You by Catherine Turner

A mother saw a little boy

A father saw a son

A daughter saw a daddy’s strength

That she could lean upon

A son’s eyes saw a trusted friend

A pal to look up to

Each member of our family

Saw a different you

But every time that our eyes met

As only lover’s can

I know that I’m the only one

Who really saw the man 

 

Thoughts on a Funeral by Catherine Turner

Today as I went off to work on the bus

I started to think about Mother and us

Of the way that she’d died and her funeral when

We all went together and stood in the Crem

Then, as I remembered that horrible day

I started imagining what she would say

If she rose from her coffin and hovered above

To look down on the family she’d blessed with her love

 

“Just look at our Cath, she’s standing down there

Bursting forth all the hymns like she hadn’t a care

With her head held up high and looking so proud

Belting The Old Rugged Cross out so loud

While not even needing to glance at the page

Just look at our Cath, she should be on the stage.”

 

“Just look at our Chris, just along from Cath

with her tears splashing down onto Job’s photograph

We started together when she took her first breath

And it ended the same on the night of my death

I wish I could stop her from feeling so sad

Just look at our Chris, just like her Dad.”

 

“Just look at our Roy, my baby, my son,

No Mother could have a more wonderful one

Of all of my memories he brings me the best

Who’ll fetch his chocolate now I’m laid to rest?

Who’ll bake the bread puddings and fresh apple pies?

Just look at our Roy with tears in his eyes.”

 

“Just look at you three crying out for your Mother

But time will bring smiles if you cling to each other

Forget all the bad times, remember the good

Count your blessings like I always told you you should

Make your happiness as strong as the pain it replaces

Just look at you three; I love the sight of your faces.”

 

“Just look at them leaving, and I’m left alone

Goodbye my two lovely daughters and son

Now two loving arms I feel slipped round my waist

As two tender lips kiss the tears from my face

With those eyes of blue I recall from the past

Just look at us Job…… together… at last.”

The Innkeeper’s Tale by Catherine Turner

The Innkeeper sat listening
To the shepherd as he spoke
He thought the story so bizarre
It surely was a joke
The shepherds told of angels,
Of stars and mighty kings
A baby born to rule the world
And other mystic things
He said the child was sent from God
To save the world from sin
That Princes, Pharaohs, Queens and Kings
Would bow their knee to him
The lame would walk, the blind would see
All men would know his grace
And where had all this happened?
Why! At this very place
The Innkeeper went quickly
To tell his wife the tale
And both agreed the shepherd
Must have taken too much ale

Later, when the inn was closed
He tidied round the tables
And picking up his sturdy broom
Went out to sweep the stables
A carpenter from Nazareth
Had stayed there overnight
His wife was near her time
He’d taken pity on their plight
He knew she’d been delivered
For he heard a baby’s cry
How brilliant the sky had been
How sweet her lullaby

He fed the donkey, milked the cow
And brushed the dusty floor
Then something shiny caught his eye
In amongst the straw
Picking up the golden piece
He turned it in his palm
And wondered where on Earth
A treasure such as this came from
A carpenter could never own
A jewel of such worth
Then he thought about the shepherd
And the little baby’s birth
Suddenly he realised he stood on Holy ground
And rushed inside to show his wife
The token he had found
They thought at first to keep it
Then agreed that would be wrong
The treasure should be taken
To the child, where it belonged
If mighty kings would come this far
The baby to behold
What vengeance would his father wreak
On those who stole his gold
The Innkeeper pulled on his cloak
To follow in their wake
Wondering which road
The blessed carpenter would take
His wife went to the stable
She sat awhile and wept
Then prayed beside the manger
Where the newborn babe had slept

Carrying his bundle
He hurried through the night
Back towards the cosy Inn
To calm his worried wife
Then, in the early morning
As the sleepy village stirred
The Innkeeper informed his wife
Of all that had occurred
Sitting close beside her
On the corner of their bed
In no more than a whisper
This is what he said…

“We met at the oasis
They seemed to know I’d come
The carpenter sat watching
As the mother nursed her son
I asked him of the baby’s name
The Son Of Man, said he
I asked their destination
He told me…. Calvary
I asked how long the road,
He said, The end will mark the start
I asked to see the baby
He said, Look to your heart
I asked if I should follow
He said to wait and pray
I asked which path to take
He said a cross would show the way
I offered him the golden piece
He looked towards the child
Then I heard an angel singing
And I swear the baby smiled”

The wife embraced her husband
And held his trembling hand
For though he spoke in riddles
She seemed to understand
Then, opening the bundle
He had carried on his back
Twenty thousand golden pieces
Fell into her lap

