Poetry Corner

Index

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 sunlight 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 circled flight.

I am the soft stars that shine at night.

Do not stand at my grave and cry;

I am not there. I did not die.

~~ANON~~ We recieved an email on 27/12/00 with the following information

Your lead poem "Do not stand at my grave..." is not anonymous.

The author is Mary Elizabeth Fry, from Baltimore, MD. She is now 94 years

old. She wrote it in the 1930s for her friend whose mother had passed away.

Her friend loved the poem so much that she started circulating it to her

friends and coworkers. She recieves no royalties. Please give her credit.

(I got this information from a recent CBC radio documentary about the search

for the poem's author.)

So full credit to Mary Elizabeth Fry for a beautiful poem.

Index

DIANA By Julie Swayze

August 31st 1997,

A life went from our lives

A new star shines in heaven.

The love Diana always showed,

Her eyes that twinkled,

A smile that glowed.

One glance and all was well

Spirits lifted, hearts were swelled.

A life snuffed out with one cruel blow

The nation mourns, we all feel low.

No-one unaffected by heartfelt grief

Her short life was Oh, too brief!

The world will always remember Diana,

No-one will forget

The warmth and compassion surrounding her,

Will live on, yet.

She truly was an angel, a person only lent

From heaven we only borrowed her, now her time is spent.

But her warmth will continue on

Her work only started.

Her spirit will never be gone,

‘Though this world she has departed.

Index

THE LIFEBOAT By Julie Swayze

Another dark and dreary night,

No stars to see, no moon to light.

The rain beats down without a break,

The wind it blows, a howl it makes.

The boat is all alone at sea,

On board the Captain drinks his tea!

The waves so high, the troughs so low,

The boat is tossed, both to and fro.

The crew are worried, a boat so small,

They’re not sure they’ll make it through this squall!

The wind blows harder, the rain turns to sleet,

For the men in this boat, there’ll be no sleep[.

“We’re taking on water!”, a shout goes up

The Captain, he’s worried, stares into his cup.

He decides it’s time, no longer can they cope,

The Lifeboat, it seems, is their only hope.

A call on the radio, “Mayday!”, he shouts,

A friendly voice answers, “We’re on our way out”.

The men stand huddled against nature’s forces,

The lifeboat is coming, charting its courses.

From out of the spray comes a great orange saviour,

The crew on board, volunteers, but great sailors.

Without these men and women, all brave and true,

What would happen next time? It may be me or you.

So give just a little, whatever you can spare,

For selfless people like these are truly rare!

Index

REMEMBER ME

When the sun shines so brightly

That your glad to be alive

When you feel it's warmth around you

Face raised towards the sky

See its rays as if by magic

Send diamonds to the sea

Remember me ......

When it's springtime and you're walking

Through the park, perhaps alone

The scent of fresh mown grass

And flower newly born

With the sound of childrens laughter

And birdsong in the air

See blossom on the tree

Remember me .......

If you look into your childrens eyes

And see the love within

A trust that comes unbidden

A smile that makes your day

Feel the joy that you have given

Remember me........

When you look and see and hear and touch

These things that I have loved so much

Then I will not be gone you see

Because you have remembered me .....

ANON

Index

WARNING by Jenny Joseph

When I am an old woman i shall wear purple

With a red hat that doesn't go, and doesn't suit me,

And I shall spend my pension

On brandy and summer gloves

And satin sandals,

And say we've no money for butter.

I shall sit down on the pavement when I'm tired

And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells,

And run my stick along the public railings,

And make up for the sobriety of my youth.

I shall go out in my slippers in the rain

And pick flowers in other people's gardens

And learn to spit

You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat,

And eat three pounds of sausages at a go,

Or only bread and pickle for a week,

And hoard pens and pencils and beer mats

And things in boxes.

But no we must have clothes that keep us dry,

And pay our rent and not swear in the street,

And set a good example to our children.

We will have friends to dinner and read the papers.

But maybe I ought to practise a little now ?

So people who know me

Are not to shocked and suprised

When suddenly I am old

And start to wear purple!

Index

The Most Beautiful Flower
The park bench was deserted as I sat down to read
Beneath the long, straggly branches of an old willow tree.
Disillusioned by life with good reason to frown,
For the world was intent on dragging me down.
And if that weren't enough to ruin my day,
A young boy out of breath approached me, all tired from play.
He stood right before me with his head tilted down
And said with great excitement, "Look what I found!"
In his hand was a flower, and what a pitiful sight,
With its petals all worn - not enough rain, or too little light.
Wanting him to take his dead flower and go off to play,
I faked a small smile and then shifted away.
But instead of retreating he sat next to my side
And placed the flower to his nose
And declared with overacted surprise,
"It sure smells pretty and it's beautiful, too.
That's why I picked it; here, it's for you."
The weed before me was dying or dead.
Not vibrant of colors orange, yellow or red.
But I knew I must take it, or he might never leave.
So I reached for the flower, and replied, "Just what I need."
But instead of him placing the flower in my hand,
He held it mid-air without reason or plan.
It was then that I noticed for the very first time
That weed-toting boy could not see he was blind.
I heard my voice quiver; tears shone in the sun
As I thanked him for picking the very best one.
You're welcome," he smiled, and then ran off to play,
Unaware of the impact he'd had on my day.
I sat there and wondered how he managed to see
A self-pitying woman beneath an old willow tree.
How did he know of my self-indulged plight?
Perhaps from his heart, he'd been blessed with true sight.
Through the eyes of a blind child, at last I could see
The problem was not with the world; the problem was me.
And for all of those times I myself had been blind,
I vowed to see the beauty in life,
And appreciate every second that's mine.
And then I held that wilted flower up to my nose
And breathed in the fragrance of a beautiful rose
And smiled as I watched that young boy,
Another weed in his hand,
About to change the life of an unsuspecting old man.

So beautifully written by...©Paula Hestad

DO NOT STAND AT MY GRAVE AND WEEP	DIANA	THE LIFEBOAT

REMEMBER ME	WARNING	THE MOST BEAUTIFUL FLOWER