Easter Eggs and Tulips
Grandaddy was a quiet soul, born in 88 on a spring day.
He often stopped to graze his sheep, on the lush green grass shoots in May
found at my grandmother’s old house, where she played with dollys and jacks.
Knowledgable gardener by trade, he grew crops and purple lilacs
catching a beautiful maid’s eye, some 20 years older was he,
and yet from his earliest glance, he was steadfast to his Corrie.
He planted stately green magnolias, bordering the road and our land,
growing his own pipe tobacco, his battle with bamboo most grand
exotics brought from the Great War, in France’s trenches he sat long
wondering if he’d make it home, the mustard gas a near swan song.
I have childhood recollections, of you digging in the dirt bed
planting Avignon tulip bulbs, silky pedals flowering red
bursting freely with Easter Eggs, cleverly hidden from our sight
by gentle liver-spotted hands, unfurling them with slow delight.
You left us when I was but nine, my memories are vague shadows,
dreams of you with a spade in hand, smelling sweetly of pipe tobacco.
“Now, I know in my experience
that Jesus’ light is stronger
than the biggest darkness.”
Corrie Ten Boom
THREE HOURS DARK AND COLD
heroes’ slight clothes clinging.
cold blows inside-out.
shouts and terror, eyes front.
swoop of red cardinal
daily invites with its melody.
the warmth of hope —
eyes rise above fray.
soul delights in heavenly places.
frostbitten feet
discouraged, anchored
in faith, fly ever northward.
angels all around
reflect each face before God’s crown.
2/22/2021
Based upon story told by Corrie Ten Boom
who survived a concentration camp
Night Labor, for Rachel Corrie
by Michael R. Burch
Tonight we keep the flame alive;
we keep the candle lit.
We burn bright incense in your name
and swear we’ll not forget—
your innocence, your courage,
your commitment—till bleak night
surrenders to irrevocable dawn
and hate yields to love’s light.
Amen
NOTE: Rachel Corrie was a young American peace activist who lost her life while serving as a “human shield” to keep a Palestinian home from being demolished by a militarized Israeli bulldozer.
Hair all bedraggled
And soaked to the skin
Stood there in odd socks
But a million pound grin
A plate full of food
Is eaten in a hurry
"Leave the washing up
We're gonna miss Corrie!"
Sat in knickers and boxers
As we don't seem to care
We are what we are
And not what we wear
Child like giggles
Mask that we're grown ups
Chipped mugs full of tea
As there's no china cups
I wake through the night
With questions in my head
Why someone so small
Would need so much bed
So now I'm on Facebook
With my status updates
I have the world's biggest smile
........There's no more first dates.
its friday whoop
its friday yeah
the friday feeling is the best feeling of all
When i finish work, i am going to go to the pub
I am going to have an absolute ball
I am going to drink and dance the night away, and enjoy it that best that i can.
i will hopefully wake up on saturday, feeling rough as can be
And i will spend all day with my head in the toilet pan.
That's really a lie, because that's not what i do, its the dream that we all think about.
The good old days when we were 18 years old, and every weekend you would be out.
Out on the town with all your mates, drinking, partying and laughs
Now-a-days its cups of tea, biscuits, corrie and baths
Getting old is a part of life, but it doesnt have to be boring an dull
So i say get yourself down to that pub, enjoy yourself the best you can.
And live life to the full
Among the hills and stone I walked
mind a wander, lost in thought
on I stumble round cwm and lake
on rocks unmoved and churned gravel
Whiffs of clouds haze the view
an ancient aura surrounding sky reaching peaks
Through the cloud punctures visions
of climbers on acute slopes, scrambling quickly
The lone runner on the corrie wall
Obscured by regathering cloud
I breath, reborn in the mountain air
clean pure and joyful
proud once again and very much alive
The stone breaths with me,
man and earth one and the same
Refreshed I turn and leave
Driven to the brink of land and sea
I stand, salt in my mouth
shingle at my feet
displaced
still and staring at the foaming expanse
Though I now retreat
back to town, grey and grim
my mind is healed and I remember
The beauty that I found
Who is the Queen?
When all is said and done.
A nice old lady who wears nice hats
And in life has had a decent run.
Her servants do the weekly shopping.
She watches Corrie when at home.
And maybe like you she reads the Sun
Whilst seated on the throne.
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