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May The Following Budding Poets Bring Joy To Your Heart!

Amateur and Original Poetry

All of my days

God help me to accept your will
with all it's pain and aches:
And please give me the confidence
And courage that it takes

To bear the miseries and woes
That may contentment bring
And raise my soul above the depths
And help my heart to sing.

Above the heartaches of old age
I share with you alone
Please help me God,to banish
The fear of the unknown.

For if you teach, wild things to grow
And infants how to cry
And fish to swim and geese to quack
And little birds to fly

Then how much more should I have trust
In your celestial ways:
And place myself into your hands
All of my earthly days.
Edna M. Rahall

To My Dear Friends

A wooden plaque hung upon my old kitchen wall,
It had belonged to my previous mother-in-law.
"True friends, like diamonds, are precious and rare";
On just a plain board, but written with care.
But now those old kitchen walls have been made fresh and new,
To put up this glorified shingle, just would not do.
So it lies in a box in the basement somewhere;
Saying, "True friends, like diamonds are precious and rare."

Some Jewellers, they twist that to suit their own ends,
They tell us that: "Diamonds are girls best friends".
But diamonds, no matter how great they appear;
Can't catch the beauty of the friends you hold dear.
Six million people on our family tree,
Though brothers and sister, few will we ever see.
Of those we do meet, like strangers most will remain;
Not one percent will even know their name.

But some, from stranger, to acquaintence, to friend, will grow,
And down that path of life we will go.
The source and direction of each friendship may vary;
But each one will help you with life's load to carry.
One friend is dear for just being plain nice,
Another gives encouragement, or good advice.
Whatever the bond, one thing is for sure;
It takes effort and care to make it mature.

The greatest of all friendship should be husband and wife,
Who cherish each other for the rest of their life.
"Two helpmates, two intimate friends";
Seeing this union as their "fortress for well being".
I thank God for the many friendships I feel,
They've made the good times better and the bad times heal.
They've all been so special, too many to name;
But too often these thoughts in silence remain.

My children are the only friends I will mention,
Through the years they've given me loving attention.
Living away now, the oldest, Monique;
With hubby Darren, she's really neat.
Her sister still with me, Michelle,
If you knew her, you'd agree, she's really swell.
So, don't settle for diamonds, or dogs, as your best friend;
It's we humans who stay with you, the time has no end.
-- A Baha'i Friend, M. Paterson

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Twisting Country

I wrote this poem after a camping trip that my husband and I made with some friends. We had spent a weekend camping in the backwoods and canoe around the lakes of Kejimekujik National Park, in Nova Scotia. During the trip - and especially when we first arrived - I was struck by the overwheling quiet. I realized that "quiet" is something I never really "heard" - or experienced - at home. It felt a little like I had been suffocating and that as I was sitting in our canoe I was actually breathing for the first time. This made me feel like our ordinary city life was a sort of twisted version of reality - and so the name of my poem is "Twisting Country"

Twisting country of model homes and paved roads
And music drums to the sun beating off the windshield.
The car speeds past legacies of civilization
carved into the land.

The last road sign is left behind.
Fields grow tangled, the road ends and finally,
only a vast and silent treescape,
a shimmering wild of lakes and forest.

The hearer strains for familiar sound
some drowning noise to let surround.
But the road is gone, the car - gone - the music - gone.
And voices unsure, fall silent.

The wind is gone.
Birds perch still in the hot shade
and a hare rustling in the bush stops, suddenly alert.
Even the retreating snake vanishes silently.

Maybe now the listener hears
what can't be heard by well-meaning city ears
back within the drumming din of the
Twisting country of model homes and paved roads ...
-- A Baha'i Friend, Janneke Gradstein

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