New Every Morning by Susan Coolidge

Every day is a fresh beginning Listen my soul to the glad refrain. And, spite of old sorrows And older sinning, Troubles forecasted And possible pain, Take heart with the day and begin again.

My Boy Jack by Rudyard Kipling

Have you news of my boy Jack?

Not this tide.

When do you think that he’ll come back?

Not with this wind blowing, and this tide.

Has anyone else had word of him?

Not this tide. For what is sunk will hardly swim,

Not with this wind blowing, and this tide.

Oh, dear, what comfort can I find?

None this tide nor any tide,

Except he did not shame his kind

Not even with that wind blowing, and that tide.

Then hold your head up all the more

This tide and every tide

Because he was the son you bore and gave to that wind blowing and that tide

 

The Queen and The Soldier for Adam

The soldier came knocking upon the queen’s door
He said, “I am not fighting for you any more”
The queen knew she’d seen his face somewhere before
And slowly she let him inside.

He said, “I’ve watched your palace up here on the hill
And I’ve wondered who’s the woman for whom we all kill
But I am leaving tomorrow and you can do what you will
Only first I am asking you why.”

Down in the long narrow hall he was led
Into her rooms with her tapestries red
And she never once took the crown from her head
She asked him there to sit down.

He said, “I see you now, and you are so very young
But I’ve seen more battles lost than I have battles won
And I’ve got this intuition, says it’s all for your fun
And now will you tell me why?”

The young queen, she fixed him with an arrogant eye
She said, “You won’t understand, and you may as well not try”
But her face was a child’s, and he thought she would cry
But she closed herself up like a fan.

And she said, “I’ve swallowed a secret burning thread
It cuts me inside, and often I’ve bled”
He laid his hand then on top of her head
And he bowed her down to the ground.

“Tell me how hungry are you? How weak you must feel
As you are living here alone, and you are never revealed
But I won’t march again on your battlefield”
And he took her to the window to see.

And the sun, it was gold, though the sky, it was gray
And she wanted more than she ever could say
But she knew how it frightened her, and she turned away
And would not look at his face again.

And he said, “I want to live as an honest man
To get all I deserve and to give all I can
And to love a young woman who I don’t understand
Your highness, your ways are very strange.”

But the crown, it had fallen, and she thought she would break
And she stood there, ashamed of the way her heart ached
She took him to the doorstep and she asked him to wait
She would only be a moment inside.

Out in the distance her order was heard
And the soldier was killed, still waiting for her word
And while the queen went on strangeling in the solitude she preferred
The battle continued on

Fields Of Gold

You’ll remember me when the west wind moves
Among the fields of barley
You can tell the sun in his jealous sky
When we walked in fields of gold

So she took her love for to gaze awhile
Among the fields of barley
In his arms she fell as her hair came down
Among the fields of gold

Will you stay with me will you be my love
Among the fields of barley
And you can tell the sun in his jealous sky
When we walked in fields of gold

I never made promises lightly
And there have been some that I’ve broken
But I swear in the days still left
We will walk in fields of gold

Many years have passed since those summer days
Among the fields of barley
See the children run as the sun goes down
As you lie in fields of gold

In memory of my good friend Pat Murray

The Life That I Have by Leo Marks 1920-2001

The life that I have is all that I have

and the life that I have is yours

The love that I have of the life that I have

is yours and yours and yours

A sleep I shall have a rest I shall have

yet death will be but a pause

for the peace of my years in the long green grass

will be yours and yours and yours

Written on Christmas Eve 1943 by criptographer Leo Marks and used in the film Carve Her Name With Pride

If It’s Me by Nicholas Evans

If I be the first of us to die

Let grief not blacken long your sky.

Be bold yet modest in your grieving,

There is a change but not a leaving.

For just as death is part of life

The dead live on forever in the living.

For all the gathered riches of our journey,

The moments shared,the mysteries explored,

The steady layer of intimacy stored,

The things that made us laugh or weep or sing,

The joy of sunlit snow or first unfurling of the spring,

The wordless language of look and touch,

The knowing,

Each giving and each taking,

These are not flowers that fade,

Nor trees that fall and crumble,

Nor are they stone,

For even stone cannot the wind and rain withstand,

And mighty mountain peaks in time reduce to sand.

