... Doris Gladden
Doris was a special friend who used to visit
when I became disabled following an accident.
She loved my poetry … and laughed and cried
at my choice of words, and also understood
my response when on one occasion,
she asked of me …
“What is it like not to be free?
My reply was … …
“My words are my passion
and my passion gives me liberty”
Thus, at the request of her husband Harold
and devoted family, my poem Loved Ones,
was written to be read at her funeral.
It was my very first bereavement poem,
hence the title of this book.
In memory of…
Life as we know it;
her image has gone.
But her spirit, her soul,
her love lingers on.
We will all hold precious
memories close in our hearts.
The love she have given to us
in turn we'll impart.
In memory of ...
Release all your tears;
give vent to your sorrow.
Our loved one will help us to heal,
to live for to-morrow.
Yours is now a world
more blessed than this
and we only ask that you impart
just one small portion of your bliss
to soothe our sorrow here … on earth.
Precious child …
There’s a golden haze
on the edge of my days
and my paths are no longer long;
but, because of our love so true,
my horizons are immersed in heavenly hues
and the shoreline is brimming with song.
And now, as my thoughts
grow ever tender and I sift the sands of time;
mine is the gift of a perfect peace
as I clasp your precious hand in mine.
For ours is a constant love sublime;
and now … as we embrace beyond
the stillness of dusks mists and shadows,
and listen to a distant curlew’s call.
I feel blessed … knowing all that’s beautiful
belongs to us still, and, until we meet again;
the warmth of our love will slumber on.
My dearest love ...
In foreign fields,
fluttering on a lonely breeze,
great swathes of poppies grew with ease;
defiant ... where no other flowers dared to grow.
bold yet flimsy ... tissue thin in dismal cold,
they were plucked by shaking hands
in turbulent, war torn lands.
pressed amidst pages of affection,
tokens of love were sent;
written by men close to death
in muddied, bloodied,
Now … though evocative memories
of dark, stark days remain …
let history rest in peace.
Remember men so brave, who fought
and prayed that wars might cease.
On this, the 11th hour ... in silence
scatter poppies on Remembrance Day.
Let peace abide.
Wear love tokens from the battlefields
We must not resort to war again.
Never, should we profit from death and pain.
If never, ever comes ... it will be too soon;
let scarlet poppies flourish
and bloom ... in peace.
Never should we resort to war again …
What Price Life?
Gift of Life