecko,
myślałem jak dziecko.
Kiedy zaś stałem się mężem,
wyzbyłem się tego, co dziecięce.
Teraz widzimy jakby w zwierciadle, niejasno;
wtedy zaś [zobaczymy] twarzą w twarz:
Teraz poznaję po części,
wtedy zaś poznam tak, jak i zostałem poznany.
Tak więc trwają wiara, nadzieja, miłość – te trzy:
z nich zaś największa jest miłość.


TOP OF PAGE                               HOME


PRAYERS, BIBLE & RELIGIOUS

A Season

To everything there is a season,
and a time to every purpose under the heaven:
A time to be born, and a time to die;
a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;
A time to weep, and a time to laugh;
a time to mourn, and a time to dance;
A time to get, and a time to lose;
a time to keep, and a time to cast away;
A time to rend, and a time to sew;
a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;
A time to love, and a time to hate;
a time of war, and a time of peace.

Corinthians – 13

If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am only a resounding gong
or a clanging cymbal. If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all
knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. If I
give all I possess to the poor and surrender my body to the flames, but have not love, I gain
nothing.
Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is
not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in
evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, and always
perseveres.
Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they
will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away. For we know in part and we prophesy
in part, but when perfection comes, the imperfect disappears. When I was a child, I talked like a
child; I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put childish ways
behind me. Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now
I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.
And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.

Corinthians (13) – the first Letter of Saint Paul to the Corinthians

Brothers and sisters:
Strive eagerly for the greatest spiritual gifts.
But I shall show you a still more excellent way.
If I speak in human and angelic tongues
but do not have love,
I am a resounding gong or a clashing cymbal.
And if I have the gift of prophecy and comprehend
all mysteries and all knowledge;
if I have all faith so as to move mountains,
but do not have love,
I am nothing.
If I give away everything I own,
and if I hand my body over so that I may boast but do not have love,
I gain nothing.
Love is patient, love is kind.
It is not jealous, is not pompous,
it is not inflated, it is not rude,
it does not seek its own interests,
it is not quick-tempered,
it does not brood over injury,
it does not rejoice over wrongdoing but rejoices with the truth.
It bears all things,
believes all things,
hopes all things,
endures all things.
Love never fails.

Corinthians (abbrev)

Love is patient and kind,
Love is not jealous or boastful; it is not arrogant or rude.
Love does not insist on its own way, it is not irritable or resentful, it does not rejoice in wrong,
But rejoices in right.
Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, and endures all things.
Love never ends.
Faith, hope, love, abide these three, but the greatest of these is love.

Corinthians 13 (in Polish)

Gdybym mówił językami ludzi i aniołów,
a miłości bym nie miał,
stałbym się jak miedź brzęcząca
albo cymbał brzmiący.
Gdybym też miał dar prorokowania
i znał wszystkie tajemnice,
i posiadał wszelką wiedzę,
i wszelką [możliwą] wiarę, tak iżbym góry przenosił.
a miłości bym nie miał,
byłbym niczym.
I gdybym rozdał na jałmużnę całą majętność
moją,
a ciało wystawił na spalenie,
lecz miłości bym nie miał,
nic bym nie zyskał.
Miłość cierpliwa jest,
łaskawa jest.
Miłość nie zazdrości,
nie szuka poklasku,
nie unosi się pychą;
nie dopuszcza się bezwstydu,
nie szuka swego,
nie unosi się gniewem,
nie pamięta złego;
nie cieszy się z niesprawiedliwości,
lecz współweseli się z prawdą.
Wszystko znosi,
wszystkiemu wierzy,
we wszystkim pokłada nadzieję,
wszystko przetrzyma.
Miłość nigdy nie ustaje,
nie jest] jak proroctwa, które się skończą,
albo jak dar języków, który zniknie,
lub jak wiedza, której zabraknie.
Po części bowiem tylko poznajemy,
po części prorokujemy.
Gdy zaś przyjdzie to, co jest doskonałe,
zniknie to, co jest tylko częściowe.
Gdy byłem dzieckiem,
mówiłem jak dziecko,
czułem jak dziecko,
myślałem jak dziecko.
Kiedy zaś stałem się mężem,
wyzbyłem się tego, co dziecięce.
Teraz widzimy jakby w zwierciadle, niejasno;
wtedy zaś [zobaczymy] twarzą w twarz:
Teraz poznaję po części,
wtedy zaś poznam tak, jak i zostałem poznany.
Tak więc trwają wiara, nadzieja, miłość – te trzy:
z nich zaś największa jest miłość.

Corinthians ch. 15

But in fact Christ has been raised from the dead, the first fruits of those who have died. For since death came through a human being, the resurrection of the dead has also come through a human being; for as all die in Adam, so all will be made alive in Christ. But each in his own order: Christ the first fruits, then at his coming those who belong to Christ. Then comes the end, when he hands over the kingdom to God the Father, after he has destroyed every ruler and every authority and power. For he must reign until he has put all his enemies under his feet. The last enemy to be destroyed is death. But someone will ask, ‘How are the dead raised? With what kind of body do they come?’ Fool! What you sow does not come to life unless it dies. And as for what you sow, you do not sow the body that is to be, but a bare seed, perhaps of wheat or of some other grain. But God gives it a body as he has chosen, and to each kind of seed its own body. So it is with the resurrection of the dead. What is sown is perishable, what is raised is imperishable. It is sown in dishonour, it is raised in glory. It is sown in weakness, it is raised in power. It is sown a physical body, it is raised a spiritual body. If there is a physical body, there is also a spiritual body. When this perishable body puts on imperishability, and this mortal body puts on immortality, then the saying that is written will be fulfilled: ‘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, who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ. Therefore, my beloved, be steadfast, immovable, always excelling in the work of the Lord, because you know that in the Lord your labour is not in vain.

TOP OF PAGE                               HOME

Ecclesiastes 3.1-8

For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven:
a time to be born, and a time to die;
a time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted;
a time to kill, and a time to heal;
a time to break down, and a time to build up;
a time to weep, and a time to laugh;
a time to mourn, and a time to dance;
a time to throw away stones, and a time to gather stones together;
a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;
a time to seek, and a time to lose;
a time to keep, and a time to throw away;
a time to tear, and a time to sew;
a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;
a time to love, and a time to hate;
a time for war, and a time for peace.

John 14.1-6

Jesus said, ‘Do not let your hearts be troubled. Believe in God, believe also in me. In my Father’s house there are many dwelling places. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and will take you to myself, so that where I am, there you may be also. And you know the way to the place where I am going.’ Thomas said to him, ‘Lord, we do not know where you are going. How can we know the way?’ Jesus said to him, ‘I am the way, and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.’

Letter of Saint Paul to the Romans

Brothers and sisters:
Those who are led by the Spirit of God are sons of God.
For you did not receive a spirit of slavery to fall back into fear,
but you received a spirit of adoption,
through which we cry, Abba, “Father!”
The Spirit itself bears witness with our spirit
that we are children of God,
and if children, then heirs,
heirs of God and joint heirs with Christ,
if only we suffer with him
so that we may also be glorified with him.

I consider that the sufferings of this present time are as nothing
compared with the glory to be revealed for us.
For creation awaits with eager expectation
the revelation of the children of God;
for creation was made subject to futility,
not of its own accord but because of the one who subjected it,
in hope that creation itself
would be set free from slavery to corruption
and share in the glorious freedom of the children of God.
We know that all creation is groaning in labour pains even until now;
and not only that, but we ourselves,
who have the first fruits of the Spirit,
we also groan within ourselves
as we wait for adoption, the redemption of our bodies.

The word of the Lord.

Letter of St Paul to the Thessalonians

1 Thess. 4:13-18,

Brothers, we do not want you to be ignorant about those who fall asleep, or to grieve like the rest of men, who have no hope. We believe that Jesus died and rose again and so we believe that God will bring with Jesus those who have fallen asleep in him. According to the Lord’s own word, we tell you that we who are still alive, who are left till the coming of the Lord, will certainly not precede those who have fallen asleep. For the Lord himself will come down from heaven, with a loud command, with the voice of the archangel and with the trumpet call of God, and the dead in Christ will rise first. After that, we who are still alive and are left will be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air. And so we will be with the Lord forever. Therefore encourage each other with these words

Little Angels

By Author unknown

When god calls little children to dwell with Him above,
We mortals sometimes question the wisdom of His love.
For no heartache compares with the death of one small child,
who does so much to make our world seem wonderful and mild.
Perhaps God tires of calling the aged to His fold,
so He picks a rosebud, before it can grow old.
God knows how much we need them, and so he takes but few
to make the land of heaven more beautiful to view.
Believing this is difficult still somehow we must try,
the saddest word mankind knows will always be “Goodbye”
So when a little child departs, we who are
left behind must realize God loves children,
angels are hard to find.

 

Lord Of All We Praise You

 

Lord of all, we praise you
for all who have entered into their rest
and reached the promised land where you are seen face to face.
Give us grace to follow in their footsteps
as they followed in the way of your Son.
Thank you for the memory of those you have called to yourself:
by each memory, turn our hearts from things seen to things unseen,
and lead us till we come to the eternal rest
you have prepared for your people,
through Jesus Christ our Lord.
Amen.

My Father’s House Has Many Rooms

John 14:2-12 New International Version (NIV)

My Father’s house has many rooms; if that were not so, would I have told you that I am going there to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am. You know the way to the place where I am going.”
Jesus the Way to the Father
Thomas said to him, “Lord, we don’t know where you are going, so how can we know the way?”
Jesus answered, “I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me. If you really know me, you will know[a] my Father as well. From now on, you do know him and have seen him.”
Philip said, “Lord, show us the Father and that will be enough for us.”
Jesus answered: “Don’t you know me, Philip, even after I have been among you such a long time? Anyone who has seen me has seen the Father. How can you say, ‘Show us the Father’? 10 Don’t you believe that I am in the Father, and that the Father is in me? The words I say to you I do not speak on my own authority. Rather, it is the Father, living in me, who is doing his work. 11 Believe me when I say that I am in the Father and the Father is in me; or at least believe on the evidence of the works themselves. 12 Very truly I tell you, whoever believes in me will do the works I have been doing, and they will do even greater things than these, because I am going to the Father.

Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep

Now I lay me down to sleep
I pray the Lord my soul to keep
If I should die before I wake
I pray the Lord my soul to take.

Parable of the Lost Son (The Prodigal Son)  : Luke 15:11-32

New International Version (NIV)

Jesus continued: “There was a man who had two sons. The younger one said to his father, ‘Father, give me my share of the estate.’ So he divided his property between them.

 “Not long after that, the younger son got together all he had, set off for a distant country and there squandered his wealth in wild living. After he had spent everything, there was a severe famine in that whole country, and he began to be in need. So he went and hired himself out to a citizen of that country, who sent him to his fields to feed pigs.  He longed to fill his stomach with the pods that the pigs were eating, but no one gave him anything.
“When he came to his senses, he said, ‘How many of my father’s hired servants have food to spare, and here I am starving to death! I will set out and go back to my father and say to him: Father, I have sinnedagainst heaven and against you.  I am no longer worthy to be called your son; make me like one of your hired servants.’  So he got up and went to his father.
“But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion for him; he ran to his son, threw his arms around him and kissed him.
 “The son said to him, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son.’
 “But the father said to his servants, ‘Quick! Bring the best robe and put it on him. Put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet.  Bring the fattened calf and kill it. Let’s have a feast and celebrate.  For this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.’ So they began to celebrate.
 “Meanwhile, the older son was in the field. When he came near the house, he heard music and dancing.  So he called one of the servants and asked him what was going on.  ‘Your brother has come,’ he replied, ‘and your father has killed the fattened calf because he has him back safe and sound.’
 “The older brother became angry and refused to go in. So his father went out and pleaded with him.  But he answered his father, ‘Look! All these years I’ve been slaving for you and never disobeyed your orders. Yet you never gave me even a young goat so I could celebrate with my friends.  But when this son of yours who has squandered your property with prostitutes comes home, you kill the fattened calf for him!’
 “‘My son,’ the father said, ‘you are always with me, and everything I have is yours.  But we had to celebrate and be glad, because this brother of yours was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.”

Prayer For The Dead

God our Father,
Your power brings us to birth,
Your providence guides our lives,
and by Your command we return to dust.

Lord, those who die still live in Your presence,
their lives change but do not end.
I pray in hope for my family,
relatives and friends,
and for all the dead known to You alone.

In company with Christ,
Who died and now lives,
may they rejoice in Your kingdom,
where all our tears are wiped away.
Unite us together again in one family,
to sing Your praise forever and ever.
Amen.

Prayer for the Dead

In your hands, O Lord,
we humbly entrust our brothers and sisters.
In this life you embraced them with your tender love;
deliver them now from every evil
and bid them eternal rest.

The old order has passed away:
welcome them into paradise,
where there will be no sorrow, no weeping or pain,
but fullness of peace and joy
with your Son and the Holy Spirit
forever and ever.
Amen.

Prayer of Commendation

Go forth, Christian soul, from this world
in the name of God the almighty Father,
who created you,
in the name of Jesus Christ, Son of the living God,
who suffered for you,
in the name of the Holy Spirit,
who was poured out upon you,
go forth, faithful Christian.

May you live in peace this day,
may your home be with God in Zion,
with Mary, the Virgin Mother of God,
with Joseph, and all the Angels and Saints.

Prayer of St. Francis of Assisi – Alternate version

Lord, Make me a channel of thy peace
That where there is hatred, I may bring love;
That where there is wrong, I may bring the spirit of forgiveness;
That where there is discord, I may bring harmony;
That where there is error, I may bring truth;
That where there is doubt, I may bring faith;
That where there is despair, I may bring hope;
That where there are shadows, I may bring light;
That where there is sadness, I may bring joy.
Lord, grant that I may seek rather to comfort than to be comforted;
To understand, than be understood;
To love, than be loved.
For it is by self-forgetting that one finds.
It is by forgiving that one is forgiven.
It is by dying that one awakens to find Eternal Life.

Prayer Of Saint Francis Of Assisi

Lord make me an instrument of Your peace
Where there is hatred, let me sow love,
Where there is injury, pardon
Where there is doubt, faith,
Where there is despair, hope,
Where there is darkness, light,
and where there is sadness, joy.
O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled, as to console;
To be understood, as to understand;
To be loved, as to love;
For it is in giving that we receive;
It is in pardoning that we are pardoned;
And it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.

Psalm 23 – The Lord is my Shepherd

The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.
He maketh me to lie down in green pastures:

He leadeth me beside the still waters.
He restoreth my soul:  He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for His name’s sake.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for Thou art with me; Thy rod and Thy staff they comfort me.
Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: Thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.

Psalm 23 Aussie Version (entitled the Aussie 23rd Psalm)

© Kel Richards. from ‘the Aussie Bible’

God is the Station Owner,
And I’m just one of the sheep.
He musters me down lucerne flats,
And feeds me there all week.

When I’m feeling poorly,
And something less then me peak,
He leads me to the restfulness,
Of a coolabah shaded creek
He teaches me not to break away,
And not to be a loner;
He teaches me to stick with his mob,
And acknowledge Him as owner.

Even when the droughts are bad,
And I cross the desert of death,
God is close beside me,
So close I can feel his breath.

God is the one who holds the map,
That gives me my direction.
And God’s the one who guarantees,
Provision for my protection.

Although there are dingo’s in the hills,
And the paddocks full of snakes.
God serves up a barbecue,
Of beautiful T-bone steaks!

His patience and compassion,
And forgiveness fail me never;
And I’ll live with him in the Homestead,
Beyond the end of forever.

Psalm 23 – (New King James Version)

The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.
He makes me to lie down in green pastures;
He leads me beside the still waters.
He restores my soul;
He leads me in the paths of righteousness For His name’s sake.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil; For You are with me;
Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me.

You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies;
You anoint my head with oil; My cup runs over.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me All the days of my life;
And I will dwell in the house of the Lord Forever

Resurrection Prayer

I am the resurrection and the Life,
Saith the Lord: He that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live:
and whosoever liveth and believeth in me, shall never die.
I know that my redeemer liveth, and that he shall stand at the latter day upon the earth:
and though his body be destroyed, yet shall I see GOD: whom I shall see for myself,
and mine eyes shall behold, and not as a stranger.
We brought nothing into this world, and it is certain we can carry nothing out.
The LORD gave, and the LORD hath taken away; blessed be the name of the LORD.

 

Revelation 21.1-7

Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth; for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and the sea was no more. And I saw the holy city, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband. And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, ‘See, the home of God is among mortals.

He will dwell with them; they will be his peoples, and God himself will be with them; he will wipe every tear from their eyes. Death will be no more; mourning and crying and pain will be no more, for the first things have passed away.’ And the one who was seated on the throne said, ‘See, I am making all things new.’ Also he said, ‘Write this, for these words are trustworthy and true.’ Then he said to me, ‘It is done! I am the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end. To the thirsty I will give water as a gift from the spring of the water of life. Those who conquer will inherit these things, and I will be their God and they will be my children.

Romans 8:14-23

We also groan within ourselves as we wait for adoption, the redemption of our bodies.

Serenity Prayer

God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; courage to change the things I can; and wisdom to know the difference.
Living one day at a time; Enjoying one moment at a time; Accepting hardships as the pathway to peace; Taking, as He did, this sinful world as it is, not as I would have it; Trusting that He will make all things right if I surrender to His will; That I may be reasonably happy in this life and supremely happy with
Him forever in the next.

Amen.

The Beatitudes

Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the
Kingdom of heaven.
Blessed are they that mourn: for they shall be comforted.
Blessed are the meek: for they shall inherit the earth.
Blessed are they which hunger and thirst
after righteousness: for they shall be filled.
Blessed are the merciful: for they shall
obtain mercy.

 

The Father Revealed in the Son

 At that time Jesus said, “I praise you, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, because you have hidden these things from the wise and learned, and revealed them to little children. 26 Yes, Father, for this is what you were pleased to do.

“All things have been committed to me by my Father. No one knows the Son except the Father, and no one knows the Father except the Son and those to whom the Son chooses to reveal him.

“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. 29 Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”

The Journey

a journey begins with a single step
So, no matter where you are starting from today;
no matter where you find yourself
With God,
With Jesus,
With the church,
With life,
With each other …

Take one small step of love,
In faith,
And leave a footprint
To guide you tomorrow
and the next…

If you,
And I,
Take a step each day,
Then,
We will be moving forward;
We will be walking
Together:
We will be leaving a trail
for others to follow

The Lord’s Prayer (The Our Father) – Catholic

Our Father, who art in heaven,
Hallowed be thy Name;
Thy kingdom come; Thy will be done
on earth, as it is in heaven:
Give us this day our daily bread;
And forgive us our trespasses,
as we forgive them that trespass against us;
And lead us not into temptation,
But deliver us from evil

For yours is the kingdom, the power, and the glory,
For ever and ever.
Amen

The Lord’s Prayer (The Our Father) – Protestant version

Our Father, who art in heaven,
Hallowed be thy Name;
Thy kingdom come; Thy will be done
on earth, as it is in heaven:
Give us this day our daily bread;
And forgive us our trespasses,
as we forgive them that trespass against us;
And lead us not into temptation,
But deliver us from evil

For yours is the kingdom, the power, and the glory,
For ever and ever.
Amen

PRISONERS / GAOL / JAILMoreton Bay

By Author unknown

One Sunday morning as I went walking
By Brisbane waters I chanced to stray,
I heard a convict his fate bewailing
As on the sunny river bank he lay.

‘I am a native of Erin’s island,
Though banished now from my native shore;
They took me from my aged parents
And from the maiden whom I adore.