Bloody Hell

I want to see my mother’s eyes of blue

I want to see some happy memories too

But though I try and try with all my might

all I ever see is red and white

I want to smell the hops and see the green

I want to conjure up what childhoods mean

but every time I shut my eyes up tight

all I ever see is red and white

How long will it be before I see

some pictures that will bring relief to me

How long before my heart will let it go

and set me free to let my feelings flow

Oh how I wish I could erase that sight

Of blood, blood red and pure cotton white

Looking Forward by Glenn Williams

Although your age in months
Is but a meagre minus three

I’m writing this to let you know
You mean the world to me

Just thinking of the joy you’ll bring
In all the years to come

Replaces all my winter moans
With glorious summer sun

I want to introduce myself
I’m your Uncle G

And tell you that you’ll always have
A friend right here in me

I cannot give you Frankincense
And Myrrh is far too rare

And as for gold I doubt I’ll have
A single copper spare

But head and heart and life and soul
I’ll pledge to you with joy

‘cause even though you’re not yet born
You’re my favourite girl/boy

Along The Road by Robert Browning

I walked a mile with Pleasure
She chattered all the way
But left me none the wiser
For all she had to say
I walked a mile with Sorrow
And ne’er a word said she
But oh, the things
I learned from her
When Sorrow walked with me

Roots and Wings by Chris Williams

Be their someone to depend on
Make them safe at home
Let them go whenever they need to
Let them search and roam

 

 

Love them to the nth degree
Smother them with care
Set them free to soar like angels
Who knows how they’ll fare

 

 

Love them for their faults and weakness
Praise them for their skills
You will learn from their endeavour
This is no battle of wills

 

 

Let them march to a different drummer
If that’s what they need
Let them make their own mistakes
Though your heart may bleed

 

 

Your children are a gift to you
You must give your best
Give them roots but give them wings
…..They will do the rest

 

Old Salt – copyright Catherine Ann Turner

 

The little town of Banjo Bay
Sits proudly in the cove
Welcoming her sons home from their toil
Her harbour filled with laughter
Her streets bedecked with love
A place for growing up and growing old

The evening sun shines down
Upon a restless rolling sea
That brings the weary fisherman to port
It gently laps the peeling paint
of Lady Eveline
And sprays the silvery beard of dear Old Salt

Happily he turns the tiller
Firmly in his hand
Looking to the harbour of his heart
And there he sees sweet Eveline
Waiting on the sand
Waving of her pretty gingham scarf

He deftly slips the anchor
The longer for to spy
She who every day waves from the shore
And thinks “Who else in all the world
Is luckier than I
Truly I could wish for nothing more” 

Long years now since little fingers
Clutched her slender hand
And little feet among the sand dunes played
One sacrificed to King and country
in a foreign land
One lost beneath the waves of Banjo Bay

For forty years and longer
Every day while out at sea
He dreamed about that pretty gingham scarf
The scarf she always waves
As she stands waiting on the quay
The gift he gave the day he won her heart

But endlessly the tides must turn
And so it is for they
Ebb and flow go on with measured pace
Even love as deep as theirs
Cannot keep time at bay
And soon the sickened reaper shows his face

The evening sun shines down
Upon a restless, rolling sea
No pretty gingham now to wave him home
It’s with a heavy heart
He leaves the Lady Eveline
To walk along the silent mile alone

An empty room, a lonely bed,
no-one to hug and kiss
no slender hand to stroke his silvery beard
no will to see tomorrow
no need to toil or fish
nobody there to share the golden years

With a sail of lost tomorrows
and a rudder forged in pain
her splintered deck awash with broken dreams
the lonely Lady Eveline
puts out to sea again
carried on a melancholy breeze

The sad, forgotten fisherman
Stands proudly on the deck
Gazing to the lights of Banjo Bay
His calloused fingers gently knot
The gingham at his neck
And with a sigh he sadly turns away

No baited hook or tangled line
No weight or snarling net
No deck to swab or anchor to be thrown
No map or compass does he bring
The final course is set
His memories will bring him safely home

The morning star shines down
Upon the lights of Banjo Bay
Yet nought is there to see for they who gaze
But the scarlet of another sunrise
Heralding the day
And a scarf of gingham floating on the waves

Charlie Bright – copyright Catherine Ann Turner

 

