DECEMBER'S POEM - HOPE SPRINGS ETERNAL

HOPE SPRINGS ETERNAL

"How long, Lord?

How long, Lord, before we see The Messiah?"

Plaintive words echoing through past millenia.

And now, over two thousand years later,

We still wait-

Quite often in childlike expectation -

For the magical story

Of a tiring journey, made by a husband and wife,

Obeying laws and decrees,

To ancestral homeland where a baby was born

In a humble place.

A miraculous star and angelic voices

Led shepherds and even Magi,

To pay their homage to the Christ Child,

 The Messiah, The Redeemer of our world,

Lord of the creatures who kept him warm -

Lying in a manger.

Now, fly swiftly through the intervening centuries.

December 2022,

Our World, sorely in need of Redemption.

Yet, in the midst of downturns and turmoil,

Hope still shines -

Perhaps less brightly than in times gone by -

That The Child of Bethlehem

 Can still bring solace, even happiness,

Love and Peace

Into our homes and hearts.      

Eileen Murray © December 2022

AND SO IT IS

Just when we think

He's done it all -

No more achievements

To recall -

We can now sit back,

Recall, relax,

Banish envy,

Call a pax

On what one human

Can attain.

If only we, too,

Had his brain -

And temperament as well -

To change our world

And pundits tell

That nothing in Life

Is set in stone,

That no one

Walks this Path alone.

Dear Father Tim,

As the years fly by,

We make a promise

That we will try

To walk

Ten million steps with you,

To prove that Papal acumen

Is true!

A POEM  FOR CHRISTMAS FROM OUR RESIDENT POET

WAITING IN HOPE

Once again, Christmas waits apprehensively

In the wings,

Scrutinising the entrances and exits

Which play a vital part

In the festive pageant.

It's only when the niceties of life

End so unexpectedly,

With heart-breaking results,

That we realise how fortunate we have been.

Yet, the human spirt is indomitable.

A glance through the pages of history

Reveals tales of unbelievable fortitude.

As we wait, uncertain of what lies

In the immediate future,

Minds and hearts turn

To the lonely, hazardous journey

Of the young  couple, long, long ago,

Who placed their trust in God.

Without their consent,

There would be no seasonal love,

No sharing, no reunions,

No tiffs, no tears, no laughter,

No nostalgic memories of days gone by -

No Joy to the World -

No Christmas.

But, miracles do happen!

May the light of that Special Baby

Illuminate our homes,

 Filling us with Hope for the year ahead.

Eileen Murray © December 2021

Reflections

The harbinger of Christmas expectations -

November,

The disappearing daylight hours,

The month of reflection and remembrance,

Is born in ghoulish celebrations,

Explodes in bangs and shrieks

Of spectacular, colourful manifestations,

Then fades to solemn reverence.

It is the time set aside by the Church

To pray for those whose earthly ties

No longer physically bind us to our loved ones.

As November crawls through

Ever shortening days and long, dark nights,

We recall and burnish, once again,

The memories of all (combatants and victims)

Who died in the Wars which have scarred our civilisation,

For over a hundred years.

Time, the Relentless Protagonist, moves on.

This Remembrance Sunday, for us and many others,

Will be poignantly different:

No polishing of badges and medals,

No straightening of cherished regimental tie,

No affixing to lapel of blood red poppy,

No faltering walk in camaraderie

Along Liverpool streets,

With those who unfailingly march

To keep alive the memories

Of all who fought and still fight,

For a world, where all have the right

To live in freedom and at peace.

This year -

A nostalgic framed photo, a neatly folded tie,

A poppy, beribboned medals, a maroon beret,

Showing its age but proudly displaying two badges,

And a lit candle - reflecting not only on metallic artefacts,

But on past deeds of bravery and devoted service.

Not, of course, forgetting,

The ascending bouquet of prayers scenting the essence of profound love!

ns -

Eileen Murray ©  11 November 2022

A POEM FROM OUR RESIDENT POET

Beatus Nonagenta Natalis Carissime

Happy 90^th Birthday Darling

Would we ever have believed

That the spark ignited,

In past historic times,

Would still burn,

No less bright,

Than when gentle lips

Imbued with essence magical,

First softly touched

And fused two souls

Into one eternal entity,

Who would walk resolutely through Life

Happily contented and blessed.

Eileen Murray © 9 March 2022

A POEM FOR REMEMBRANCE SUNDAY

NEVER FORGET

In times like these,

How easy it is to forget

Events which have stirred us

To the very heart of our beings.