“Ive been a prisoner at Port Macquarie,
At Norfolk Island and Emu Plains,
At Castle Hill and at cursed Toongabbie,
At all those settlements I’ve worked in chains;
But of all places of condemnation
And penal stations in New South Wales
To Moreton Bay I have found no equal,
Excessive tyranny each day prevails.

‘For three long years I’ve been beastly treated
And heavy irons on my legs I wore;
My back with flogging is lacerated
And often painted with my crimson gore.
And many a man from downright starvation
Lies mouldering now underneath the clay;
And Captain Logan he had us mangled
At the triangles of Moreton Bay.

‘Like the Egyptians and ancient Hebrews
We were oppressed under Logan’s yoke,
Till a native black lying there in ambush
Did deal our tyrant with his mortal stroke.
My fellow prisoners, be exhilarated
That all such monsters such death may find!
And when from bondage we are liberated
Our former sufferings shall fade from mind.’

Solitary Man

by Robert Edgar Burns

Sometimes I feel like a solitary man.
Under the night sky writing what I can.
No one else is moving or driving cars.
The world belongs to me under the stars.

While pondering in my solitude
Without a thought or plan,
Thoughts jump into the mind
Of this solitary man.

I don’t know where they come from.
They are just my own surprise.
Sometimes I’d swear that they have come
Through a different set of eyes.

In prison I know that solitary
Can drive a person mad.
But in those I once sent there,
For the solitude they seem glad.

The Lord needed His solitude
For at one time forty days.
And again when in the garden,
Where for the souls of men He prayed.

So in my time of solitude
I also have time to pray.
It’s when I feel the closest,
To Him in my night each day!

 

Tumba Bloody Rumba

By John Patrick O’Grady 9.10.1907 – 1981 (aka Nino Culotta)

I was down the Riverina, knockin’ ’round the towns a bit,
And occasionally resting with a schooner in me mitt,
And on one of these occasions, when the bar was pretty full
And the local blokes were arguin’ assorted kind of bull,
I heard a conversation, most peculiar in its way.
It’s only in Australia you would hear a joker say:

“Howya bloody been, ya drongo, haven’t seen ya fer a week,
And yer mate was lookin’ for ya when ya come in from the creek.
‘E was lookin’ up at Ryan’s, and around at bloody Joe’s,
And even at the Royal, where ‘e bloody NEVER goes”.

And the other bloke says “Seen ‘im? Owed ‘im half a bloody quid.
Forgot to give it back to him, but now I bloody did –
Could’ve used the thing me bloody self. Been off the bloody booze,
Up at Tumba-bloody-rumba shootin’ kanga-bloody-roos.”

Now the bar was pretty quiet, and everybody heard
The peculiar integration of this adjectival word,
But no-one there was laughing, and me – I wasn’t game,
So I just sits back and lets them think I spoke the bloody same.

Then someone else was interested to know just what he got,
How many kanga-bloody-roos he went and bloody shot,
And the shooting bloke says “Things are crook –
the drought’s too bloody tough.
I got forty-two by seven, and that’s good e-bloody-nough.”

And, as this polite rejoinder seemed to satisfy the mob,
Everyone stopped listening and got on with the job,
Which was drinkin’ beer, and arguin’, and talkin’ of the heat,
Of boggin’ in the bitumen in the middle of the street,
But as for me, I’m here to say the interesting piece of news
Was Tumba-bloody-rumba shootin’ kanga bloody-roos.

PUNTERS

 A Day At The Races

©Graeme Cook,  August 2006

It’s not only just the silks, and the colour and the flair, Or all the many kindred folk that I find gathered there, Sharing the excitement of the journey jockey’s facing, That whips me to action, for another day of racing.

Nor is it the game of chance, that punting always brings, From TAB and bookies, and bar-room betting rings, The heady smell of fine manure, turf so lush and green, Fine dressed folk and superb horseflesh, making up the scene.

Maybe the glorious legends, from Phar Lap to the Diva, That leaves me so infected, with the flush of racing fever, The buzz as they are mustered, from the starting gate they lurch, With the Form Guide as my bible, the racetrack as my church.

I’ve seen them win, lose and draw, rush by in charging blur, Neck and neck, nose to nose, to the photo we refer, The weight is right, the track is fair, the sun will always shine, As once more past the Judges, and I cross that Finish Line.


TOP OF PAGE                               HOME


QUOTES

“A beautiful colourful rainbow could not exist if it were not for the rain of a grey day – it was born from the very droplets of it.”
– Author unknown

A life with love will have some thorns, but a life without love will have no roses.”
– Author unknown

“Although it’s difficult today to see beyond the sorrow, may looking back in memory help comfort you tomorrow.”
– Author unknown

“As long as I can I will look at this world for both of us. As long as I can I will laugh with the birds, I will sing with the flowers, I will pray to the stars, for both of us.”
– Sascha

“Death leaves a heartache no one can heal, love leaves a memory no one can steal.”
– From a headstone in Ireland

“Don’t cry because it’s over. Smile because it happened.”
– Dr. Seuss

“Do not dwell in the past, do not dream of the future, concentrate the mind on the present moment.”
– Buddhist quote

“Dying is nothing to fear. It can be the most wonderful experience of your life. It all depends on how you’ve lived.”
– Dr. Elisabeth Kubler-Ross

“Every heart has its secret sorrows which the world knows not, and oftentimes we call a man cold, when he is only sad.”
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

“Everything that has a beginning has an ending. Make your peace with that and all will be well.”
– Buddhist quote

“Forgiveness is healing … especially forgiving yourself.”
Alyson Noel ‘Evermore’

“I don’t know why they call it heartbreak. It feels like every part of my body is broken too.”
Chloe Woodward

“In my dream, I was drowning my sorrows But my sorrows they’d learned to swim”
U2 ‘Until The End Of The World

“I’m gone now, but I’m still very near, death can never separate us. Each time you feel a gentle breeze, it’s my hand caressing your face. Each time the wind blows, it carries my voice whispering your name. When the wind blows your hair ever so slightly, think of it as me pushing a few stray hairs back in place. When you feel a few raindrops fall on your face, it’s me placing soft kisses. At night look up in the sky and see the stars shining so brightly. I’m one of those stars and I’m winking at you and smiling with delight. For never forget, you’re the apple of my eye.”
– Mary M Green

“If tears could build a stairway, and memories a lane, I’d walk right up to heaven and bring you home again.”
– Author unknown

“I will welcome happiness for it enlarges my heart; Yet I will endure sadness for it opens my soul. I will acknowledge rewards for they are my due; Yet I will welcome obstacles for they are my challenge.”
– Og Mandino

“Life is not the way it is supposed to be. It is the way it is. The way you cope with it is what makes the difference.”
– Virginia Satir

“Let no one weep for me, or celebrate my funeral with mourning; for I still live, as I pass to and fro, through the mouths of men.”
– Quintus Ennius

“Love is like standing in wet cement, the longer you stay the harder to leave and you can never leave without leaving your marks behind.”
Author unknown

“Memory is a way of holding on to the things you love, the things you are, the things you never want to lose.”
– from the television series,  The Wonder Years

“No farewell words were spoken, no time to say goodbye, you were gone before we knew it, and only God knows why.”
– Author unknown

“Perhaps they are not stars in the sky, but rather openings where our loved ones shine down to let us know they are happy.”
– Eskimo legend

“Some people come in your life as blessings. Some come in your life as lessons.”
Mother Teresa

“The life of the dead is placed in the memory of the living.”
– Marcus Tullius Cicero

“Tears are sometimes an inappropriate response to death. When a life has been lived completely honestly, completely successfully, or just completely, the correct response to death’s perfect punctuation mark is a smile.”
– Julie Burchill

“Tears have a wisdom all their own. They come when a person has relaxed enough to let go and to work through his sorrow. They are the natural bleeding of an emotional wound, carrying the poison out of the system. Here lies the road to recovery.”
– F. Alexander Magoun

“Tears water our growth.”
– William Shakespeare

“There are three needs of the griever: To find the words for the loss, to say the words aloud and to know that the words have been heard.”
– Victoria Alexander

“The most beautiful people we have known are those who have known defeat, known suffering, known struggle, known loss, and have found their way out of the depths. These persons have an appreciation, a sensitivity, and an understanding of life that fills them with compassion, gentleness, and a deep loving concern. Beautiful people do not just happen.”
– Dr. Elisabeth Kubler-Ross

“The best and most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or even touched. They must be felt with the heart.”
– Helen Keller

“There’s a bit of magic in everything, and some loss to even things out.”
– Lou Reed, ‘Magic And Loss’

“The grave itself is but a covered bridge, Leading from light to light, through a brief darkness!”
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow ‘The Golden Legend’

“Time heals old pain, while it creates new ones.”
Proverb

“When you want something, all the universe conspires in helping you to achieve it.”
― Paulo Coelho, The Alchemist

“When we love, we always strive to become better than we are. When we strive to become better than we are, everything around us becomes better too.”
― Paulo Coelho, The Alchemist

“We’ve shared our lives these many years. You’ve held my hand; you’ve held my heart. So many blessings, so few tears – yet for a moment, we must part.”
– Author unknown

“Why does it take a minute to say hello and forever to say goodbye?”
– Author unknown

“What soap is for the body, tears are for the soul.”
– Jewish proverb

“When someone you love becomes a memory, the memory becomes a treasure.”
– Author unknown

“When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.”
– Kahlil Gibran

“When someone you love dies, and you’re not expecting it, you don’t lose her all at once; you lose her in pieces over a long time – the way the mail stops coming, and her scent fades from the pillows and even from the clothes in her closet and drawers. Gradually, you accumulate the parts of her that are gone. Just when the day comes – when there’s a particular missing part that overwhelms you with the feeling that she’s gone, forever – there comes another day, and another specifically missing part.”
– John Irving

