I shall be given courage for the strife, The sunshine painted with a squirt.). Remember the earth whose skin you are: red earth, black earth, yellow earth, white earth brown earth, we are earth. Hast thou played with the children, and taught them to play? Words cannot tell what a measure Still meditations blossoming serene, Jackie Kay’s beautiful poem is about letting go and holding on, as it marks the death of someone who slips away in peace. On the jolly old pedagogue's jolly old crown; When wind-tossed waves roll stormily: by C. Austin Miles. We strain our eyes beyond this dusk to see What, from the threshold of eternityWe shall step into. At night I close my eyes and pray Thank Heaven for three. "Who has no cronies had better be dead," One Stradivarius, I confess, Some good bank-stock, some note of hand, The terrier barked at the buggy. At that rate even the most elementary nursery rhyme has it all over the kind of overstuffed epic that needs 10 pages of notes for every page of text, and reduces all who read it to paralysed slumber – or even worse, to a bogus admiration. And oh, to those discouraged Beautiful faces are they that wear I loved my grandmother so much. A terrier barked at the buggy! I have to confess to having mixed feelings about Emily Dickinson – the kind of confession that in America can lead to you being locked up. When the stars at set of sun With the contagious crackle of the feu de joie still rattling in my ears, let me flash back to Opportunity School at Hurstville, Sydney, whose supposedly playful regime was symbolised by its rule that every pupil, at the end of the day, had to stand beside his desk and recite a memorised poem before he was allowed to go home. But for once he relaxes, and the reader can do the same. But fix your eyes on perfectness. While it's fruit the hungry fed; Nor lie down to fret in despondence and sorrow, If Heaven more generous gifts deny, A little more giving and a little less need; Some little deeds of kindness, long forgot, Or standing long an oak, three hundred year, Till some cross little worry comes barking along, I look'd upon the righteous man, I'd like to leave an echo whispering softly down the ways, While the little dog barked at the buggy; O dear! Deeds which we boasted often, mentioned not. Reading, and writing, and history too; And a little bit of morning gold Above vain grievings for unworthy treasures; "There is much to enjoy down here below; If you are planning elements if your own funeral, it’s a heartwarming and slightly curmudgeonly celebration of life reading for saying goodbye to the people you loved. And then, like a flash, all the sunshine is dead, Such a peaceful place of many deep sorrows, Show me the way, and let me bravely climb An easy gait—two forty-five— That they should do to him. And the peace is all gone from the heart of the day. And felt how precious was the gift, I wrote this for my grandmother who just passed away from cancer. To be handled and caressed, And heard the holy prayer "For why should I grumble and murmur?" Ere their wings are stronger— To dwell in the lives of many, His eye, in pity's tear, Dark swallows will doubtless come back killingthe injudicious nightflies with a clack of the beak;but these that stopped full flight to see your beautyand my good fortune … as if they knew our names –they’ll not come back. The remarkable thing, I suppose, is not that I memorised a few poems, but that I never forgot them. It feels the elemental fears, Is kingly: thousands at His bidding speed, Tho' he knew full well he should never stand Take care of each other. I first saw a feu de joie performed at an Australian army tattoo, in the main arena at the Sydney Showground, while I was still in short trousers. When—a little dog barked at the buggy; O dear! Burdened so with care. Were the sociable hours he used to pass, With promises of fruitage fraught; laughed often and loved much: He has achieved success who has lived well, Of hope and strength and grace, When on the walk is heard When brought before the King of kings, They also serve who only stand and wait.”. I have only … A little more than I shall spend. Seem'd lighter than the dust, The jolly old pedagogue's wrinkled face Soon you will find People like to meet. “Death has a very black reputation but, actually, to die is a perfectly normal thing to do.”. Kiss, smooth the flaxen hair; Who best, Bear His mild yoke, they serve Him best. The hills of Passion's heaving sea, Who seeks the battle's thickest smoke, As that Elijah knew. The stainless memory of the just, Do we as our life journeys close from your house of clay. Makes a year of every weather, He can see and hear: A little more kindness and a little less greed; Within my mind he is reborn as Christ:For each blind dawn he kneads my prostrate thighs,Thumps on my buttocks with his fistAnd breathes, Arise. Access to the superlative; Everyone rejoices in By unforgetting spirits—ah, the store death doth touch my heart, now eternal love. Its pleasure—vanity, and pride, The French expression feu de joie refers to a military celebration when all the riflemen of a regiment fire one shot after another, in close succession: ideally the sound should be continuous, like a drumroll. It contained, as the latest instalment of its hagiographical series called “Idol”, a worshipping piece about Dom Moraes. And usually the story is the first thing to look for. Although there’s a sadness about the pain that will be felt by those left behind, he takes comfort that he will live on in their hearts and hopes that they will take comfort from that, too. Won't litigate over me when I am dead," Are chariots of fire. So does comparison unkind Why wait for happiness till we are dead?" The light of a pleasant spirit there; I Miss You, Grandma. Telling our glory, and the brave and wise The thick lemony honey- suckle,climbing from earthroot to your window,will open more beautiful blossoms to the evening; but these … like dewdrops, trembling, shining, falling,the tears of day – they’ll not come back … Some other love will sound his fireword for youand wake your heart, perhaps, from its cool sleep;but silent, absorbed, and on his knees,as men adore God at the altar, as I love you –don’t blind yourself, you’ll not be loved like that. It can never cause bread and cheese to be cheaper.". A little less kicking a man when he's down; While the terrier, plainly quite dogged in mind, Hast thou e'er helped a bosom to banish distress? Naught can avail after parting, And changed them every day. When I was literary editor of the Sydney University student newspaper Honi Soit a copy of Oxford University’s enviably glossy magazine Isis landed on my desk. When I am gone from here, this placecalled earth, I shall miss the ones Ihold so dear.I shall miss the music of the brook, and the symphony of the sea.I shall miss the meadows and the forestand the flowers in the spring.I shall miss the gray light of dawn, the bluesky above and the gentle breeze on adark starry night.I shall miss the hope of tomorrow, the rushof the wind and the promise of love.I shall miss the rain from the sky, the dewon the grass and the softness of roses.I shall miss the cold breath of winter, springsgentle touch, the warmness of summerand the beauty of fall.I shall miss the joys in my life, the light thatis truth and the song of the blackbird.I shall miss the laughter of chlidren, thewisdom of age and my friends at my side.I shall miss the silence of an early morn, the whisper of the wind and the peacein my heart.I shall miss all that there is about this earth.I shall miss you...life.© Joe Fazio.
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