LIFE SYMPHONY

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from June 2014

Song Bird Songs

music

Life within its essence is found within the heart,

The playing of a symphony in which we have our part.

The thrilling of the fiddle, the sax’s sexy ring

The heart feel of the violin, that moves most anything,

Triumphant peel of trumpets, the bass’s steady beat

That rings within our senses and drives us to our feet.

The rhythm of percussion that keep us dancing on

When zeal has left our bodies yet we’re still amidst the throng.

Now will you play the cello or will you strum the bass

Will you choose to be discordant or your music interlace?

Oh life can be a melody of music quite divine

If you just tune up your instrument before you step in line.

If you listen to the rhythm, if you step into the style

Or even stand in silence and just listen for a while.

If you learn to…

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Goodbyes.

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goodbye

The ivory tower is empty now, no footsteps on the stair,

I listen out to hear them, but know they are not there.

No shouting to disturb me, no head to enter in,

My tower’s all my own again tranquillity within.

And yet I’ll hear their echo until they come again,

Those precious ones that love me, my own among the men.

With hearts so soft and open, young minds that seek and see,

A world so full of wonder, so empty, yet so free.

Life’s yet to take its toll on them while childhood rules the day,

Their greatest of decisions, of what to watch or play.

The comfort of a daughter whose love is rare and true

With whom to share heart’s secrets and who gives hers to you.

The dust it now has settled, the mess no longer frowns,

The table’s clear, the lights turned off, the shoe rack empty now.

Yet something now seems missing as I settle to my work,

I sigh in quiet contentment, but something’s bound to lurk.

I miss the noise, the bustle, (though I could not bear it long),

Each time they come to visit it lifts my heart in song.

And now I hear it echo as I settle down to write,

A smile dawns on my face ‘mist memories warm and bright.

love

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love

(Written for a Valentine’s day compilation)

A touch of magic in earthbound place, a thread of the divine,

Colour tints the monochrome, the best in man refines.

From ashes strewn upon the mud of squandered, wretched life

It kindles flame, and warmth, and joy; it brings an end to strife.

Most precious jewel in darkest cave, oft wrought in giant’s press,

It holds its shape neath life’s foul blows and sparkles none the less.

Of all the things we find in life of value and of worth,

Love is the brightest, finest thing to which we can give birth.

Christmas walk.

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chr at rachel's 018

I’d never done it before but what a perfect idea, a leisurely walk in the park before Christmas dinner with all its excesses and resultant “food coma”.

chr at rachel's 026
Two dogs, and three humans all delightful company and several herds of deer sitting comfortably under the trees (all we needed was snow to complete the picture!) I highly recommend it as a great interlude between presents and mountains of food (my body thought so too lol!)

chr at rachel's 023

Old Friends.

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old folks

(Of far flung friends I seldom see – photo from bing).

It’s oh so good to see them when parted oh so long,
The hugs and friendly greetings that lend the heart a song.
The smile that bares a tremble, the tear that dims the eye,
The subtle, soft, remembrance of days that have gone by.

It seems too much to soak it in when love floats all around,
Another, yet another, of times voices coming round.
The smiles now bare more wrinkles than when you knew them first,
But time and tide can not erase; the spirit from them bursts.

And all are in remembrance of sweet times so long gone by
The times when we were young and free and we had fun, oh my!
I hear now in the echoes of vintages grown old
The hearts refined in times harsh hand have turned at last to gold.

Childhood Magic.

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chr can 2

I look back and remember. Come and peek into my world,
When candles softly glowed, the angel’s wings unfurled.
With childhoods eyes I waited for the feast on Christmas Eve,
Not food, or presents waiting but what little eyes perceive.
When dad would light the candles upon the Christmas tree
With my sister I would huddle and glorious beauty see.
It lasted a few moments (the flames could not be left)
And so this time of magic would leave us soon bereft.
But in our souls would linger the beauty of the sight
And in our hearts remember Christ was given on this night.

My memory stretches back to the early 50s, Christmas Eves. It was cold before the days of central heating and double glazing. The heat from the roaring coal fire in the living room did not extend to the hallway where the tree stood and my sister and I huddled together in our flannelette nighties and tightly bound dressing gowns. Furry slippers and wool socks guarded our feet from the drafts that slipped past the door stop, but we didn’t notice the cold, our eyes were glued to the metal clip on candle holders we’d helped arrange (being careful of nearby branches the candles might ignite.)
Dad, still dressed in his work clothes, struck a match to the box and the magic began. Tiny flames appeared reflecting their gleaming warmth off the baubles and tinsel as we stood in awe at its beauty respectfully keeping our distance (only dad was permitted this task). Mum came behind to hug us and for a few moments time stopped as we admired the tiny lights gleaming in the darkness. Then all too soon they began to die and dad blew them out making sure his family slept safe.
In the morning there would be presents to unwrap, hot chocolate, carols at the old piano, mum’s home made cake, mince pies and Christmas pudding to devour, but as a child The most special thing about Christmas was when dad lit the lights.
Childlike, I was sure that must have been the time Jesus was born, amidst the magic.

lighting candles

Book of Revelation.

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rev book

The seal is broke, the scroll unveiled, of things that form the future:..

hour glass

The sand glass turned, the hour begun when mortal minds of men
Shall run a pace about this earth and dipped in blood the pen.
The man unveiled, an empire grim, lies waiting in the shadow,
The time is set, the race begins, that time itself unravels.
So set your course unto the wind that blows about this region.
It is the wake, the trumpet call that heralds in the season.
Look afar upon the wind for you may see it stirring
Beyond earth’s veil the tempest’s din about shall soon be whirling.

trumpets
Slowly, slowly time slips by, as water that is dripping.
One day over, next begun, life’s pages by are flipping.
Each day a note in this vast song, the melody that’s playing,
Each synchronized within the whole, the message it is saying
Come back, come back, within My arms, for time shall soon be ending
Life’s trials and tests, the combat sweet of others you’re defending.
Last note is played, the chorus ends, the silence is descending
Last drop is cast to net below, My presence now is pending

jesus return

So suck each drop of life’s sweet dew and hear the sound a ringing
Angels from the hosts on high the end of all are bringing.
What sweet refrain upon their lips, what power in each gesture,
Each sigh, each joy, each mumbled prayer, the sins no longer pester.

rev scroll

Open up your eyes and see the spirits in the wind.

(I’ve always been fascinated by the mysterious book of revelation and apocalyptic themes.)

Impossibilities.

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winning

If you think you are beaten, you are.
If you think you dare not, you don’t.
If you’d like to win, but think you can’t,
It’s almost a cinch you won’t.
Life’s battles don’t always go
To the stronger or faster man;
But sooner or later the man who wins
Is the one who thinks he can.

I don’t know who wrote this old poem but I’ve found it very true. One of the major lessons life has taught me is that nothing is impossible – some things just take a lot more faith and determination.

Live Like a Bird!

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bird on stem 2

I watched a bird upon a fragile stem;
It seemed it would surely break with him;
He did not seem to worry or to mind,
For all his swaying in the wind.
He sat erect & sang his lilting song
He felt so very sure, so very strong.
FOR HE HAD WINGS!

(“Oldie goldie” poem I came accross. Don’t know the author.)