Found in John's papers 27/1/2015

'Genius in writing is an
infinite capacity for making
dim words shine and for
giving to a commonplace
collection of syllables new
meaning and magic:

                Ivor Brown
               A word in your Ear
                                     V136




' If we are certain of
                anything

it is that we are certain
              of nothing: '


                  Hilary Lawson
                   in
                   Dismantling Truth.
             

A Blessings for Absence

May you know that absence is full of tender
 presence and that nothing is ever lost of forgotten.
May the absence in your life be full of eternal echo.
May you sense around you the secret Elsewhere
which holds the presences that have left your life
May you be generous in your embrace of loss
May the sore of your grief turn into a well of
seamless presence.
May your compassion reach out to the ones we
never hear from and may you have the courage to
speak out for the excluded ones.
May you become the gracious and passionate
subject of your own life.
May you not disrespect your mystery through brittle
words or false belonging.
May you be embraced by God in whom dawn and
twilight are one and may your longing inhabit its deepest dreams within the shelter of the Great belonging.

John O'Donohue

Drinking - Lady with the sewing Machine- 2 poems John was reading with the poetry group in marie curie.

The thirsty earth soaks up the rain,
And drinks,and gapes for drink again.
The plants suck in the earth,and are
With constant drinking fresh and fair.
The sea itself,which one would think
Should have but little need of drink,
Drinks ten thousands rivers up,
So filled that they o'er flow the cup.
The busy sun( and one would guess
By his drunken fiery face no less)
Drinks up the sea,and when he's done
The moon and start drink up the sun.
They drink and dance by their own light,
They drink and revel all the night.
Nothing in nature's sober found,
But an eternal toast goes round.
Fill up the bowl then fill it high,
Fill all the glasses there,for why
Should every creature drink but why
Should every creature drink but I,
Why man of morals,tell me why?

Abraham Cowley




Across the fields as green as spinach
Cropped as close as time to Greenwich

Stands a high house,if at all,
Spring comes like a Paisley shawl-

Patternings meticulous
And youthfully ridiculous

In each room the yellow sun
Shakes like a canary,run

On run,roulade,and watery trill-
Yellow,meaningless,and shrill.

Face as white as tiny clock's,
Cased in parsely -dark curled locks

All day long you sit and sew,
Stitch life down for fear it grow.

Edith Sitwell

Our Freedom We owe Them- Kevin Cowley

As I stand on this d/day beach alone no maddening crows no mobile phones
I say a prayer for those who died as the tears well up in my eyes
Husbands,sons,some young some old
They died that day the six of June so long ago on Sword,Juno,Omah,Utah and Gold

I see the stars I breathe the air,to live and laugh,to cry to care

Oh I wish they could all see this day,the singing birds,and the fresh cut hay.


I thank them for the life I lead,to just believe

All those things I owe to them,all the soldiers air-force and navy men

May they rest in silent peace,and their memory never fades

for their tomorrow they gave their to-day.

A love poem- by John Lightbody

I know not how to write
or what to say if I lay aside all the metaphors
used by all the lovers-
why do I not pick up
the roses, red,gathered in bouquets by centuries of lovers?
Mu father's and all the grandfathers since time began which have led to me,which led to you.
And that is the first miracle,that we are here at all,that we share the same time and space
and that we ( found) love.
John Lightbody.

Ruth's Poem 3/12/2014

Pillar

" We are citizens of heaven,and are but pilgrims here"

I am a piece of paper.
A blank sheet.
Write on me the name of your god.
Mark me fill me with words.

I am a pillar of the temple.
The roof balances on my head.
My feet deep buried in the earth.

My limbs carved with vines and fruits
The faces of creatures
Peer between the leaves

I call to the builder
"Master! Honour your work

Chisel your name and date
Mark me as a place in time
I stand testament,
Monument"

I am a sheaf of papers;
A book of poems;
A multitude of words,

I am the voice of prophets
I speak fire and song
I call the soul to grow ears

I am the wind that blows
Between the pillars;
The breath between words spoken,

I am a piece of paper
A blank sheet.
Not the poet,but the written upon.

I am the word
that will go no more unspoken.
A pillar of the temple
A place
Where mysteries are revealed.

Ruth Marshall, 3rd December 2014.

A Love Poem -by John Lightbody- for Helen Collins- Marie Curie autumn 2014.

A Love Poem

I know not how to write or what to say
if I lay aside all the metaphors used by
all the lovers-why do I not pick up the
roses,red,gathered in bouquets by centuries of lovers?
my father's and all the grandfathers since time began
which have led to me,which have led to you.And that is the first miracle.
that we are here at all,that we share the same time and space-and
that we loved