From our November Newsletter 2004

This is not a poem but just fun: Read this as quickly as possible

I cdnuolt blveiee taht I cluod aulaclty uesdnatnrd waht I was rdgnieg The phaonmneal pweor of the hmuan mnid Aoccdrnig to a rscheearch at Cmabrigde Uinervtisy, it deosn't mttaer inwaht oredr the ltteers in a wrod are, the olny iprmoatnt tihng is taht the frist and lsat ltteer be in the rghit pclae. The rset can be a taotl mses and you can sitll raed it wouthit a porbelm. Tihs is bcuseae the huamn mnid deos not raed ervey lteter by istlef, but the wrod as a wlohe.
Amzanig?
Yes, and I awlyas thought slpeling was ipmorantt!
Don't let youngsters see this item or they will never practice their slelpnig.

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NOVEMBER By Margaret Rose

November is a spinner
Spinning in the mist,
Weaving such a lovely web
Of gold and amethyst.
In among the shadows
She spins till close of day,
Then quietly she folds her hands
And puts her work away.

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From A Blessing for the Blessed by L Alma Tadema

When the sun has left the hilltop and the daisy-fringe ifs furled,
When the birds from wood and meadow in their hidden nests are curled.
Then I think of all the babies that are sleeping the world.
There are babies in high lands and babies in the low,
There are pale one wrapped in furry-skins on the margin of the snow,
And brown ones naked in the isles where all the spices grow.

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From our October Newsletter 2004

PRAISE Mary Anderson

Praise the Lord for all the seasons,
Praise Him for the gentle spring,
Praise the Lord for glorious summer,
Birds and beasts and everything,
Praise the Lord Who sends the harvest,
Praise Him for the winter snows;
Praise the Lord, all ye who love Him,
Praise Him, for all things He knows.

From our September Newsletter 2004

The Difference - Author unknown.

I got up early one morning and rushed right into the day;
I had so much to accomplish and I didn't have time to pray.
Problems just tumbled about me and heavier came each task.
"Why doesn't God help me?" I wondered. He answered, "You didn't ask".
I wanted to see joy and beauty but the day toiled on, gray and bleak,
I wondered why God didn't show me. He said, "But you didn't seek".
I tried to come into God's presence; I used all my keys at the lock.
God gently and lovingly chided, "My child, you didn't knock".
I woke up early this morning and paused before entering the day.
I had so much to accomplish and I had to take time to pray.

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It isn't raining rain to me by Robert Loveman

It isn't raining rain to me, it's raining daffodils;
In every dimpled drop I see wild flowers on the hills.
The clouds of grey engulf the day and overwhelm the town -
It isn't raining rain to me, it's raining roses down.

It isn't raining rain to me, but fields of clover bloom
Where any buccaneering bee may find a bed and room,
A health unto the happy, a fig for him who frets -
It isn't raining rain to me, it's raining violets.

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God give me the ability to see clearly the border-lines in life
and the wisdom not to cross them.
Help me never to stray over the narrow lines between:

Helpfulness and Interference
Self-confidence and Arrogance
Love and Possessiveness
Enthusiasm and Fanaticism
Frankness and Tactlessness
Admiration and Idolatry
Enjoyment and Excess
Idealism and Naivety
Self-reliance and Obstinacy
Compassion and Sentimentality
Righteous Indignation and Vengefulness
Self-awareness and Self-centredness

Rev James McMillan received a letter from Mr Harold Olorenshaw who informed him that this peom was written by him in 1985. Mr Olorenshaw was pleased to see his poem on our site. We thank Mr Olorenshaw for his permission to use his words.

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A Walk in Spring by K.C. Lart

What could be nicer than the spring, when little birds begin to sing?
When for my daily walk I go through fields that once were white with snow?
When in the green and open spaces lie baby lambs with sweet black faces?
What could be finer than to shout that all the buds are bursting out -
And oh, at last beneath the hill, to pick a yellow daffodil?

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