“You don’t have a Soul. You are a Soul. You have a body.”
C.S.Lewis

“You cannot prevent the birds of sorrow from flying over your head, but you can prevent them from building nests in your hair.”
– Old Chinese proverb

“You can clutch the past so tightly to your chest that it leaves your arms too full to embrace the present.”
– Jan Gildwell

“You will lose someone you can’t live without, and your heart will be badly broken, and the bad news is that you never completely get over the loss of your beloved. But this is also the good news. They live forever in your broken heart that doesn’t seal back up. And you come through. It’s like having a broken leg that never heals perfectly – that still hurts when the weather gets cold, but you learn to dance with the limp.”
– Anne Lamott

“Without you in my arms, I feel an emptiness in my soul. I find myself searching the crowds for your face – I know it’s an impossibility, but I cannot help myself.”
Nicholas Sparks ‘Message In A Bottle’

“Of all Sad Words of Tongue or Pen, the Saddest are these, “It Might Have Been.”
– George Ade ‘More Fables’

“A ton of regret never makes an ounce of difference.”
– Grenville Kleiser ‘Dictionary Of Proverbs’

“That song is sweetest, bravest, best, Which plucks the thistle-barb of care From a despondent brother’s breast, And plants a sprig of heart’s-ease there.”
– Andrew Downing ‘The Sweetest Song’

“I still miss those I loved who are no longer with me but I find I am grateful for having loved them. The gratitude has finally conquered the loss.”
– Rita Mae Brown

“Words have the power to both destroy and heal. When words are both true and kind, they can change our world.”
 -Buddhist quote

“Honest listening is one of the best medicines we can offer the dying and the bereaved.”
– Jean Cameron

“People touch our lives if only for a moment, And yet we’re not the same from that moment on, The time is not important, The moment is forever.”
– Fern Bork

“We must know the pain of loss; because if we never knew it, we would have no compassion for others, and we would become monsters of self-regard, creatures of unalloyed self-interest. The terrible pain of loss teaches humility to our prideful kind, has the power to soften uncaring hearts, to make a better person of a good one.”
– Dean Koontz ‘The Darkest Evening Of The Year’

“People touch our lives if only for a moment, And yet we’re not the same from that moment on, The time is not important, The moment is forever.”
– Fern Bork

“We get no choice. If we love, we grieve.”
– Thomas Lynch

“We need never be afraid of our tears.”
– Charles Dickens

“The melody that the loved one played upon the piano of your life will never be played quite that way again, but we must not close the keyboard and allow the instrument to gather dust. We must seek out other artists of the spirit, new friends who gradually will help us to find the road to life again, who will walk the road with us.”
– Joshua Loth Liebman

“Those things that hurt instruct.”
– Benjamin Franklin

“We do not have to rely on memories to recapture the spirit of those we have loved and lost – they live within our souls in some perfect sanctuary which even death cannot destroy.”
– Nan Witcomb


TOP OF PAGE                               HOME


REBELS

A Grumpy Old Man

by Tony Jennett

I’m old and I’m bitter, with nothing to fear
So I hope I offend you by bending your ear.
It’s my one joy in life – you can like it or not
No answer in edgeways? I don’t give a jot
I’ve railed and I’ve raved since my dotage began
It’s my privilage ‘cos I’m a grumpy old man

And as I grow older; it’s life I suppose:
But more and more things just get right up my nose
Like young mums with their kids and their stupid wee dollies
Who chat; blocking the aisles with their damned shopping trolleys
I barge my way past; just as rough as I can
So the bitches will know I’m a grumpy old man

And those tear-arse young drivers who must overtake
Then go at speeds lower than I want to make
No tail-gating for me and I don’t use my horn
But I heartily wish that they’d never been born
And I see hades open to eat car or van
That did it, because I’m a grumpy old man

And I hate all those worthies who avert their eyes
Because I’ve forgotten to zip up my flies
I excuse myself saying ‘It’s quite plain to see
‘ I’ll have far less bother the next time I pee
‘In the human race maybe I’m just ‘Also ran’
‘But I don’t give a toss – I’m a gumpy old man’

There’s food down my shirt-front and some in my beard
Cos I eat off my knee and I don’t think it’s weird
When I lounge in my armchair while watching the telly
And my food drips unheeded all over my belly
It’s a trait of the aged from here to Japan;
A perk just for being a Grumpy old man

I go apoplectic to hear people say
‘Awesome’ and ‘Wicked’ and ‘Have a nice day’
The poor English language is brought to it’s knees
And falls prostrate and screaming with phrases like these
They should be wrapped up neatly and flushed down the pan
But nobody heeds me: a grumpy old man

At my death just cremate me; I’m hoping to save
Somebody the labour of digging my grave
Set my ashes in concrete and on the urn write
‘ Here’s a rebel whose aim was to put the world right
‘ He failed but what better memorial than
‘A farewell salute to a grumpy old man’

Blessed Are the Weird: A Manifesto for Creatives (Extract)

by Jacob Nordby

Blessed are the weird people
—poets, misfits, writers, mystics
heretics, painters & troubadours—
for they teach us to see the world through different eyes.
Blessed are those who embrace the intensity of life’s pain and pleasure,
for they shall be rewarded with uncommon ecstasy.
Blessed are ye who see beauty in ugliness,
for you shall transform our vision of how the world might be.
Blessed are the bold and whimsical,
for their imagination shatters ancient boundaries of fear for us all.
Blessed are ye who are mocked for unbridled expression of love in all its forms,
because your kind of crazy is exactly that freedom for which the world is unconsciously begging.
Blessed are those who have endured breaking by life,
for they are the resplendent cracks through which the light shines.

 

He’s A Rebel

Words & Lyrics by Gene Pitney

Sung by: The Crystals: https://youtu.be/aF7V2dSvxpo

See the way he walks down the street
Watch the way he shuffles his feet
My, he holds his head up high
When he goes walking by, he’s my guy

When he holds my hand, I’m so proud
‘Cause he’s not just one of the crowd
My baby’s always the one to try
the things they’ve never done
And just because of that, they say

He’s a rebel and he’ll never ever be any good
He’s a rebel ’cause he never ever does what he should
But just because he doesn’t do what everybody else does
That’s no reason why I can’t give him all my love

He’s always good to me, always treats me tenderly
‘Cause he’s not a rebel, oh, no, no, no
He’s not a rebel, oh, no, no, no, to me

If they don’t like him that way
They won’t like me after today
I’ll be standing right by his side when they say

He’s a rebel and he’ll never ever be any good
He’s a rebel ’cause he never ever ever does what he should
Just because he doesn’t do what everybody else does
That’s no reason why we can’t share a love

He’s always good to me, good to him, I try to be
‘Cause he’s not a rebel, oh, no, no, no
He’s not a rebel, oh, no, no, no, to me

Oh, he’s not a rebel, oh, no, no, no
He’s not a rebel, oh, no, no, no
He’s not a rebel, oh, no, no, no
He’s not a rebel, oh, no, no, no

He’s not a rebel, oh, no, no, no
He’s not a rebel, oh, no, no, no
He’s not a rebel, oh, no, no, no
He’s not a rebel, oh, no, no, no

 

Here’s To The Crazy Ones.

By Rob Siltanen

Here’s to the crazy ones.
The misfits.
The rebels.
The troublemakers.
The round pegs in the square holes.
The ones who see things differently.
They’re not fond of rules.
And they have no respect for the status quo.
You can quote them, disagree with them, glorify or vilify them.
About the only thing you can’t do is ignore them.
Because they change things.
They push the human race forward.
And while some may see them as the crazy ones, we see genius.
Because the people who are crazy enough to think they can change the world, are the ones who do.

The Rebel

By D. J. Enright

The Rebel :
Do you know anyone who always disagrees with you or your friends or likes to do the opposite of what everyone thinks they should do? Think of a word to describe such a person. Discuss with your partner some of the things such a person generally does. Now read the poem.
When everybody has short hair,
The rebel lets his hair grow long.
When everybody has long hair,
The rebel cuts his hair short.
When everybody talks during the lesson,
The rebel doesn’t say a word.
When nobody talks during the lesson,
The rebel creates a disturbance.
When everybody wears a uniform,
The rebel dresses in fantastic clothes.
When everybody wears fantastic clothes,
The rebel dresses soberly.
In the company of dog lovers,
The rebel expresses a preference for cats.
In the company of cat lovers,
The rebel puts in a good word for dogs.
When everybody is praising the sun,
The rebel remarks on the need for rain.
When everybody is greeting the rain,
The rebel regrets the absence of sun.
When everybody goes to the meeting,
The rebel stays at home and reads a book.
When everybody stays at home and reads a book,
The rebel goes to the meeting.
When everybody says, Yes please,
The rebel says, No thank you.
When everybody says, No thank you,
The rebel says, Yes please.
It is very good that we have rebels.
You may not find it very good to be one.


TOP OF PAGE                               HOME


REFEREE   

The Ref

©Graeme Cook, November 2006

His striped form stands alert there, at the kick-off of each match,
His whistle shrill, the game gets under way,
All the players know who’s boss, so it flows without a catch,
His eagle eyes are watching ev’ry play.

He knows when it’s offside, and he can spot the slightest foul,
Take a dive, and he will treat you hard,
He knows his football backwards with the wisdom of an owl,
And any bully’s swiftly shown a card.

All the youngsters that he’s trained, know just what to expect,
Upon the field on any playing day,
Coached, advised, encouraged, with a mutual respect,
So lend an ear to what he has to say.

Play your game with skill and passion,
guard that goal with all your might,
Or strike toward the net so hard and true,
For he loved to see you love the game,
so never lose the sight,
Of ev’ry single thing he’s taught to you

For now that sadly he’s moved on, where he refs for higher teams,
Don’t you ever, be too surprised to find,
Although you can’t see or hear him, he’ll be far closer than it seems,
A top man never leaves his team behind.