The little town of Banjo Bay
Sits proudly in the cove
Welcoming her sons home from their toil
Her harbour filled with laughter
Her streets bedecked with love
A place for growing up and growing old
Charlie Bright the butcher’s boy
Rides his trusty bike
Along the quiet streets of Banjo Bay
His basket filled with sausages,
Bacon, chops and tripe
Delivering the orders of the day
Unlike the name he carries
Charlie isn’t very bright
People always stare at him and laugh
But Charlie in his ignorance
Atop his trusty bike
If by chance should notice, just laughs back
The citizens of Banjo Bay
Are partial to their fish
For fishing is the trade they most enjoy
But sometimes they will hanker
For another kind of dish
And that’s when Charlie’s bike finds its employ
Although the bike is sturdy
It has seen far better days
Used by many butcher’s boys before
And though no-one can quite recall
Just when it had been made
It certainly was long before the war
Now Charlie had no family
A foundling he had been
A mother and a father had he none
Mr. Bright had found the baby
on the village green
and being childless claimed him as his own
Mr Bright was happy
as a living soul could be
for Charlie was the son he never had
and though the boy was happy
with his new found family
never had he called the old man Dad

The morning sun shines brightly
On the narrow, cobbled streets
As Charlie’s rusty wheels spin wildly round
He gives a smile and waves a hand
At everyone he meets
Pedalling like fury through the town
As he goes he thinks about
the old familiar dream
and wonders at the face that lingers still
the face of she who left him
on the lonely village green
and face that didn’t care and never will
Sausages for Eveline
A bacon joint for Jane
A pound of tripe for poor old Mr. Jones
Chops for Mrs Smart
Who owns the bakers on Tide Lane
Then Charlie mounts his bike and cycles home

The house seems strangely quiet
As young Charlie ventures in
Amazed to see the sight that greets his eyes
A woman with a scarlet mouth
Tears dripping from her chin
And the old man standing mutely at her side
Mumblings and words of love
But nought he understands
Each word twisting one about the other
Words tossed on a hurricane
Like grains of drifting sands
But one above all else he hears is Mother
A sorry tale she tells him now
Of treachery and scorn
A sailor who would sweep her off her feet
A young girl forced to flee in shame
From innocence newborn
When her sailor left again to join the fleet

Now dressed in silk and fancy fur
She offers him her world
A life of riches waits if he will come
If he can find forgiveness
For the weakness of a girl
The girl will give the boy a happy home
But this is not the face of she
Who lingers in a dream
Shrouded in a veil of mystery
This is she who left him crying
On the village green
And not a face that Charlie cares to see
The Mother and the man are left
As Charlie mounts his bike
His dream is crushed, his world is torn in two
Secrets better kept
Have been revealed to him this night
Now he must decide what he should do

The evening star shines down
Upon a restless, rolling sea
As Charlie to himself in anguish says
“Dreams can be a blessing
for a simple lad like me
and simple is the life that I have led”
“But dreaming is for dreamers
And I am done with that
What good are dreams within the light of day”
Then Charlie, with a happy heart
Cycles gaily back
Back towards the lights of Banjo Bay
The haloed moon beams down
Upon the narrow, cobbled streets
As Mr Bright scrubs down the wooden slab
Then, lips as soft as thistledown
Upon his stubbly cheek
Kiss, and whisper softly ”Goodnight Dad”

I Ran Into A Stranger

 I ran into a stranger as he passed by
“Oh excuse me please” was my reply
He said, “Please excuse me too
I wasn’t really watching for you.”

We were very polite this stranger and I
We went on our way and we said good-bye
But at home a different story is told
How we treat our loved ones young and old

Later that day cooking the evening meal
My son stood beside me very still
When I turned I nearly knocked him down
“Move out of the way,” I said with a frown

He walked away his little heart broken
I didn’t realize how harshly I’d spoken
While I lay awake that night in bed
God’s still small voice came to me and said

“While dealing with a stranger common courtesy you use
But the children you love you seem to abuse
Go and look now on the kitchen floor
You’ll find some flowers there by the door

Those are the flowers he brought for you
He picked them himself red, yellow and blue
He stood very quietly not to spoil the surprise
You never saw the tears that filled his little eyes.”

By this time I was feeling very small
And then my tears began to fall
I went very quietly and knelt by his bed
“Wake up little one wake up” I said

“Are these the flowers you picked for me?”
He smiled “I found them out by the tree
I picked them because they’re pretty like you
I knew you’d like them especially the blue”

I said “Son I’m sorry for the way I acted today
I shouldn’t have yelled at you that way”
He said “Oh Mom that’s okay. I love you anyway.”

 

I said “Son I love you too and I do like the flowers especially the blue”.