For centuries, tradition has been

The cornerstone of our existence.

Memories, whether spoken or written,

 Passed down from generation to generation,

Have kept the flame of those,

Whose devotion to duty and often valour,

Burning brightly through hard times.

In Liverpool this year,

Remembrance Sunday will once again

Be fittingly marked by rite and ceremonies -

In different venue.

Yet, the roads will still be lined

By those who never forget

The sacrifices of all

Who fought for the right

To live and die in a free world.

Not even the torment and suffering

Our world has endured recently

Can compare with what went before.

We must never forget

For our tomorrow, no matter how terrible,

They gave their today.

Eileen Murray © November 2021

A TRIBUTE TO THE LATE QUEEN FROM OUR RESIDENT POET

ETERNAL THANKS

Still cocooned by warmth of beatific smile

From diminutive regal figure,

As Duties of State were performed -

When hand held hand as Power and Authority transferred -

The unexpected, sombre news

Of monumental importance,

Shattered our already fragile world.

Hearts raced, words were imprisoned in constricted throats,

Tears trickled from reddening eyes.

"The Queen died peacefully at Balmoral."

A simple epitaph for our loving, unique Monarch.

For the following tortuous, funereal days,

We mourned the passing of Our Queen

With the ceremony and dignity

To which she had devoted her life.

The forbearance and love, shown firstly by her family

And reflected in the demeanour of the mourning, countless multitudes,

Were part of the manifestation of all the ideals

To which The Queen steadfastly devoted her whole life.

Perhaps, on that indelible afternoon,

At peace in cherished home and Land,

She heard the call, which no one can escape.

Her final regal task graciously completed,

Time, now, to move from Royal Palace

To welcoming Heavenly Realm,

And blissful reunion with The Special One

And everyone she held dear - animals included!

Protocol free. No more Red Boxes!

We shall miss you, but hold you ever close

In our memories, which will be lovingly recounted,

By those you served so faithfully,

To generations still unborn.

Eileen Murray © September 2022

SUNDAY AFTERNOON

The distant Welsh panorama fades
Into the grey mistiness
Of another cold, dark Winter's day.
From the sixth floor,
A serpent of light crawls
Along the perimeter of the Mersey -
A sign that the world is still inhabited!
Here, suspended between heaven and earth,
All is silent save for the repetitive beeping
Of life-saving machines.
Someone coughs,
Figures move backwards and forwards,
Distant voices float
From the nearby nursing stations.
It is a time for reflection -
Time to look back on the week's happenings,
But equally as important,
Look forward positively, to whatever lies in store.
It is in this friendly, intense calm
That mysterious bonds are woven,
Some of which will last into the unknown future.
Others, which will be like seed
Scattered on the stony ground.
Once replete, salved, comforted,
The dwellers of Ward 6A
Will settle, disparately,
To pass the long, dark night,
We pray, in hope of a brighter tomorrow.

Eileen Murray © February 2022

An Oscar Beyond Price

Sometimes on Life's mysterious journey

You have an amazing, serendipitous encounter,

If you are fortunate!

So it was.

Could you ever have believed

That one small, brown, furry bundle

Would bring such joy!

Maybe, on reflection, there were trying occasions,

But then, in the eyes of the besotted,

These swiftly fade into the past.

What times you all shared.

How many dogs were so well travelled?

But it was a reciprocal relationship;

Happiness, trust, devotion

Flowed freely between the trinity.

But when premature separation happens,

The solace of grief, fortunately, lies

In the plethora of events stored,

Not only in the physical trove of images,

But also, deep within in the indelible psyche.

As Time inevitably slips by,

Hold dear the memories of the happy hours

Spent with your unique, gilded award -

Oscar!

POEM FROM OUR RESIDENT POET JULY 2022

AFTER YOU'VE GONE

There is a silence so profound

That you hear the quickening beat

Of the grieving heart.

Another long day to be filled

With essential chores -

Now in danger of  metamorphosing

Into the trivia category.

It is the entrancing and exiting

Of familiar rooms

That trigger memories of happy times

Which never again will bring

Smiles to faces and joy to hearts.

Tears freely fall.

We know that Time is a catalyst

And will, with its unchanging orbit,

Assuage the present sorrow.

Though so much is generously offered

By those who also mourn,

We must choose our own paths

To continue living in a world

Which has irrevocably changed.

How fortunate we are in our belief

That one day,

We shall meet again

And there will be no more tears.

Eternal bliss -

Hopefully - God willing!

Eileen Murray © July 2022