What we  were, we are,

What we had, we have,

A conjoined past imperishably present.

So when you walk the woods where once we walked together

And scan in vain  the dappled bank beside you for my shadow,

Or pause where we always did upon the hill to gaze across the land,

And spotting something, reach by habit for my hand

And finding none, feel sorrow start to steal upon you,

Be still,

Close your eyes,

Breathe,

I am not gone but merely walk within you.

My Boys by Chris Williams

When I think of my boys

I think happiness and joys

In abundance

Lullabies and sleepy times

Storybooks and nursery rhymes

Soft, soft hair and warm sweet skin

Love that only a mother is in

Hours spent playing and learning and growing

Watching the years pass and not really knowing

That what I had then I could never replace

My own piece of heaven in each little face

How I long now to hold them again

My three little boys have grown into men

All clever and handsome and good and kind

A better family no-one could find

But I still miss my babies and always will

There’s a hole in my heart that nothing could fill

I do have my memories sharp still and clear

I just close my eyes and they all re-appear

Blonde hair with blue eyes and dimples each side

Black hair with brown eyes a pixie I spied

Blonde hair with brown eyes and a smile that could melt

Nothing could better the pride that I felt

Tottering steps and cheeky smiles

If joy could be measured it would go on for miles

What can I say; I was blessed with these three

I don’t need to find heaven I’ve been there you see

Ave Maria by Chris Williams

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When I walked into work today

I switched on the radio and it started to play

Ave Maria

It took me straight back to that time

When a memory was made that will always be mine

You, me and Cath went into town

Our mission to buy my own wedding gown

I wasn’t keen about the whole thing

But the music comes on a voice starts to sing

Ave Maria

We both looked at you and then at each other

Amazed to see tears in the eyes of our Mother

Cath gave you a hug, I stood there feeling silly

In a dress that I thought was too white and too frilly

The memory is strong, I can picture it clear

You, me and Cath and the song we could hear

Ave Maria

The World Of Remembrance

The world of remembrance
A world set apart
A world we first visit with tears
The cost of admission is one broken heart
How painful that world first appears
The world of remembrance
A world of recall
A world full of people who care
With portals of love that are open to all
Built on the memories we share
The world of remembrance
A world full of love
A world with no room for regret
As endless and bright as the sky up above
As long as we never forget
When the wonder and beauty of this world has passed
And life’s tribulations are gone
As long as our love and our memories last
The world of remembrance lives on

http://www.worldofremembrance.com/index.php

Sidney Armstrong copyright Catherine Turner

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The little town of Banjo Bay sits proudly in the cove,

Welcoming her sons home from their toil,

Her harbor filled with laughter, her streets bedecked with love,

A place for growing up and growing old.

The morning sun shines down upon the busy little forge,

Sidney Armstrong at the anvil stands,

The mighty bellows suck and blow, the fiery furnace roars,

The hammer rings within his tattooed hands.

Not only on the work-worn hands the inky pictures rest,

But 5 and 30 do they count in all,

Decked along his muscled arms and o’er his rippling chest,

One for every year he has been born.

The sacred cross of Jesus, a ship ‘neath stormy skies,

A crouching leopard snarling on his back,

An eagle in ascendance on his shoulder gaily flies,

A heart of deepest red upon his neck.

No family does Sidney have, every soul passed on,

Taken when the fever stalked the town,

The sparks that burned his father’s hands now fall upon his own,

The forge, in perpetuity passed down.

The citizens of Banjo Bay treat Sidney with respect,

Not a one his wrath would care to see,

The hand that bends the chain could just as surely bend a neck,

So none would wish to be his enemy.

No foe has he to fight and yet no friend with which to bide,

No loving wife to claim as kith and kin,

None to know the caring heart that Sidney Armstrong hides,

The gentle giant ‘neath the tattooed skin.

No daughter born of Banjo Bay would Sidney care to charm,

Not one could bring a twinkle to his eyes,

Except for she who milks the cows upon her father’s farm,

She who he has worshipped all her life.