The scores, they never mattered, it was how you played the game,
To do less than best would surely be a crime,
Play on lads, as if he’s there, treat the ball and field the same,
The Ref’s last match didn’t run to ‘extra time’.


TOP OF PAGE                               HOME


REFLECTION & SELF-EDUCATION

Back Home

by Becky Sellers—1982

If I had the power to turn back the clock,
and go back to that house at the end of the block.
The house that was home when I was a kid,
I know that I’d love it more now than I did.
If I could be back there at my mother’s knee,
and hear once again, the things she told me.
I’d listen now as I never listened before,
for she knew so well what life had in store.
And all the advice my dad used to give…
his voice I’ll remember as long as I live.
But it didn’t seem really important then,
what I’d give to live it all over again.
What I’d give for the chance I once had,
to do so much more for my mom and dad.
To give them more joy and little less pain,
a little more sunshine-a lot less rain.
But years roll on and I cannot go back,
weather I was born in a mansion or a shack.
I can start right now in the hour that’s here,
to do something more for the ones I hold dear.
And since time in its flight is traveling so fast,
I can’t spend it regretting that which is past.
But I’ll try to make tomorrow a happier day,
By doing my Good unto Others…Today.

Man in the Mirror

1934-By Dale Wimbrow (1895-1954),

When you get what you want in your struggle for wealth
And the world makes you King for a day,
Then go to the mirror and look at yourself,
And see what that guy has to say.
For it isn’t your Father, or Mother, or Wife,
Who judgement upon you must pass.
The feller whose verdict counts most in your life
Is the guy staring back from the glass.
He’s the feller to please, never mind all the rest,
For he’s with you clear up to the end,
And you’ve passed your most dangerous, difficult test
If the guy in the glass is your friend.
You can fool the whole world down the pathway of years,
And get pats on the back as you pass,
But your final reward will be heartaches and tears
If you’ve cheated the guy in the glass.
He’s the fellow to please, never mind all the rest
For he’s with you clear up to the end
And you’ve passed your most dangerous, difficult test
If the man in the glass is your friend


TOP OF PAGE                               HOME


Nails in a Fence …

by Author Unknown

There once was a little boy who had a bad temper. His father gave him a bag of nails and told him that every time he lost his temper, he must hammer a nail into the back of the fence.
The first day the boy had driven 37 nails into the fence.
Over the next few weeks, as he learned to control his anger, the number of nails hammered daily gradually dwindled down.
He discovered it was easier to hold his temper than to drive those nails into the fence….
Finally the day came when the boy didn’t lose his temper at all.
He told his father about it and the father suggested that the boy now pull out one nail for each day that he was able to hold his temper.
The day passed and the young boy was finally able to tell his father that all the nails were gone.
The father took his son by the hand and led him to the fence.
He said, “You have done well, my son, but look at the holes in the fence.
The fence will never be the same. When you say things in anger, they leave a scar just like this one.
You can put a knife in a man and draw it out.
It won’t matter how many times you say I’m sorry, the wound is still there.”
A verbal wound is as bad as a physical one.
Friends are a very rare jewel indeed. They make you smile and encourage you to succeed.
They lend an ear, they share words of praise and they always want to open their hearts to us.”
Please forgive me if I have ever left a hole in your fence.


TOP OF PAGE                               HOME


RELIGIOUS – CHRISTIAN

See BIBLE READINGS  & RELIGIOUS


TOP OF PAGE                               HOME


RETURNED SERVICES

See Military & Returned Services

RETURNING

Sudden Light

By Dante Gabriel Rossetti (1828-1882)

I HAVE been here before,
But when or how I cannot tell:
I know the grass beyond the door,
The sweet keen smell,
The sighing sound, the lights around the shore.

You have been mine before,—
How long ago I may not know:
But just when at that swallow’s soar
Your neck turned so,
Some veil did fall,—I knew it all of yore.

(1853 final stanza)

Has this been thus before?
And shall not thus time’s eddying flight
Still with our lives our love restore
In death’s despite,
And day and night yield one delight once more?

(1870 finals stanza)

Then, now,—perchance again! . . . .
O round mine eyes your tresses shake!
Shall we not lie as we have lain
Thus for Love’s sake,
And sleep, and wake, yet never break the chain?

The Parable Of The Two Ships.

From the (Jewish) Talmud – Midrash Koheleth on Eccles. VII.

King Solomon has said: The day of one’s death is better than that of his birth.
When a human being is born all rejoice, and when he dies all weep.
But it should not be so.
Rather, at one’s birth no one has yet cause to rejoice; for no one knows to what future the babe is born, what will be the development of his intellect or of his soul, and by what works he will stand; whether he will be a righteous man or a wicked man, whether he will be good or evil; whether good or evil will befall him. But when he dies, then all ought to rejoice if he has departed leaving a good name, and has gone out of this world in peace.
This may be likened, in a parable, to two ships that set out to sail upon the great ocean. One of them was going forth from the harbour, and one of them was coming into the harbour. And every one was cheering the ship that set sail from the harbour, and rejoicing, and giving it a joyous send-off.
But over the ship that came into the harbour no one was rejoicing.
There was a wise man there who said:
“I see a reason for the very opposite conduct to yours.
You ought not to rejoice with the ship that is going out of the harbour, for no one knows what will be her fate;
how many days she will have to spend on the voyage, and what storms and tempests she will encounter.
But as to the ship that has arrived safely in port, all should rejoice with her, for she has returned in peace.”

We All Come From The Sea

from the film Chasing Mavericks 2012 directed by Curtis Hanson and Michael Apted about the life of American surfer Jay Moriarity.

We all come from the sea, but we are not all of the sea.
Those of us who are, we children of the tides, must return to it again and again, until the day we don’t come back leaving only that which was touched along the way.
Frosty Hesson  (played by Gerard Butler)

RODEO

Legendary Bull Rider

© Erika, Published: August 2011

As he walks you can hear the spurs on his boots
He walks on over and hops in the chute
then waits alone with the bull
until the moment when the date is pulled
the dust stirs from the ground
as the bull bucks and spin around
1-2-3-4 how long will he last
5-6-7-8 seconds have past
the buzzer makes the sound
and the bulls hooves hit the ground
he gets himself free
stands up and tries to leave
he falls to his knees
because his muscles are beat
he tries to stagger away
as if he took his first steps today
the bull fighters then come to save the day
and help him get on his way
the judges calculate the score
then its posted on the board
he made such a good ride
he’s won a new buckle that shine


ROSES – SEE FLOWERS & ROSES


 

SAILORS & SAILING

A Life on the Ocean Wave

by Epes Sargent

A life on the ocean wave,
A home on the rolling deep,
Where the scattered waters rave,
And the winds their revels keep!
Like an eagle caged, I pine
On this dull, unchanging shore:
Oh! give me the flashing brine,
The spray and the tempest’s roar!

Once more on the deck I stand
Of my own swift-gliding craft:
Set sail! farewell to the land!
The gale follows fair abaft.
We shoot through the sparkling foam
Like an ocean-bird set free; –
Like the ocean-bird, our home
We’ll find far out on the sea.

The land is no longer in view,
The clouds have begun to frown;
But with a stout vessel and crew,
We’ll say, Let the storm come down!
And the song of our hearts shall be,
While the winds and the waters rave,
A home on the rolling sea!
A life on the ocean wave!

A Sailors Prayer

The sailor stood and faced his God,
Which must always come to pass.
He hoped his shoes were shining
Just as brightly as his brass.
‘Step forward now, you Navy man,
How shall I deal with you?
Have you always turned the other cheek?
To my Church have you been true?’
The sailor squared his shoulders and said,
‘No Lord, I guess I ain’t
Because those of us who protect these shores,
Can’t always be a Saint
I’ve had to work most every day,
And at times my talk was tough
And sometimes I’ve seen such violence
‘Cause the world and sea is rough’.
‘But I never took a penny
That wasn’t mine to keep
I did however tend to swear a lot
When the waves got just too steep
But I never passed a cry for help
Though at times I shook with fear
And sometimes, God forgive me
I’ve wept unmanly tears’
‘I know I don’t deserve a place
Among the people here
They never wanted me around
Except to calm their fears
If you’ve a place for me here
Lord, it needn’t be so grand
I never expected, or had too much
But if you don’t, I’ll understand’
There was a silence all around the throne
Where the saints had often trod
As the Navy Man waited quietly
For the judgment of his God
‘Step forward now, you Sailor
You’ve born your burdens well
Walk peacefully on Heavens streets
You’ve done your time in hell’.

At Melville’s Tomb

by Hart Crane

Often beneath the wave, wide from this ledge
The dice of drowned men’s bones he saw bequeath
An embassy. Their numbers as he watched,
Beat on the dusty shore and were obscured.
And wrecks passed without sound of bells,
The calyx of death’s bounty giving back
A scattered chapter, livid hieroglyph,
The portent wound in corridors of shells.
Then in the circuit calm of one vast coil,
Its lashings charmed and malice reconciled,
Frosted eyes there were that lifted altars;
And silent answers crept across the stars.
Compass, quadrant and sextant contrive
No farther tides… High in the azure steeps
Monody shall not wake the mariner.
This fabulous shadow only the sea keeps.

Bilbo’s Last Song (At the Grey Havens)

by J R R Tolkien

Day is ended, dim my eyes,
but journey long before me lies.
Farewell, friends! I hear the call.
The ship’s beside the stony wall.
Foam is white and waves are grey;
beyond the sunset leads my way.
Foam is salt, the wind is free;
I hear the rising of the Sea.

Farewell, friends! The sails are set,
the wind is east, the moorings fret.
Shadows long before me lie,
beneath the ever-bending sky,
but islands lie behind the Sun
that I shall raise ere all is done;
lands there are to west of West,
where night is quiet and sleep is rest.

Guided by the Lonely Star,
beyond the utmost harbour-bar,
I’ll find the heavens fair and free,
and beaches of the Starlit Sea.
Ship, my ship! I seek the West,
and fields and mountains ever blest.

