Requiem for a Friend

I recently lost my good friend, Barbara, for whom I was named as next-of-kin, as I also was for her late husband Gordon, who passed away almost four years ago. She was quite severely disabled, and I was her main carer, along with my wife, for the last few years. In that position you get very close to folk, and so you can imagine the huge loss that my wife and I have felt over the demise of them both.
Recently I wrote a requiem for Barbara to record my feelings and help in the grieving process. Today I would like to share it with you all. 
Maybe it will help someone else who is grieving for a lost loved one. I hope so.

St John's Presbyterian Church, Runcorn, now a building site.

On the Demise of St John’s, Runcorn

Here, in the sepulchred silence of the dying day,

A hundred years of passing saints have trod;

Some walking proud, some falling on their knees,

But all of them to spend some time with God.

Here, amidst the glory of pitch-pine and lofty height,

They worshipped in the morning and at night.

Where, Sunday by Sunday,

The people prayed,

And the organ played;

Where hymns were sung in unison,

Supported by the choir in their stalls ―

But that’s not all.

Out on the Bowling Green

Where once at Summer Fete

The woods were seen,

It’s now a JCB that tears the soil.

Roses, daffodils, forget-me-not,

Have all fallen to the metal scoop

And lie discarded in a dying heap.

Yet I recall, and not so long ago,

The times I stood in crow-black gown,

And looking down

Upon those worshippers who congregated there,

In pew after pew, where saints have sat and sin has trod,

I shared the Word of God.

© 2013 Colin Gordon-Farleigh

Epilogue

The Church has left the building;

And all that now remains

Are memories of those who worshipped here.

Their sadness and elation,

From poor and happy days,

Consigned to conflagration

Or to heaven’s lasting praise.

No more the doors will beckon strangers in

Nor see a white-gowned bride upon the step;

No more the final journey of a friend

Carried shoulder-high at their life’s end.

I stand amid the dust and desolation,

Where pitch-pine pews once gleamed;

And gaze at the vacant windows

Where once the morning sunrays beamed

Upon the people praying to their God.

Yet now, in all its shattered glory,

There is a strange twist to this story,

Where once were Easter bonnets, gloves and hats,

Residing in the sanctuary of the tower

Is a colony of bats.

© 2014 Colin Gordon-Farleigh

"Returning Hero" --- A poem for Remembrance Day

We must never forget: "9/11 Remembered"

9/11 Remembered

Close your eyes and try to keep out the dust;
Close your ears and try to keep out the sounds;
Close your mind and try to keep out the pain.

What now? Now that the years are passing,
and the ground no longer blossoms red?

What now? Now that the cloying dust has turned
into a vast bouquet of concrete roses?

What now? Now that the mind, in relaxed moments,
recalls the awful sounds of people screaming,
people crying,
--- of people dying?
What now?

Are all the lessons learned?
Has hatred turned to love?

Or is the world the same, despite the rhetoric
that it was changed for ever on that day?

So many questions. So many questions.

Yet still no answers from the growing shroud
that covers all the mounting dead.

Still no answers from the bleating throng
who find their solace in the world instead.

Still no peace exists 'tween man and man,
nor ever will as long as hate exists.

So on this day, when we recall the horror
of that day when life was changed,
let us make a stand for peace,
a stand for love,
a stand for Christ;

and in His name, pray to our God above
that our world will change again.
Yet let this change be one that turns on love.

© Copyright 2009 : Colin Gordon-Farleigh

Poem for Today: "Love Flowed Freely"

Love Flowed Freely

When love flowed freely from the Cross,

Man’s richest gain was Heaven’s loss.

When love flowed freely on that day

It washed the darkest sin away.

The Saviour paid the price for sin,

Repentant hearts can enter in.

Love flowing freely from His side,

The bridegroom waits His spotless bride.

When freed from sin, from toil, from pain,

Our joyful praise is Heaven’s gain.

In service now, our arms we raise,

To Him in everlasting praise.

© 2010 Colin Gordon-Farleigh

On the Demise of St John's Church, Runcorn

On the Demise of St John’s, Runcorn

Here, in the sepulchred silence of the dying day,

A hundred years of passing saints have trod;

Some walking proud, some falling on their knees,

But all of them to spend some time with God.

Here, amidst the glory of pitch-pine and lofty height,

They worshipped in the morning and the night.

Where, Sunday by Sunday,

The people prayed,

And the organ played;

Where hymns were sung in unison,

Supported by the choir in their stalls ―

But that’s not all.

Out on the Bowling Green

Where once at Summer Fete

The woods were seen,

It’s now a JCB that tears the soil.

Roses, daffodils, forget-me-not,

Have all fallen to the metal scoop

And lie discarded in a dying heap.

Yet I recall, and not so long ago,

The times I stood in crow-black gown,

And looking down

Upon those worshippers who congregated there,

In pew after pew, where saints have sat and sin has trod,

I shared the Word of God.

© 2013 Colin Gordon-Farleigh

Funeral Poems: "My Friend"

My Friend

There’s something more than wealth,

Important — more than health,

More precious than the summer rose,

When life is drawing to a close.

To look back once, toward the end,

To know I’ve known you as a friend.

In happiness, throughout the years,

We’ve shared our joy between the tears;

A shoulder always there, on which to cry,

Never once the need to say a last ‘Goodbye’.

I give my thanks for being constant, true,

With hope, — I’ve done the same for you.

© Colin Gordon-Farleigh

Funeral Poem: "Softly"

Here is a poem which I will read out at a funeral service that I will conduct on Friday. The first verse was written by an anonymous author. I have added the last two verses.

Softly

Softly the leaves of memory fall,
Gently I gather and treasure them all.
Unseen, unheard,
You are always near,
So missed, so loved, so very dear.

Softly the light from the stars above,
Glinting and twinkling their message of love.
Unseen, unheard,
You are always near,
So missed, so loved, so very dear.

Softly the sound in heaven above,
Silent the words to my whispered love;
Unseen, unheard,
You are always near,
So missed, so loved, so very dear.
© 2013 : Colin Gordon-Farleigh

Poem: "Old Flame"

           

          Old Flame

My memory plays the tricks

of age, making the lines

and shadows disappear

from your face.

I catch your eye and,

turning half away,

you beckon with a look

for me to follow.

Your hand slips

comfortably into mine

and we move off into the night,

there to live our

shared fantasies:

and then my head jerks,

lolling, half asleep in

my chair,

dreaming

half-remembered dreams,

I wake,

seeing you there

across the room,

and then

I light the flame once more

a thousand times.

© 1978 : Colin Gordon-Farleigh