DESTINY -  A POEM MARKING THE CORONATION OF KING CHARLES III

In Life, there are those rare moments

When one suddenly becomes aware

That we are an integral part

In the tapestry of History.

As the days speed on to the Coronation of King Charles lll,

I shall recall, with affectionate nostalgia,

A world which has irrevocably changed.

Bottle-green clad, lisle-stockings adorned,

Disparate in age, size and background,

We gathered in gym-cum-assembly hall

Waiting to hear the previous day's recording

Of world-breaking news.

"H.R.H. Princess Elizabeth has been safely delivered

Of a Prince."

Over 400 schoolgirls, shepherded by

Beaming nuns and lay staff,

Smiled and twittered happily.

A telegram to be sent, in our names.

Another significant date to be stored away

For future History exams!

And so, the intervening years have passed

Amidst times of sorrow and joy,

But always with thoughts of the unknown future.

On May 6th, you will tread in footprints

Marked by your forebears.

Traditional rites and ceremonies will bring to mind

Fleeting memories, particularly of loved ones

Who have trod this path since you were born.

As you, with sacred oil are anointed,

Prayers and acclamations

Will signify the fulfilment of your destiny.

May you, and all that you hold dear,

Be blessed by a future

Gilded with Promise, Peace and Love.

Eileen Murray © May 2023

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

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!

AND SO IT WAS

Once again,

We have lived fitfully

Through the darkness of Winter

And the vicissitudes of modern life.

No wonder that sight has been lost

Of the true meaning of Easter.

Swept along by changes in social mores,

It is so hard to stand firm

When all around us

Ancient, traditional beliefs and rites

Are disregarded and cast aside

As trivia of a bygone age.

Yet, almost miraculously,

The quintessence of our faith,

The Glorious Resurrection,

Dawns once more.

Light floods our world,

As Nature in pristine glory

Welcomes again, Re-birth

And bounteous promises

Of a world redeemed.

Eileen Murray © April 2023

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

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

NEVER ON A SUNDAY

We sit here, next to the radiator,

Having shed our winter coats,

Glad of our cosy refuge

From the bitingly cold wind -

Full of grace, or so we hope,

Having fulfilled our Sunday Obligation!

Just one other table is occupied.

Over the last few months,

It has become our ritual,

So, soon we sit sipping our very hot coffees -

One flat white, one cappuccino.

Frankie smiles, even more broadly

As his quota of biscuits is doubled,

By our usual exchange.

We sit enjoying inconsequential chatter

About the events of the past week.

The blast of marauding wind

Signals the entrance of disparate groups

Who come for their regular Sunday Breakfasts -

All tastes being catered for.

For a moment we sit in companionable silence

And for no reason - unless it is a caffeine high! -

I recall the Sundays of my childhood.

Morning Mass, loving familial camaraderie,

Closed shops, empty streets:

Fleeting, fragmentary memories disperse

Yet nostalgically activated

By the aroma emanating from a Full English Breakfast -

In all its modern glory!

Not for us,

But the Hungry Hopefuls, who, as the years turn,

Will look back, perhaps wistfully, 

On their Sunday Rituals.

Eileen Murray © February 2023

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 

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

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