Poems on this page:
For the Care Aide
Evening in the Forest
Heavenly Applause
Camping in Spring
Trailer in the Rain
Westview Drive
The Tree
FOR THE CARE AIDE
With dignity you help me rise,
Bathe me, clothe me, dry my eyes,
Tenderly you comb my hair,
Brush my teeth with gentle care
You take my hand and help me move
And though I’m slow, don’t disapprove,
You cheer me on, when I feel weak
Your encouragement such volumes speak
You gently feed me with a spoon,
Clean up the food that I have strewn
With loving patience serve me tea,
Help me sip it tenderly
When I feel low, you stop and smile
Make time to stay with me awhile,
When I forget things, reassure,
So once again I feel secure
When I am cold, you keep me warm
Wrap me in blankets, curtains drawn,
Adjust my pillows, lay my head
At last to rest upon my bed
When I am sick, you visit me,
Sit by my bed and speak softly,
I see the love there in your face
Your caring heart so full of grace
I want to thank you for your care
You know my words aren’t always there,
Your kind attention to my needs
Mere human nature does exceed
My days on earth will soon be gone
My life’s been full, the decades long,
Soon I shall rest in heaven’s care
God's loving arms will take me there
You bear His heart within your own
Your seeds of love from Him were sown
And when I see Him face to face,
I know He’ll speak much of your grace
For though you’ve done all this for me
It’s really Him you’ve served, you see
‘For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me…….I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.
~ Matthew 25:35-40
© Anne Herridge 2010
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EVENING IN THE FOREST
Ribbons of light weave through trees
As evening sun prepares to leave,
Threads of gold illuminate
Slender trunks who stand and wait
Their arms outstretched, their branches knit
With mossy fur that hangs backlit
With glowing halo that surrounds
Each limb and twig from tip to ground
The gentle lamp of sun’s late glow
Bathes the forest floor to show
Tiny flowers in the shade,
Sun kissed colours there displayed
Pink and bronze, soft orange hues
Unearthly blends of colours fused
Magic sight from heaven’s hand,
On holy ground this forest stands
Serene and calm, the sun slips down
Long shadows cast as evening’s gown
Sweeps the forest with twilight grace,
With softest glide and gentle pace
Slowly dimming evening light,
Colours fade, make way for night
Light breeze whispers, her breath still warm
Sweet goodnight kiss to last till dawn.
© Anne Herridge 2010
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HEAVENLY APPLAUSE
How sweet the sound of heaven’s cheer
Falling firmly to my ear
Heaven’s grace comes pouring forth
Ushered in with nature’s force
Some just hear the sound of rain
Cascading, pelting on the pane,
Here in my tent all I can hear is
Thunderous applause, loud and clear
Amidst the rhythm of the shower
A still voice speaks with holy power,
“My Child this is my praise for you,
For your heart and all you do.
Don’t give up when life seems hard
When hurts run deep and leave you scarred,
When you feel that no-one sees
The prayers you whisper on your knees
For I’m the One who sees your soul
Your depth of beauty, dreams and goals,
There stands with me a heavenly throng
Of angels close, to cheer you on
I delight in you, you have my praise
My grace for you is new each day,
Tears of pride spill from my throne,
From my heart, your soul’s true home.”
Increasing rounds of sweet applause
As heaven’s great ovation roars,
Lift my soul to look above
And feel the waves of Father’s love!
While some just hear the sound of rain
Cascading, pelting on the pane,
Know that heaven’s cheering you
For your heart and all you do!
© Anne Herridge 2010
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CAMPING IN SPRING
Early sun lights snowy peaks,
Dazzling white where blue sky meets
Bright powdered pines stand tall and straight,
Rising up to heaven’s gate
Here the eagle reigns supreme,
Majestic mountain views unseen
By all but he who soars with grace
Rising, gliding, thermals chase,
Far below the river weaves
Round boulders, rocks and fallen trees,
Bubbling, frothy, green, white, grey.
