Forward Ever Forward » Poetry

FW: The Legend of the Dogwood

Paul — Sun, 12 Feb 2012 06:00:26 +0000

In Jesus time, the dogwood grew
To a stately size and a lovely hue.

‘Twas strong & firm its branches interwoven
For the cross of Christ its timbers were chosen.

Seeing the distress at this use of their wood
Christ made a promise which still holds good:

“Never again shall the dogwood grow
Large enough to be used so

Slender & twisted, it shall be
With blossoms like the cross for all to see.

As blood stains the petals marked in brown
The blossom’s center wears a throny crown.

All who see it will remember me
Crucified on a cross from the dogwood tree.

Cherished and protected this tree shall be
A reminder to all of my agony.”

- Unknown
Contributed by LMMyers

FW: If Nobody Smiled

Paul — Fri, 03 Feb 2012 20:03:26 +0000

If nobody smiled, and nobody cared,
And nobody helped us along;
If every fellow looked out for himself,
And the good things all went to the strong;
If nobody cared just a little for you,
And nobody thought about me,
And we stood all alone in the battle of life,
What a dreary old world this would be!

Life is sweet because of the friends we love,
And the things that in common we share;
And we want to live on, not because of ourselves,
But because of the people who care.
It’s giving and doing for somebody else–
On that all of life’s splendor depends;
And the joy in this world, when you’ve summed it all up,
Is found in the love of our friends.

-Arthur James Hayden

FW: Wasted Wishes

Paul — Sat, 28 Jan 2012 07:01:24 +0000

Lester was given a magic wish
By the goblin who lives in the banyan tree,
And with his wish he wished for two more wishes–
So now instead of just one wish, he cleverly had three.
And with each one of these
He simply wished for three more wishes,
Which gave him three old wishes, plus nine new.
And with each of these twelve
He slyly wished for three more wishes,
Which added up to forty-six–or is it fifty-two?
Well anyway, he used each wish
To wish for wishes ’til he had
Five billion, seven million, eighteen thousand thirty-four.
And then he spread them on the ground
And clapped his hands and danced around
And skipped and sang, and then sat down
And wished for more.
And more…and more…they multiplied
While other people smiled and cried
And loved and reached and touched and felt.
Lester sat amid his wealth
Stacked mountain-high like stacks of gold,
Sat and counted–and grew old.
And then one Thursday night they found him
Dead–with his wishes piled around him.
And they counted the lot and found that not
A single one was missing.
All shiny and new–here, take a few
And think of Lester as you do.
In a world of apples and kisses and shoes
He wasted his wishes on wishing.

by Shel Silverstein

FW: At the Foot of the Cross

Paul — Sun, 22 Jan 2012 06:00:08 +0000

Fearing the battle was over
And I’d already lost the war,
I was tired of trying and failing.
I just couldn’t fight anymore.

So, dragging my battle-scarred body,
I crawled to the foot of the cross.
And I sobbed. “Oh please, Father forgive me.
But I tried…I tried.. and still lost.”

Then the air grew silent around me.
I heard his voice just as clear as the dawn:
“Oh, My child, though you are tired and weary,
You can’t stop, you have to go on.”

At the foot of the Cross, where I met Him,
At the foot of the Cross, where He died,
I felt love, as I knelt in His presence.
I felt hope, as I looked in His eyes.

Then He gathered me lovingly to Him,
As around us God’s light clearly shone.
And together we walked though my lifetime
To heal every wound I had known.

I found bits of my dreams, long forgotten,
And pieces of my life on the floor.
But I watched as He tenderly blessed them,
And my life was worth living once more.

I knew then why I had been losing.
I knew why I had not grown.
At the foot of the Cross came the answer:
I’d been fighting the battle alone.

At the foot of the Cross, where I met Him,
At the foot of the Cross, where He died,
Then I knew I could face any challenge
Together–just my Lord and I.

Written by Marcia Krugh Leaser

FW: The Pebble’s Ripple

Paul — Fri, 13 Jan 2012 06:00:55 +0000

Drop a pebble in the water: just a splash, and it is gone;
But there’s half-a-hundred ripples circling on and on and on,
Spreading, spreading from the center, flowing on out to the sea.
And there is no way of telling where the end is going to be.

Drop a pebble in the water: in a minute you forget,
But there’s little waves a-flowing, and there’s ripples circling yet,
And those little waves a-flowing to a great big wave have grown;
You’ve disturbed a mighty river just by dropping in a stone.

Drop an unkind word, or careless: in a minute it is gone;
But there’s half-a-hundred ripples circling on and on and on.
They keep spreading, spreading, spreading from the center as they go,
And there is no way to stop them, once you’ve started them to flow.

Drop an unkind word, or careless: in a minute you forget;
But there’s little waves a-flowing, and there’s ripples circling yet,
And perhaps in some sad heart a mighty wave of tears you’ve stirred,
And disturbed a life was happy ere you dropped that unkind word.

Drop a word of cheer and kindness: just a flash and it is gone;
But there’s half-a-hundred ripples circling on and on and on,
Bearing hope and joy and comfort on each splashing, dashing wave
Till you wouldn’t believe the volume of the one kind word you gave.