 

Sweet 16 and never kissed is beautiful Claudette,

A-dreaming as she goes about the farm,

By day she cuts the creamy curds that keep the family fed,

By night she weaves the cloth that keeps them warm.

“A blessing” say her family. ‘The best in all the world,

Never has she missed one day of work”,

“A credit” say the wagging tongues “A simple, modest girl,

Not one to wear the paint or twirl the skirt”.

And she, the beautiful Claudette, whose eyes know only good,

Sees the gentle giant ‘neath the skin,

Only Sidney Armstrong, no other would she choose,

Only he, to slip the wedding ring.

To spare her from the wagging tongues in secret have they met,

Strolling on the ever shifting sand,

But no longer can he live without the beautiful Claudette,

And now he comes to ask the milk-maid’s hand.

But sad to say, for such as they, no happy ending waits,

‘Too young” the farmer says, “to be a wife”,

As Sidney leaves she watches, beside the rusty gate,

Thinking on her simple, empty life.

Now hands that gently cradled, her shoulders roughly grasp,

“Away lass, to the loom” the farmer cries,

But she, with every dream of happiness so cruelly dashed,

Turns on him with hatred in her eyes.

“All my life, devotedly I laboured at your side,

And never have I asked for praise or pay,

But always have I dreamed that I would one day be the bride

Of he who works the forge in Banjo Bay”.

“No more will I cut the creamy curds or weave the cloth,

Away am I to seek my lover spurned”,

Then, cutting of the apron strings that keep her from her love,

She leaves the farmhouse, never to return.

 

But without the farmer’s blessing she can never be a bride,

So to the forge no entry does she gain,

She knocks the heavy door again, the blacksmith stays inside,

He loves the girl too much to bring her shame.

  

The cord is cut, the die is cast, and now we find the girl

Wandering a dark and stormy night,

Cast adrift is she upon an unforgiving world,

Will no-one here take pity on her plight?

Curtains twitch at casements, but ne’er a welcome here,

Only at the Inn is succour given,

To the swell of raucous laughter and the reek of foaming beer,

An arm around her shoulders leads her in.

 

And so the seasons turn upon the restless, rolling tide,

Another weaves the cloth and fills the pail,

Sidney Armstrong sits alone and tends his wounded pride,

The girl, deserted, hurtles from the rails.

Now in the little Inn we see the girl about her work,

All eyes upon her undulating hips,

And ne’er a sailor there who has not turned the twirling skirt,

Or smudged the scarlet on the pouting lips.

 

The chilling mist creeps in upon the narrow, cobbled streets,

As Sidney Armstrong takes his evening stroll,

And now, a moaning terrible as of a wounded beast

Echoes from an alley, damp and cold.

There upon the cobbles, ‘neath a pile of bloodied clothes,

Sidney finds the beautiful Claudette,

Tossed aside to meet her fate by hand of heartless rogue,

Lingering is she twixt life and death.

Sidney in his agony seeks a helping hand,

Every door in Banjo Bay is knocked,

But ne’er a hand is offered to the fearsome, tattooed man,

Every door in Banjo Bay stays locked.

 

So now into the quiet forge he brings the dying lass,

But at the door the sickened reaper waits,

Now beautiful Claudette into a kinder world must pass,

For hands that bend the chain cannot bend fate.

  

‘”Parted for eternity” you say. Well, maybe not,

The blame is his; the damage has been done,

Sidney Armstrong draws the blind and turns the heavy lock,

Even now, the happy ending comes.

For there we see, within the tattooed hand, a gleaming knife,

That splits in two the heart of deepest red,

Now joined are they in death as they could never be in life,

The blacksmith and his beautiful Claudette.

 

But souls in torment cannot rest and so it is with they,

Cursed are they to wander evermore,

Arm in arm together through the streets of Banjo Bay,

Their ghostly fingers tapping at the door.

 

Maybe their quest is over. Maybe they rest in peace,

Maybe they found an answer to their knock,

And maybe it is just a dream that wakens you from sleep,

And just the wind a-rattling the lock.