Never ending waterway,
Gentle sun peeks through the pines
Stirring campers sleepy minds,
Bathing woods in gold and green
Dewdrops shimmer with diamond sheen
Heavenly light floods forest floor
Tranquil moments make One pause,
What peace and calm Man finds right here
Sweet music of the river near
Misty mountains lose their veil
As sunlight warms their shady trails,
Lifted cloud reveals their might
Creation’s most imposing sight
The air still crisp as afternoon
Fails to hide the high Spring moon,
Soon sunlight fades, the mountains pink
Lit up by nature’s sunset ink
Weary campers end their day
The kids exhausted from their play,
Bikes and boots are cast aside
Fishing poles are cleaned and dried
The fire pit a welcome sight,
Warm red flames burning bright
Dancing sparks ignite the sky,
Misty wood smoke rising high
Silhouettes of trees loom large,
Dark fir fingers brushing stars,
Tiny lights on heaven’s scarf
Eternal keepers watch Earth’s path,
Generations come and go
Yet still the rushing river flows
Moon and mountains, forest fir
Imprint the heart, emotions stir
Unbound by Time, or rule or Man,
But free to flourish where nature’s hand
Has chosen to display the worth
Of Him who formed the stars and earth
© Anne Herridge 2010
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TRAILER IN THE RAIN
Big white trailer, standing large
Amidst the rain soaked camouflage
Of trees and benches, big and small
Cold spring campground, Nature’s call
Inside our trusty vehicle panes
We huddle to escape the rain,
Warm and cozy, dry and clean,
It shields us from the lashing screen
Of rain and leaves that launch attack
On Mt Thurston’s quiet habitat,
But here inside is peace and calm,
Our great white wagon’s homely charm
The smell of propane gas is there,
Hot chocolate’s scent now fills the air,
The heating seeps up through the floor
Eight feet are toasty, as we four
Sit curled on couch and bunk and bed,
Soft plush pillow hugs my head,
Inviting blanket covers me
There’s nowhere else I’d rather be
I lift my book, and start to read
Adventures where my thoughts can feed
On words that thrill my inner soul,
Delight my mind with tales of old
Grey afternoon still closing in
The cozy lights now gently dimmed,
My eyes give way to heaviness
As sleep begins her slow caress
Warm sleepy air now casts its spell
On all who in the cabin dwell
The trailer gently rocks her own,
“ Sleep soundly in this home from home”
© Anne Herridge 2010
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Westview Drive
(A poem about walking to school)
For many days I’ve walked this street
With different shoes upon my feet,
The seasons change, they come and go,
Yet still to school I have to go
In winter my warm boots are nice
They slip and slide on crunchy ice,
While snow means cars are crawling past
My toboggan ride means I am fast!
Sometimes how the wind does blow!
Howling, screaming, crying so,
How urgently it whistles and moans
Blowing down the last pine cones
But sometimes when it settles down
And gently blows the snow around,
It looks to me like angels feet,
Twirling, dancing down my street
Or maybe wispy ghosts are there
In which case I don’t stop and stare,
I run as fast as my legs will
‘Till safe at school I stand quite still
In Springtime how it rains and rains
I hear the dripping, dribbling drains,
The road is like a stream to me
Umbrellas drip and I can't see!
Spring blossom blows upon the breeze
And pollen makes me sneeze and sneeze,
The scent of lilacs in the air,
Trees wear buds, no longer bare
In summer how I feel the heat
With lighter shoes upon my feet,
Flip flops, sandals, roller blades,
Cycling, skipping, needing shade
The sun beats down and hurts my eyes
My shadow seems to grow in size,
The smell of new cut grass is there
Butterflies dance in the air
Mornings mist as Autumn dawns
Apples lie upon the lawns,
The morning air is fresh and cool
I find big leaves to take to school
The golden afternoons are warm
The colours change from green to fawn,
Gold and orange, red and brown,
I love to watch the leaves come down
And then I jump in crunchy heaps
Of leaves that race around my feet,
Rushing, whirling, hurrying so,
As if they have somewhere to go
The days seem short, the nights draw in
Christmas bells begin to ring
Houses sparkle in the night
With coloured bulbs and lots of light
Soon the year will end, I know
Yet still to school I have to go,
For many days I’ll walk this street
With different shoes upon my feet.
© Anne and Kimberley Herridge 2008
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The following poem was written by my mother, Rita, about a tree in the woods near our former home in Somerset, England. The enormous tree had stood perhaps not for a thousand years, but certainly several hundred, on a country estate where we often walked. Just two years after this poem was written, my mother died in an untimely accident. Within several months of her death, an unusually strong windstorm hit the Somerset woods where this tree had stood for centuries. The tree suffered so much damage that it had to be felled, and all that remains of the once majestic giant now is a huge stump marking the place where my mother often stood to shelter from a rain shower, or from the summer sun’s rays. I like to think that some of its wood did indeed become a beautiful piece of furniture, so that it lives on, just as my mother now lives on in presence of the Master himself….
The Tree
I’ve stood just here for a thousand years,
And I’ve watched the forest grow
From seedlings and saplings to others like me,
Tall and majestic and strong.
I’ve heard of the Legions that marched nearby,
And I’ve sheltered the Roundheads and Cavaliers.
I’ve seen all the searchlights and heard all the noise
Of the planes, and the bombs and the guns.
I’ve stood just here for a thousand years
In blizzard, in drought, in storm and in sun.
I’ve sheltered the birds and the deer and the herds
And protected the people in need.
My branches stretch outwards
And downward and upwards and
Though twisted in places are as strong as they were
And I stand and I listen and wait.
I’ve stood just here for a thousand years
And I hear of disasters and traumas and pain.
I sigh with the wind for the folly of man.
I weep with the rain for the shame and the loss,
As my Maker once wept for the death of His friend
And His city that sent him away.
Was it branches like mine that they formed in a cross
For an agonized death of shame?
I’ve stood just here for a thousand years
Rooted and grounded in love,
Fed by His hand whatever the season
And oft without reason.
I’ll shelter and guard as long as I may.
When the day of felling draws near
I’ll work as a bench or a table
All smooth and polished and strong,
Or be paper to write on or logs in your grate
Or whatever my Master intends.
© Rita Mary Seymour
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