Drop a word of cheer and kindness: in a minute you forget;
But there’s gladness still a-swelling, and there’s joy circling yet,
And you’ve rolled a wave of comfort whose sweet music can be heard
Over miles and miles of water just by dropping one kind word.

Author James W. Foley

FW: Christmas Eve at Rock-Away Rest

Paul — Sat, 24 Dec 2011 06:00:54 +0000

Twas the night before Christmas at Rock-Away Rest,
and all of us seniors were looking our best.
Our glasses, how sparkly, our wrinkles, how merry;
Our punchbowl held prune juice plus three drops of sherry.

A bedsock was taped to each walker, in hope
That Santa would bring us soft candy and soap.
We surely were lucky to be there with friends,
Secure in this residence and in our Depends.

Our grandkids had sent us some Christmasy crafts,
Like angels in snowsuits and penguins on rafts.
The dental assistant had borrowed our teeth,
And from them she’d crafted a holiday wreath.

The bed pans, so shiny, all stood in a row,
Reflecting our candle’s magnificent glow.
Our supper so festive — the joy wouldn’t stop –
Was creamy warm oatmeal with sprinkles on top.

Our salad was Jell-O, so jiggly and great,
Then puree of fruitcake was spooned on each plate.
The social director then had us play games,
Like “Where Are You Living?” and “What Are Your Names?”

Old Grandfather Looper was feeling his oats,
Proclaiming that reindeer were nothing but goats.
Our resident wand’rer was tied to her chair,
In hopes that at bedtime she still would be there.

Security lights on the new fallen snow
Made outdoors seem noon to the old folks below.
Then out on the porch there arose quite a clatter
(But we are so deaf that it just didn’t matter).

A strange little fellow flew in through the door,
Then tripped on the sill and fell flat on the floor.
Twas just our director, all togged out in red.
He jiggled and chuckled and patted each head.

We knew from the way that he strutted and jived
Our social- security checks had arrived.
We sang — how we sang — in our monotone croak,
Till the clock tinkled out its soft eight-p.m. stroke.

And soon we were snuggling deep in our beds.
While nurses distributed nocturnal meds.
And so ends our Christmas at Rock-Away Rest.
fore long you’ll be with us, We wish you the best!

FW: Catching Christmas

Paul — Thu, 22 Dec 2011 06:00:17 +0000

Mother has always been careful
To keep me from catching a sickness.
But one thing she hopes I come down with
Is a condition called “spirit of Christmas.”

Catching the spirit of Christmas
Is nothing like catching a cold.
It makes you feel warm
And new and transformed
And leaves your heart feeling like gold.

Catching the spirit of Christmas
Is the catchingest of all that goes ’round
During this season
When there’s no greater reason
To lift those whose heads hang down.

Catching the spirit of Christmas
Won’t leave you sick in your bed.
It’ll give you the zest
To start living your best
And love others as Jesus has said.

By Tina Dean

FW: The Bridge Builder

Paul — Sun, 13 Nov 2011 06:00:36 +0000

An old man, going a lone highway,
Came, at the evening, cold and gray,
To a chasm, vast, and deep, and wide,
Through which was flowing a sullen tide.

The old man crossed in the twilight dim;
The sullen stream had no fears for him;
But he turned, when safe on the other side,
And built a bridge to span the tide.

“Old man,” said a fellow pilgrim, near,
“You are wasting strength with building here;
Your journey will end with the ending day;
You never again must pass this way;
You have crossed the chasm, deep and wide-
Why build you a bridge at the eventide?”

The builder lifted his old gray head:
“Good friend, in the path I have come,” he said,
“There followeth after me today,
A youth, whose feet must pass this way.
This chasm, that has been naught to me,
To that fair-haired youth may a pitfall be.
He, too, must cross in the twilight dim;
Good friend, I am building the bridge for him.”

-Will Allen Dromgoole

FW: “If You Were Busy Doing” Poem

Paul — Fri, 04 Nov 2011 02:06:40 +0000

If you were busy being kind,
Before you knew it you would find
You’d soon forget to think `twas true
That someone was unkind to you.

If you were busy being glad
And cheering people who seem sad,
Although your heart might ache a bit,
You’d soon forget to notice it.

If you were busy being good,
And doing just the best you could,
You’d not have time to blame some man
Who’s doing just the best he can.

If you were busy being true
To what you know you ought to do,
You’d be so busy you’d forget
The blunders of the folks you’ve met.

If you were busy being right,
You’d find yourself too busy quite
To criticize your neighbor long,
Because he’s busy being wrong.

FW: Beautiful Woman Poem

Paul — Thu, 25 Aug 2011 09:44:32 +0000

This poem about being a Beautiful Woman was written by Audrey Hepburn

For attractive lips, speak words of kindness.
For lovely eyes, seek out the good in people.
For a slim figure, share your food with the hungry.
For beautiful hair, let a child run his/her fingers through it once a day.
For poise, walk with the knowledge that you never walk alone.
People, even more than things, have to be restored, renewed, revived, reclaimed, and redeemed; never throw out anyone.
Remember, if you ever need a helping hand, you will find one at the end of each of your arms.
As you grow older, you will discover that you have two hands; one for helping yourself, and the other for helping others.

Forward Ever Forward » Poetry

FW: The Legend of the Dogwood

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FW: If Nobody Smiled

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