Farewell to Middle-earth at last.
I see the Star above my mast!

Crossing the Bar

by Alfred Lord Tennyson

Sunset and evening star,
And one clear call for me!
And may there be no moaning of the bar,
When I put out to sea.

But such a tide as moving seems asleep,
Too full for sound and foam,
When that which drew from out the boundless deep
Turns again home!

Twilight and evening bell,
And after that the dark!
And may there be no sadness of farewell,
When I embark;

For though from out our bourn of Time and Place
The flood may bear me far,
I hope to see my Pilot face to face
When I have crossed the bar.

Death Shall Have No Dominion

by Dylan Thomas

And death shall have no dominion.
Dead men naked they shall be one
With the man in the wind and the west moon;
When their bones are picked clean and the clean bones gone,
They shall have stars at elbow and foot;
Though they go mad they shall be sane,
Though they sink through the sea they shall rise again;
Though lovers be lost love shall not;
And death shall have no dominion.

And death shall have no dominion.
Under the windings of the sea
They lying long shall not die windily;
Twisting on racks when sinews give way,
Strapped to a wheel, yet they shall not break;
Faith in their hands shall snap in two,
And the unicorn evils run them through;
Split all ends up they shan’t crack;
And death shall have no dominion.

And death shall have no dominion.
No more may gulls cry at their ears
Or waves break loud on the seashores;
Where blew a flower may a flower no more
Lift its head to the blows of the rain;
Though they be mad and dead as nails,
Heads of the characters hammer through daisies;
Break in the sun till the sun breaks down,
And death shall have no dominion.

 

 

Dolphins At My Bow

by ©Graeme Cook

I’ve spent a lot of time, amongst engines, cars and noise, Tuning and repairing all the best of big boy’s toys, Felt the surge of power, and the howling exhaust roar, It was fun back then, but I don’t do that any more.

I had found though, on the water, a lesson there to learn, The peace of gurgling water, as it flowed beyond the stern, Without the noise and smell, of oily petrol burning, The magic motion, sailing, brought an instant yearning.

Sure, I love my bike, and the flying freedom that we share, For it is quite like sailing, when your head is in the air, And how your pace is gauged, by the effort you put in, You’re part of that machine, from the moment you begin.

But you just can’t beat the silence, as with the wind you ride, Hard against the breezes, and tilted sharply to the side, Tacking back and forth, as you strive to make your way, All that Nature throws at you, on any sailing day.

See the mast abending, as you rush to reef the main, Shivering and soaking, from the spray and driving rain, You may be cold and wet, as returning to your mooring, But your heart is happy, and your spirit’s fire is roaring.

Or to run before the wind, with the spinnaker in bloom, Balloon of blazing colour, as across the seas you zoom, Your own skill, with helm and sheet, measure of your speed, Excitement, contentment, this fulfills every need.

Special times befriended, by the ocean’s family, As a pod of friendly dolphins, take time out to see, Just how I’m getting on, and I pat their shining backs, Before they all swim off, with my everlasting thanks.

Now I’ve not sailed for many years, but that feeling never fades, Of time spent on the water, amidst the peace of wind and waves, For sailing’s much like life, you get back just what you’ve put in, When the current runs against you, the strength comes from within.

When I leave this earthly plain, not feared of where I’m heading, Part of me, upon the sea, I think you should be spreading, For it shall be a better place, than where I may be now, With fair winds always behind me, and dolphins at my bow.

Eternal Father, Strong to Save (Navel Hymn)

Gone from My Sight (originally titled: What is Dying)

by Rev. Luther F. Beecher
‘Gone from My Sight’ was originally titled: ‘What is Dying’, written by Rev. Luther F. Beecher but is often misattributed to – Henry van Dyke,  Victor Hugo and others. 

I am standing upon the seashore.
A ship at my side spreads her white sails to the morning breeze and starts for the blue ocean.
She is an object of beauty and strength.
I stand and watch her until at length she hangs like a speck of white cloud
just where the sea and sky come to mingle with each other.
Then someone at my side says, “There, she is gone.”
“Gone where?”
Gone from my sight. That is all.
She is just as large in mast and hull and spar as she was when she left my side, and she is just as able to bear her load of living freight to her destined port.
Her diminished size is in me, not in her.
And just at the moment when someone at my side says, “There, she is gone!”
there are other eyes watching her coming, and there are other voices ready to take up the glad shout, “Here she comes!”
And that is dying.

I Am Standing Upon the Seashore

by Henry Van Dyke

I am standing upon the seashore.

A ship, at my side,spreads her white sails to the moving breeze and starts
for the blue ocean. She is an object of beauty and strength.
I stand and watch her until, at length, she hangs like a speck
of white cloud just where the sea and sky come to mingle with each other.

Then, someone at my side says, “There, she is gone”

Gone where?

Gone from my sight. That is all. She is just as large in mast,
hull and spar as she was when she left my side.
And, she is just as able to bear her load of living freight to her destined port.

Her diminished size is in me — not in her.
And, just at the moment when someone says, “There, she is gone,”
there are other eyes watching her coming, and other voices
ready to take up the glad shout, “Here she comes!”

And that is dying…

Death comes in its own time, in its own way.
Death is as unique as the individual experiencing it.

Just a Common Soldier (A Soldier Died Today)

by A. Lawrence Vaincourt

He was getting old and paunchy and his hair was falling fast,
And he sat around the Legion, telling stories of the past.
Of a war that he had fought in and the deeds that he had done,
In his exploits with his buddies; they were heroes, every one.
And tho’ sometimes, to his neighbors, his tales became a joke,
All his Legion buddies listened, for they knew whereof he spoke.
But we’ll hear his tales no longer for old Bill has passed away,
And the world’s a little poorer, for a soldier died today.
He will not be mourned by many, just his children and his wife,
For he lived an ordinary and quite uneventful life.
Held a job and raised a family, quietly going his own way,
And the world won’t note his passing, though a soldier died today.
When politicians leave this earth, their bodies lie in state,
While thousands note their passing and proclaim that they were great.
Papers tell their whole life stories, from the time that they were young,
But the passing of a soldier goes unnoticed and unsung.
Is the greatest contribution to the welfare of our land
A guy who breaks his promises and cons his fellow man?
Or the ordinary fellow who, in times of war and strife,
Goes off to serve his Country and offers up his life?
A politician’s stipend and the style in which he lives
Are sometimes disproportionate to the service that he gives.
While the ordinary soldier, who offered up his all,
Is paid off with a medal and perhaps, a pension small.
It’s so easy to forget them for it was so long ago,
That the old Bills of our Country went to battle, but we know
It was not the politicians, with their compromise and ploys,
Who won for us the freedom that our Country now enjoys.
Should you find yourself in danger, with your enemies at hand,
Would you want a politician with his ever-shifting stand?
Or would you prefer a soldier, who has sworn to defend
His home, his kin and Country and would fight until the end?
He was just a common soldier and his ranks are growing thin,
But his presence should remind us we may need his like again.
For when countries are in conflict, then we find the soldier’s part
Is to clean up all the troubles that the politicians start.
If we cannot do him honor while he’s here to hear the praise,
Then at least let’s give him homage at the ending of his days.
Perhaps just a simple headline in a paper that would say,
Our Country is in mourning, for a soldier died today.

Sailing To-Night

by unknown

There’s a ship on the sea. It is sailing to-night—
Sailing to-night;—
And father’s aboard, and the moon is all bright—
Shining and bright.
Dear Moon, he’ll be sailing for many a night—
Sailing from mother and me;
Oh, follow the ship with your silvery light,
As father sails over the sea!

Sailor’s Paraphrase of the 23rd Psalm

By author unknown

The Lord is my pilot, I shall not drift.
He guides me across the dark waters.
He steers me through deep channels.
He keeps my log.
Yea, though I sail ‘mid the thunders
and tempest of life,
I shall dread no anger, for He is with me;
His love and His care, shelter me.
He prepares a quiet harbour before me.
He anoints the waves with oil
My ship rides calmly.
Surely sunlight and starlight
shall guide me on the voyage I take,
And I will rest in the heaven’s port forever.

Sea Canes

by Derek Walcott

Half my friends are dead.
I will make you new ones, said earth.
No, give me them back, as they were, instead,
with faults and all, I cried.

Tonight I can snatch their talk
from the faint surf’s drone
through the canes, but I cannot walk

on the moonlit leaves of ocean
down that white road alone,
or float with the dreaming motion

of owls leaving earth’s load.
O earth, the number of friends you keep
exceeds those left to be loved.

The sea canes by the cliff flash green and silver;
they were the seraph lances of my faith,
but out of what is lost grows something stronger

that has the rational radiance of stone,
enduring moonlight, further than despair,
strong as the wind, that through dividing canes

brings those we love before us, as they were,
with faults and all, not nobler, just there.

Sea Fever

By John Masefield

I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea’s face and a grey dawn breaking.
I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running
tide Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume and the seagulls crying.
I must go down to the seas again to the vagrant gypsy life.
To the gull’s way and the whale’s way where the wind’s like whetted knife:
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick’s over.

Some Time at Eve

By Elizabeth Clark Hardy

Some time at eve when the tide is low,
I shall slip my mooring and sail away,
With no response to the friendly hail
Of kindred craft in the busy bay.
In the silent hush of the twilight pale,
When the night stoops down to embrace the day,
And the voices call in the waters’ flow-
Some time at eve when the tide is low,
I shall slip my mooring and sail away.
Through the purpling shadows that darkly trail
O’er the ebbing tide of the Unknown Sea,
I shall fare me away, with a dip of sail
And a ripple of waters to tell the tale
Of a lonely voyager, sailing away
To the Mystic Isles where at anchor lay
The crafts of those who have sailed before
O’er the Unknown Sea to the Unseen Shore.
A few who have watched me sail away
Will miss my craft from the busy bay;
Some friendly barks that were anchored near,
Some loving souls that my heart held dear,
In silent sorrow will drop a tear
But I shall have peacefully furled my sail
In mooring sheltered from storm and gale
And greet the friends who have sailed before
O’er the Unknown Sea to the Unknown Shore.

