Category Archives: Poems
At the end of my life….what would love do now?
I attended the 2021 soul midwifery conference and this awesome poem was read out and I totally loved it, as others did and felt it encapsulated the role of soul midwifes and others whom support people at the end of life and wanted to share this here:
At the end of my life….what would love do now?
Love would be still and open; listening closely to what I might be telling you by voice or body, Not fixing, not directing; not diminishing my pain and fear.
Love will be tender and kind, reassuring me that you are here beside me, and with me,
Not scared or telling me it will all be okay or to keep my chin up,
But companionable, constant and present in the face of our not knowing.
Love will attend to my comfort and my surroundings
Adjusting the covers, the warmth and light, with gentle touch and sounds.
Love will touch me, wiping my brow, holding my hand and stroking my arm, Looking into my eyes without backing away in the face of my impending death.
Love will help others to be here too.
To help those I love to be near me by whatever means we can use.
Love will dance or hum to the tunes of our lives and help us to share this precious time. Love will give me chance to say goodbye to those I love,
and for them to say it to me if they choose.
To share stories and memories of our times together, good and bad.
Love will not shy away from the things that need to be felt, and said and heard.
To show how much you mean to me, and, perhaps, of I to you.
Love will surround me until, and even beyond, the point where I leave you, parted, perhaps, forever.
Love will let me go with dignity and in peace as we say our goodbyes and I take my leave. To let me know that while I may be missed… my loved ones will be okay.
Love will honour and celebrate our times together through stories and memories,
When the right time comes for people to gather again.
Or before, because there is no need to wait.
Love will go on living and laughing and celebrating the precious days ahead, Knowing that I lived well and died well, surrounded by love.
Reflection: What are your choices and wishes for the end of your life? What matters to you and to your loved ones?
Julie Barnes, 9 April 2020, julie.barnes@yahoo.co.uk Inspired by Felicity Warner, Soul Midwife Training, www.soulmidwives.co.uk Illustration by Julian Burton julian.burton@delta7.com Video recording with Corinna Powlesland at https://soulmidwivesshop.org/
Poem – ‘Grandad’ by Gwyn Davies
GRANDAD.
Goodbye my lovely Grandad, I bid you fond farewell,
Glad I had you in my life, so many tales to tell.
I’m glad I got to know you, never wanted to let go,
But I know that I was lucky to get the chance to know.
I’ll always store and treasure the memories you have made,
I’ll do my best to make you proud, and try and make the grade.
I’ll know you’re watching over me, every hour every day,
And that you’ll always guide me, and help me on my way.
So thanks for being there for me, even though the time was short,
But the lessons you have shown me, and all the things you taught.
Will guide my life and show me, I know what’s wrong and right.
And I know that you’ll be watching me even though you’re out of sight.
I believe that we will meet again, time passes in a flash,
And when it’s time to face you, into your loving arms I’ll dash.
So even though I’m sad now, sad to say goodbye,
I’ll do my best to make you proud, and hold my head up high,
Forgive me for my tears, but they come along with grief,
But I know it’s only normal, and brings me some relief.
So thank you for your guidance, I really am so glad,
Proud and oh so happy, to call you my Grandad.
A late Lark Twitters from the Quiet Skies
A Late Lark Twitters From The Quiet Skies – W. E. Henley
A late lark twitters from the quiet skies;
And from the west,
Where the sun, his day’s work ended,
Lingers as in content,
There falls on the old, grey city
An influence luminous and serene,
A shining peace.
The smoke ascends
In a rosy-and-golden haze.
The spires shine, and are changed.
In the valley shadows rise.
The lark sings on.
The sun, closing his benediction,
Sinks, and the darkening air
Thrills with a sense of the triumphing night-
Night with her train of stars
And her great gift of sleep.
So be my passing!
My task accomplished and the long day done,
My wages taken, and in my heart
Some late lark singing,
Let me be gathered to the quiet west,
The sundown splendid and serene,
Death.
Celebrant, Celebrant, what is it you do?
Celebrant, Celebrant, what is it you do?
I’m a little old fashioned, and haven’t a clue.
Celebrant, Celebrant, what is it you do?
Are you religious, or is that taboo?
Who is your target, where is your goal?
I’m a little confused, as to what is your role.
Are you religious, or the atheist sort,
I’m a bit in the dark and need to be taught.
Well let me enlighten, I’ll try and explain,
I’m there as a person to try ease the pain.
It isn’t about me or any belief,
I try help the loved ones to help with their grief.
There’s more than two options, to help people through,
So I’ll try and explain, what us Celebrant’s do.
We take an approach, with a personal touch,
For loved ones in need of the help for a crutch.
Some aren’t religious, but still want a prayer,
Or even a hymn, and we’re happy to share.
It just shouldn’t matter in our belief,
We’ll use an approach, that helps bring relief.
So each service it varies, and that is our aim,
Each service is special, and no two the same.
So as you can see, it’s not black or white,
We offer a service that we just try make right.
Right for the person, who’s life has passed on,
And try help those hurting, as they loved one as gone.
We tick all the boxes, some people say,
We try make it special, in our own unique way.
Times are a changing, changing so fast,
We must try move forward, not stuck in the past.
So, we are here when you need us, give us a try,
Just take a look, there’ll be one close by.
Written by Gwyn Davies
Today is National Poetry day
Today 8th October is National Poetry day, so I thought that I would share this one:
Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there; I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow,
I am the sun on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning’s hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there; I did not die.