Repatriations

Times have changed since I was a Swindon boy


GWR thousands used to employ

Still it’s nice to reminisce

When a train ride to the sea was sheer bliss

Cycling was a joy

When I was a boy

We would cycle to “Bassett” with a mate on the bar

And hardly ever see a car

Wootton Bassett was then a small country town

Now through fate it has world renown

It is in the county of Wilts

And has an ancient town hall built on stilts

If only those walls could talk

As between the pillars we walk

Over the years many celebrations it’s seen

Weddings and coronations of kings and our queen

History books tell us of wars in the past

The Great War was supposed to be the last

Till Hitler decided Poland to invade

And Chamberlain his “ we are at war” speech made

VE- day was an epic event

Since then to various conflicts our troops have been sent

Repatriations are on the increase

From foreign conflicts that do not cease

From the current one ,the “fallen ” to RAF Lyneham fly in

That’s where the sad journeys begin

When the church bell tolls all is quiet and still

As the cortege comes up over the hill

When at the cenotaph it arrives

We mourn the loss of so many lives

A new generation are paying the ultimate price

Why oh why can’t everyone be nice?

British legion members salute with pride

As the standards are lowered side by side

Complete silence as the cortege passes by

In the crowd many a tear in the eye

Lining the street are both young and old

What will the toddlers by their mothers be told

Continuing the journey more homage is paid

We are proud of the effort we have made

As the convoy finally departs

We return home with heavy hearts

The world should be a wonderful place

Whatever has happened to the human race?

G.E.Maller

September 2009

Summer

Now the sun each dawn is shining
Earth with heav'n in joy aligning
Fear and doubt to hell consigning
Light and shade and dew entwining,
All creation sings!

Fiery sun at noon is blazing;
Heat strikes down, our senses dazing.
Couched in sun, the cows lie gazing.
Bright the stream its pebbles glazing;
Damsel flies flip wings.

Eventide is filled with day light.
Grasses, slivered, shine with spray-light.
Tiny clouds like foam are gay-white.
Gently comes the star-flung twilight
Sweetly bells may ring.

Summer's blessings rain like showers
Days that, golden, stretch their hours;
New-born life can bloom like flowers,
Fledgling birds can try their powers,
Thankful praises sing!

The poet's art

Take a stone

And given the choice, pick one any one

It's opal every time

Found buried without its sparkle

Subterranean Cinders

Pre-transformation scene

Hone it, this stone

Patience and TLC

Craftsman's skill in lieu of magic wand

But same gasp!

See the rainbow

Catch kingfisher caught fire, blue

Blood orange, turquoise

Released in laser light show

Personally I think

I'll never grow immune

Always the heart-lift

A perfect poem

A little low heaven

Beauty held within

Sally, 27.6.2010, Hounoux

Pentecost rap

When the Holy Spirit came
our heads lit up with holy flame.
We overflowed with praise and joy;
the people who heard all said - oh boy!

Come Holy Spirit we welcome you!
Come Holy Spirit we welcome you!

How do they know just what to say
in languages that come from far away?
Three thousand were baptised that day
When the Holy Spirit came to stay.

Come Holy Spirit we welcome you!
Come Holy Spirit we welcome you.

We travelled round the world and taught
the great Good News that Jesus brought.
That's what the Church will always do,
So let's rejoice that God loves you!

Come Holy Spirit we welcome you!
Come Holy Spirit we welcome you!

Tabitha

We almost know her, don't we?

The lady of means, widowed,

giving her time to works of charity.

So skilled she is,

her hands provide good garments,

well made and durable,

respectful and respectable.

We can almost see her, too.

The noble brow,

the firm-lipped mouth,

the greying hair held neatly back,

the movements quite quick still,

getting on with life,

putting widowhood somewhere apart,

in the silence of the heart,

where pain must dwell,

but not be dwelt upon.

We can almost hear her too.

Practical, factual, kind;

a voice of cadences

that speak of kindnesses

and a most of all a heart aware.

Then one day she's not there.

The gap -

the silence -

the unmet need -

they must have been unbearable,

the unfilled space an aching void.

Tradition carries one,

one knows just what to do,

the helpful ritual.

Some comfort then

to wash the waxen limbs,

to comb the springy hair,

to clothe with fragrance

that which shortly starts to rot.

Some comfort, yes,

but not a lot.

So who first whispered,

who first dared to hope,

and what was said,

to birth their daring plan

to call upon the fisherman,

he of healing touch,

of whom they'd heard so much,

and what exactly did they hope?

Did they think, did they even know

that anything was possible,

and any hope permissible,

the walls of death now passable -

oh yes!

I think they did.

Hearing a new story in the old one.

I listened again today

as I'd listened inside me all week

at what God had to say

through the lesson that's set for today.

It's the moment unspeakable

unrepeatable

when first the risen Christ appears

and you imagine it was you

that saw him through your tears.

You imagine it was you

that simply wasn't there,

and tried hard not to care

through not believing,

but who, believing, worshipped.

All this I thought upon,

in a well-worn groove.

But this time I heard too

the alternative to Pentecost,

the simple breath,

the plain command, receive,

and that confident word,

"If you forgive..."

Notes on the nature of time

Time flies by when you're having fun
so easy lost so rarely won
Time drags when you are bored
What a waste of a valuable hoard


Youth passes by so quickly
While the lingerers grow old and sickly
Wait a minute turns to several hours
your valuable time this wait devours


There is nowhere to hide from time
It has no reason nor a rhyme
So enjoy your time, have a ball
because in the end time fooled us all


by dan green