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The following poem is in memory of my dear and loving husband Peter, who died 9th February 2014.
Remember me when I am gone away, gone far away into the silent land.
When you can no more hold me by the hand.
Nor I half turn to go but turning stay.
Remember me when no more day by day you tell me of our future you had plann’d.
Only remember me you understand; it will be late to council then or pray.
Yet if you should forget me for a while; and afterwards remember, do not grieve.
For if the darkness and corruption leave a vestige of the thoughts I once had.
Better by far you should forget and smile than that you should remember and be sad.
Christina Rossetti - English Victorian Poet.
What though the radiance which was
once so bright.
Be now for ever taken from my sight.
Though nothing can bring back the hour
of splendour in the grass,
of glory in the flower.
We will grieve not, rather find
strength in what remains behind.
In the primal sympathy;
which having been must ever be.
In the soothing thoughts that spring
out of human suffering.
In the faith that looks through death.
In years that bring the philosophic mind.
Excerpt from ‘Glory in the Flower’
Poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings: it takes its origin from emotion recollected in tranquility.
Poetry is not a turning loose of emotion, but an escape from emotion.
It is not the expression of personality,
but an escape from personality.
But, of course, only those who have personality and emotions know what it means to want to escape from these things.
T. S. Eliot.
No man is an island,
Entire of itself,
Every man is a piece of the continent,
A part of the main.
If a clod be washed away by the sea,
Europe is the less.
As well as if a promontory were.
As well as if a manor of thy friend's
Or of thine own were:
Any man's death diminishes me,
Because I am involved in mankind,
And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls;
It tolls for thee.
How do I love thee?
Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth
My soul can reach when
feeling out of sight.
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of every day’s.
Most quiet need by sun and
I love thee freely,
as men strive for Right.
I love you purely,
as they turn from Praise.
I love with a passion put to use.
In my old griefs and with my childhood’s faith.
I loved you with a love
I seemed to lose.
With my lost saints, I love thee with the breath.
Smiles, tears, of all my life!..
and if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning.
You had a talent for bringing special meaning to my life.
It was such a pleasure to be your wife.
You helped me to grow and to realise the fullness and the beauty in our lives.
Every day I counted my blessings.
Then you went away.
Out of this world to a brighter day.
Suddenly my life of gladness
turned to eternal sadness.
My grief wears me down, I shed so many tears as I recall your love and devotion through the years.
For your sake and in memory of your name, I pray for strength to do things the same.
To reach out, to fill the hours
with useful ways.
To comfort, to cheer and have no more empty days.
Though Heaven and Earth divide us, and the distance is so great, I count my blessings for the years you were my mate.
I will live my life remembering, while you wait, slumbering.
My beloved, may you rest in peace.
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.
Mary Elizabeth Frye.
Peter - 9th March 1950 to 9th February 2014
Chiquitita, you and I know. How the heartaches come and they go and the scars they’re leaving.
You’ll be dancing once again and the pain will end, there will be no time for grieving.
Chiquitita, you and I cry. But the sun is still in the sky and shining above you.
Let me hear you sing once more like you did before, sing a new song Chiquitita.
Try once more like you did before, sing a new song Chiquitita.
Top of Page
You know who you are, you know what you
are. More importantly, so do you!
I feel nothing but pity for you.
Cut me down, well you can try.
Tear my heart out, see if you can.
Reduce me to ash, if you must.
Turn my whole life into dust.
But you see, it cannot be done.
I’ve seen too much, I no longer run.
I stand and I fight. I am strong.
I won’t die.
Snap me in half. Well you can try.
You hoped I would wither, curl up and die.
You thought I’d no fight -
that I’d fall down and cry.
Use me and rip my heart from my chest.
Go right ahead. Give me your best.
I am strong now you see -
thanks to you and your kind.
I am far better than you. I am no longer blind.
Break me if you can, remove my right to thrive.
Weaken then slay me - well you can try.
Good people are rarely suspicious: they cannot imagine others doing the things they themselves are incapable of doing. Usually, they accept the undramatic solution as the correct one, and let matters rest there.
Then too, the normal are inclined to visualise the psychopath as one who’s as monstrous in appearance as he is in mind, which is about as far from the truth as one could well get.
These monsters of real life usually looked and behaved in a more normal manner than their actually normal brothers and sisters.
They presented a more convincing picture of virtue than virtue presented of itself.
Just as the wax rosebud or the plastic peach seemed more perfect to the eye, more what the mind thought a rosebud or a peach should be, than the imperfect original from which it had been modelled.
William March - The Bad Seed.
Honi soit qui mal y pense!