The Cup of Ocean

by Amos Russel Wells

What does the cup of ocean hold?
Glory of purple and glint of gold;
Tenderest greens and heavenly blue,
Shot with the sunlight through and through;
Wayward ripples that idly roam.
Tumbling breakers with gallant foam;
Sands and pebbles that chase and slide;
Mystic currents that softly glide;
Mighty spell of the ages old,
This does the cup of ocean hold.

What does the cup of ocean hear
To the lips of land folk everywhere?
Danger’s ominous, ghostly breath,
Battered forms of an awful death;
Howling tempests and bitter sleet,
Crash of the sea steeds’ terrible feet;
Ships a-quiver with fearful shock,
Anguish heaped on a savage rock;
Loss and turmoil and fatal snare,
This does the cup of ocean bear.

Look ye well to the ocean’s cup,
Ye who gladly on beauty sup.
Tarry long at the treacherous brink,
Gaze within e’er ye bend and drink.

The End

By Mark Strand

Not every man knows what he shall sing at the end,
Watching the pier as the ship sails away, or what it will seem like
When he’s held by the sea’s roar, motionless, there at the end,
Or what he shall hope for once it is clear that he’ll never go back.
When the time has passed to prune the rose or caress the cat,
When the sunset torching the lawn and the full moon icing it down
No longer appear, not every man knows what he’ll discover instead.
When the weight of the past leans against nothing, and the sky
Is no more than remembered light, and the stories of cirrus
And cumulus come to a close, and all the birds are suspended in flight,
Not every man knows what is waiting for him, or what he shall sing
When the ship he is on slips into darkness, there at the end.

The Old Way

by Ronald Hopwood

There’s a sea that lies uncharted far beyond the setting sun,
And a gallant fleet was sailing there whose fighting days are done,
Sloop and galleon, brig and pinnace, all the rigs you never met,
Fighting frigate, grave three-decker with their snowy canvas set;
Dozed and dreamed, when, on a sudden, ev’ry sail began to swell,
For the breeze has spoken strangers, with a stirring tale to tell,
And a thousand eager voices flung the challenge out to sea:
“Come they hither in the old way, in the only way that’s free?”

And the flying breeze called softly: “In the old way,
Through the winters and the waters of the North,
They have waited, ah the waiting! in the old way,
Strong and patient, from the Pentlands to the Forth.
There was fog to blind and baffle off the headlands,
There were gales to beat the worst that ever blew,
But they took it, as they found it, in the old way,
And I know it often helped to think of you.”

‘Twas a frigate, under stun-sails, as she gently gathered way
Spoke in jerks, like all the frigates, who have little time to stay:
“We’d to hurry, under Nelson, thank my timbers I was tough,
For he worked us as he loved us, and he never had enough.
Are the English mad as ever? Were the frigates just as few?
(Will their sheets be always stranding, ere the rigging’s rove anew?)
Just as Saxon slow at starting, just as weirdly wont to win?
Had they frigates out and watching? Did they pass the signals in?”

And the laughing Breeze made answer: ” In the old way;
You should see the little cruisers spread and fly,
Peering over the horizon, in the old way,
And a seaplane up and wheeling in the sky.
When the wireless snapped ‘The enemy is sighted,’
If his accents were comparatively new,
Why, the sailor-men were cheering, in the old way,
So I naturally smiled, and thought of you.”

Then a courtly voice and stately from a tall three-decker came –
She’d the manners of a monarch and a story in her name:
“We’d a winter gale at even, and my shrouds are aching yet,
It was more than time for reefing when the upper sails were set.
So we chased in woeful weather, till we closed in failing light,
Then we fought them, as we caught them, just as Hawke had bid us fight;
And we swept the sea by sunrise, clear and free beyond a doubt.
Was it thus the matter ended when the enemy was out?”

Cried the Breeze: “They fought and followed in the old way,
For they raced to make a record all the while,
With a knot to veer and haul on, in the old way,
That had never even met the measured mile –
And the guns were making merry in the twilight.
That the enemy was victor may be true,
Still – he hurried into harbour – in the old way –
And I wondered if he’d ever heard of you.”

Came a gruff and choking chuckle, and a craft as black as doom
Lumbered laughing down to leeward, as the bravest gave her room.
“Set ‘un blazin’, good your Lordships, for the tide be makin’ strong,
Proper breeze to fan a fireship, set ‘un drivin’ out along!
‘Tis the ‘Torch,’ wi’ humble duty, from Lord Howard ‘board the ‘Ark.’
We’m a laughin’-stock to Brixham, but a terror after dark.
Hold an’ bilge a-nigh to burstin’, pitch and sulphur, tar an’ all,
Was it so, my dear, they’m fashioned for my Lord High Admiral?”

Cried the Breeze: “You’d hardly know it from the old way
(Gloriana, did you waken at the fight?).
Stricken shadows, scared and flying in the old way
From the swift destroying spectres of the night,
There were some that steamed and scattered south for safety,
From the mocking western echo ‘Where be tu?’
There were some that – got the message – in the old way,
And the flashes in the darkness spoke of you.”

There’s a wondrous Golden Harbour, far beyond the setting sun,
Where a gallant ship may anchor when her fighting days are done,
Free from tempest, rock and battle, toil and tumult safely o’er,
Where the breezes murmur softly and there’s peace for evermore.
They have climbed the last horizon, they are standing in from sea,
And the Pilot makes the Haven where a ship is glad to be.
Comes at last the glorious greeting, strangely new and ages old,
See the sober grey is shining like the Tudor green and gold!

And the waiting jibs are hoisted, in the old way,
As the guns begin to thunder down the line;
Hear the silver trumpets calling, in the old way!
Over all the silken pennons float and shine –
“Did you voyage all unspoken, small and lonely?
Or with fame, the happy fortune of the few?
So you win the Golden Harbour, in the old way,
There’s the old sea welcome waiting there for you.”

The Parable Of The Two Ships – (Paraphrased) 

In a sea- blue harbour, two ships sailed.
One was setting off on a voyage; the other was coming home to port.
Everyone cheered at the ship going out, but the ship sailing in was hardly noticed.
To this, a wise man said, “Do not rejoice over a ship setting out to sea, for you cannot know what terrible storm it may endure. Rejoice over the ship that has safely reached its port and brings it’s passengers home in peace.
And this is the way of the world. When a child is born, we all rejoice; when someone dies, we grieve in sadness. Perhaps we all should do the opposite. For none of us can tell what trials and tribulations await the newborn child. So, when a love one dies and finds peace, we should rejoice, for <NAME> has completed a meaningful and worthwhile journey, and is now reunited in spirit with those gone before him.

The Parable Of The Two Ships.

From the (Jewish) Talmud – Midrash Koheleth on Eccles. VII.

King Solomon has said: The day of one’s death is better than that of his birth.
When a human being is born all rejoice, and when he dies all weep.
But it should not be so.
Rather, at one’s birth no one has yet cause to rejoice; for no one knows to what future the babe is born, what will be the development of his intellect or of his soul, and by what works he will stand; whether he will be a righteous man or a wicked man, whether he will be good or evil; whether good or evil will befall him. But when he dies, then all ought to rejoice if he has departed leaving a good name, and has gone out of this world in peace.
This may be likened, in a parable, to two ships that set out to sail upon the great ocean. One of them was going forth from the harbour, and one of them was coming into the harbour. And every one was cheering the ship that set sail from the harbour, and rejoicing, and giving it a joyous send-off.
But over the ship that came into the harbour no one was rejoicing.
There was a wise man there who said:
“I see a reason for the very opposite conduct to yours.
You ought not to rejoice with the ship that is going out of the harbour, for no one knows what will be her fate;
how many days she will have to spend on the voyage, and what storms and tempests she will encounter.
But as to the ship that has arrived safely in port, all should rejoice with her, for she has returned in peace.”

The Rime of the Ancient Mariner (PART V) (abridged)

By Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Oh sleep! it is a gentle thing,
Beloved from pole to pole!
To Mary Queen the praise be given!
She sent the gentle sleep from Heaven,
That slid into my soul.

The silly buckets on the deck,
That had so long remained,
I dreamt that they were filled with dew;
And when I awoke, it rained.

And soon I heard a roaring wind:
It did not come anear;
But with its sound it shook the sails,
That were so thin and sere.

The upper air burst into life!
And a hundred fire-flags sheen,
To and fro they were hurried about!
And to and fro, and in and out,
The wan stars danced between.

And the coming wind did roar more loud,
And the sails did sigh like sedge,
And the rain poured down from one black cloud;
The Moon was at its edge.

Around, around, flew each sweet sound,
Then darted to the Sun;
Slowly the sounds came back again,
Now mixed, now one by one.

Sometimes a-dropping from the sky
I heard the sky-lark sing;
Sometimes all little birds that are,
How they seemed to fill the sea and air
With their sweet jargoning!

The other was a softer voice,
As soft as honey-dew:
Quoth he, ‘The man hath penance done,
And penance more will do.’

The Rime of the Ancient Mariner (PART V) (text of 1834)

By Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Oh sleep! it is a gentle thing,
Beloved from pole to pole!
To Mary Queen the praise be given!
She sent the gentle sleep from Heaven,
That slid into my soul.
The silly buckets on the deck,
That had so long remained,
I dreamt that they were filled with dew;
And when I awoke, it rained.

My lips were wet, my throat was cold,
My garments all were dank;
Sure I had drunken in my dreams,
And still my body drank.

I moved, and could not feel my limbs:
I was so light—almost
I thought that I had died in sleep,
And was a blessed ghost.

And soon I heard a roaring wind:
It did not come anear;
But with its sound it shook the sails,
That were so thin and sere.

The upper air burst into life!
And a hundred fire-flags sheen,
To and fro they were hurried about!
And to and fro, and in and out,
The wan stars danced between.

And the coming wind did roar more loud,
And the sails did sigh like sedge,
And the rain poured down from one black cloud;
The Moon was at its edge.

The thick black cloud was cleft, and still
The Moon was at its side:
Like waters shot from some high crag,
The lightning fell with never a jag,
A river steep and wide.

The loud wind never reached the ship,
Yet now the ship moved on!
Beneath the lightning and the Moon
The dead men gave a groan.

They groaned, they stirred, they all uprose,
Nor spake, nor moved their eyes;
It had been strange, even in a dream,
To have seen those dead men rise.
The helmsman steered, the ship moved on;
Yet never a breeze up-blew;
The mariners all ‘gan work the ropes,
Where they were wont to do;
They raised their limbs like lifeless tools—
We were a ghastly crew.

The body of my brother’s son
Stood by me, knee to knee:
The body and I pulled at one rope,
But he said nought to me.

‘I fear thee, ancient Mariner!’
Be calm, thou Wedding-Guest!
‘Twas not those souls that fled in pain,
Which to their corses came again,
But a troop of spirits blest:

For when it dawned—they dropped their arms,
And clustered round the mast;
Sweet sounds rose slowly through their mouths,
And from their bodies passed.

Around, around, flew each sweet sound,
Then darted to the Sun;
Slowly the sounds came back again,
Now mixed, now one by one.

Sometimes a-dropping from the sky
I heard the sky-lark sing;
Sometimes all little birds that are,
How they seemed to fill the sea and air
With their sweet jargoning!

And now ’twas like all instruments,
Now like a lonely flute;
And now it is an angel’s song,
That makes the heavens be mute.

It ceased; yet still the sails made on
A pleasant noise till noon,
A noise like of a hidden brook
In the leafy month of June,
That to the sleeping woods all night
Singeth a quiet tune.

Till noon we quietly sailed on,
Yet never a breeze did breathe:
Slowly and smoothly went the ship,
Moved onward from beneath.

Under the keel nine fathom deep,
From the land of mist and snow,
The spirit slid: and it was he
That made the ship to go.
The sails at noon left off their tune,

And the ship stood still also.

The Sun, right up above the mast,
Had fixed her to the ocean:
But in a minute she ‘gan stir,
With a short uneasy motion—
Backwards and forwards half her length
With a short uneasy motion.

Then like a pawing horse let go,
She made a sudden bound:
It flung the blood into my head,
And I fell down in a swound.

How long in that same fit I lay,
I have not to declare;
But ere my living life returned,
I heard and in my soul discerned
Two voices in the air.

‘Is it he?’ quoth one, ‘Is this the man?
By him who died on cross,
With his cruel bow he laid full low
The harmless Albatross.
The spirit who bideth by himself
In the land of mist and snow,
He loved the bird that loved the man
Who shot him with his bow.’

The other was a softer voice,
As soft as honey-dew:
Quoth he, ‘The man hath penance done,
And penance more will do.’

The Sea

author unknown

I need the sea because it teaches me.
I don’t know if I learn music or awareness,
if it’s a single wave or its vast existence,
or only its harsh voice or its shining
suggestion of fishes and ships.
The fact is that until I fall asleep,
in some magnetic way I move in
the university of the waves.

It’s not simply the shells crunched
as if some shivering planet
were giving signs of its gradual death;
no, I reconstruct the day out of a fragment,
the stalactite from the sliver of salt,
and the great god out of a spoonful.

What it taught me before, I keep. It’s air
ceaseless wind, water and sand.

It seems a small thing for a young man,
to have come here to live with his own fire;
nevertheless, the pulse that rose
and fell in its abyss,
the crackling of the blue cold,
the gradual wearing away of the star,
the soft unfolding of the wave
squandering snow with its foam,
the quiet power out there, sure
as a stone shrine in the depths,
replaced my world in which were growing
stubborn sorrow, gathering oblivion,
and my life changed suddenly:

as I became part of its pure movement.

The Ship of Life

by John T. Baker

Along the shore I spy a ship As she set out to sea;
She spreads her sails and sniffs the breeze
And slips away from me.
I watch her fading image shrink,
As she moves on and on, Until at last she’s but a speck,
Then someone says, “She’s gone.”
Gone where? Gone only form our sight
And from our farewell cries;
That ship will somewhere reappear to other eager eyes.
Beyond the dim horizon’s rim, resound the welcome drums,
And while we’re crying, There she goes!
They’re shouting, Here she comes!
We’re built to cruise for but a while
Upon the trackless sea
Until one day we sail away into infinity.

The Ship of Life (prayer)

by Saint Basil of Caesarea (330-379)

Steer the ship of my life, Lord, to your quiet harbor, where I can be safe from the storms of sin and conflict. Show me the course I should take. Renew in me the gift of discernment, so that I can see the right direction in which I should go. And give me the strength and the courage to choose the right course, even when the sea is rough and the waves are high, knowing that through enduring hardship and danger in your name we shall find comfort and peace. Amen.

 

The Tide Recedes

by By M D Hughes

The tide recedes,
But leaves behind
Bright seashells on the sand.
The sun goes down,
But gentle warmth
Still lingers on the land.
The music stops,
And yet it echoes on
In sweet refrains…
For every joy that passes,
Something beautiful remains.

The Unknown Shore

By Elizabeth Clark Hardy

Sometime at Eve when the tide is low
I shall slip my moorings and sail away
With no response to a friendly hail
In the silent hush of the twilight pale
When the night stoops down to embrace the day
And the voices call in the water’s flow

Sometime at Eve When the water is low
I shall slip my moorings and sail away.
Through purple shadows
That darkly trail o’er the ebbing tide
And the Unknown Sea,
And a ripple of waters’ to tell the tale
Of a lonely voyager sailing away
To mystic isles
Where at anchor lay
The craft of those who had sailed before
O’er the Unknown Sea
To the Unknown Shore

A few who watched me sail away
Will miss my craft from the busy bay
Some friendly barques were anchored near
Some loving souls my heart held dear
In silent sorrow will drop a tear
But I shall have peacefully furled my sail
In mooring sheltered from the storm and gale
And greeted friends who had sailed before
O’er the Unknown Sea
To the Unknown Shore

The Voyage

by Christie Moore

I am a sailor, you’re my first mate
We signed on together, we coupled our fate
Hauled up our anchor, determined not to fail
For the hearts treasure, together we set sail
With no maps to guide us we steered our own course
Rode out the storms when the winds were gale force
Sat out the doldrums in patience and hope
Working together we learned how to cope
Life is an ocean and love is a boat
In troubled water that keeps us afloat
When we started the voyage, there was just me and you
Now gathered round us, we have our own crew
Together we’re in this relationship
We built it with care to last the whole trip
Our true destination’s not marked on any charts
We’re navigating to the shores of the heart
Life is an ocean and love is a boat
In troubled water that keeps us afloat,
When we started the voyage, there was just me and you
Now gathered round us, we have our own crew

When The Last Hand Comes Aboard

by © Richard John Scarr

No more a watch to stand, Old Sailor.
For you are drifting on an ebbing tide.
Eight Bells has rung. Last dogwatch done.
Now a new berth awaits you on the other side.

Your ship is anchored in God’s Harbour.
And your ship mates, now of equal rank.
Are mustered on the deck to greet.
And Pipe as you ascend the Plank.

Her Boilers with full head of steam.
Cargo stowed and alley stored.
Just waiting to get underway.
When the last Hand comes aboard.

Look sharp! That Hand is you, Old Sailor.
And you’ll be sailing out on Heavenly Seas.
May the wind be ever at your back.
Fair weather, and God Speed!

SCIENCE – DONATION OF BODY TO MEDICAL RESEARCH

Cambridge University Medical Students’ Letter

A letter of appreciation to one anonymous donor’s family

A group of Cambridge University medical students sent this tribute

The sacrifice made by our donor has made our start in the medical profession unique. It has given us the privilege to study the intricacy of the human body in astounding detail and in a real situation with a real person. The benefit of this cannot be underestimated.

The human body is highly variable, and this is a point that books and lectures frequently attempt to illustrate. Unfortunately, they are entirely unable to communicate it, but learning anatomy with a real person can clearly show this, and has afforded us a greater understanding that cannot be replicated in any other way.

We never knew our donor in real life. She had character, a life and a story that we cannot understand from simply studying her anatomy. The glimpse of her we saw over this year is a tiny fraction of the lady you, her relatives, knew. However, we do know that she was brave and kind because it takes such a person to make this decision. It is nothing short of incredible.

We know that our respect and admiration will not replace her, nor will it ease the grief of her loss, but we would like you to know that we do respect her and we will never forget her. This is not just because as our teacher, she was our first introduction to anatomy and medicine, but because she gave her body for our sakes and for the sake of those we will treat in the future. This is, of course, unforgettable.

We also appreciate the strength that it has taken for you to wait to grieve normally over someone who was so close to you. We will strive to make this sacrifice worth it.

We are sure that we will be better doctors for having received the help of your relative, and we all feel sure that the memory of her will focus and help us in continuing our studies. This will not just be due to the unparalleled level of anatomical knowledge that she has afforded us, but the example that her selflessness has set us.

We will work to be worthy of this lady’s sacrifice and it will not have been in vain.


TOP OF PAGE                               HOME


SCOTLAND

Death is Nothing At All

By Henry Scott-Holland

The author, Henry Scott-Holland (1847 – 1918), a priest at St. Paul’s Cathedral of London, did not intend it as a poem, it was actually delivered as part of a 1910 sermon  titled, “Death the King of Terrors” preached while the body of King Edward VII was lying in state at Westminster.

Death is nothing at all.
It does not count.
I have only slipped away into the next room.
Everything remains as it was.
The old life that we lived so fondly together is untouched, unchanged.
Whatever we were to each other, that we are still.
Call me by the old familiar name.
Speak of me in the easy way which you always u