In halls where silence cloaked the dread,
You raised a voice, though fear had spread.
With leaflets fluttering like doves in flight,
You lit a candle in the night.
Not with guns, nor iron might,
But truth and courage, fierce and bright.
A rose in winter, pure and still,
Defying hate with steadfast will.
Your words, like whispers through the air,
Asked hearts to feel, to act, to care.
Against a storm of brutal lies,
You stood with clear and open eyes.
Though gallows claimed your final breath,
You did not bow, not even in death.
Your petals fell, but not in vain—
They bloom where conscience dares remain.
White Rose of Germany, proud and free,
You taught what strength and soul must be.
A bloom of hope in darkest hour—
Forever grace, forever power.
You flew beside me, small and brave,
From west coast skies to the ocean wave.
Tucked in close, not a sound you made,
Just calm little heartbeats, never afraid.
I gave you a friend, a buddy to share,
Skipperely wheeked, and you both were a pair.
In cozy corners, you’d nuzzle tight,
Two little souls curled safe each night.
But illness came like a thief in the night,
And you, sweet Gizmo, began to lose your spark.
We trusted a hand that wasn’t so kind
He never looked close, never gave time.
He chose the needle when there was still fight,
Never tried gas, never made it right.
Didn’t give you what might’ve healed,
Just rushed the end, a fate sealed.
And I was left with a heart torn wide,
Empty space where you once lied.
No more your squeaks, your gentle stare,
Just silence and Skipperely waiting there.
But you were more than fur and paws
You were love without a single flaw.
You knew my voice, you knew my scent,
And in this world, that means so much.
So rest, my boy Gizmo, my sweet little friend,
This isn’t goodbye, love doesn’t end.
I’ll see you again, where skies are wide,
And you’ll hop to greet me, just by my side.
So many friends came to say goodbye
Remember the good times, not going to cry
You were such a part of everyone you knew
A special someone for everything that makes up you
Hard to accept that you are no longer here
Keep waiting for the moment when you reappear
It really hit me, hearing the songs you wrote
Nobody else could quite hit that same note
You just had the voice, perfect for that sound
Never could be matched, from anybody around
You've always been a part of us, somewhere in the background
It doesn't feel right, not having you around
This may have come late, but now I realize
You have always been a special part of our lives
Standing here by the shore
Far beyond my long gaze
I see the earth and sky closer
My memory turns into quiet sea
That reflects through generations
Every thoughts I have is all
For everyone I dearly love whom
Like dew on grass - pure, sincere
And filled with light but now long gone
Time slows down to let me whisper
To my ancestors in the silent hill
Where candles on graves light not for sadness
But remembrance as lanterns of hope
Lighting their souls to heaven's home
Let the God of destiny hear my sadness
As I can't hold my tears to fall
Mix to the waves as additional salting
My intermittent gasping is my deepest sympathy
To my memory to my lost loved ones.
We lose our loved ones since life is wayward.
For everyone, the breath of death, it stinks.
Its kiss, calamitous shame. E'en flowers
turn martyrs, beauty burns, and despair sinks.
A proud mother barred from her cherished calf.
She hates the dark hole, black toll, worthless tomb
which stakes a Cross, and none will wish to laugh
when elephant sorrows sit in their room.
Delivering the soul that once possessed
this womb, love's fired quiver, miracle born
to seed fresh wonders ~ we had been blessed
to follow your springtime steps too-soon shorn.
Now, standing as rainbows still scroll skies wide,
our hopes on Calv'ry stayed, whate'er the tide.
Crossing over
into the realm
of non-description
reference and paradigm
sleep alone
Borders falling inward
upon themselves
leaving only what
the mind forgoes
—and the soul forbids
(The New Room: 1-15-2025)
In sharing my thoughts about Nana...
Where do I even begin?
Her smile that lit up every room?
Her sparkle? Her mischievous grin?
Her rib cracking hugs have been mentioned a lot
By the friends who she mutually adored.
Many felt inspired by her courage, her faith
And her trust in the Sovereign Lord.
Her sense of humour was second to none.
She loved banter as much as the rest.
She enjoyed Disney movies and light-hearted shows.
But MasterChef, for her, was the best.
But most memorable of all, as all would recall
In her life from the very start
Is the person she was to all who she met -
Her loving soul. Her caring heart.
In the heart of Manhattan, where the city thrives,
Lived a hawk named Pale Male, with piercing eyes.
On a grand Fifth Avenue ledge, he made his nest,
A symbol of nature, in the urban crest.
With feathers so light, and a spirit so free,
He soared above skyscrapers, for all to see.
A legend in the park, where he chose to dwell,
His story, a tale New Yorkers would tell.
Through seasons he watched, as the city changed,
From winter’s chill to summer’s range.
With a mate by his side, and chicks to rear,
He brought a touch of wild, to the city’s veneer.
For over three decades, he graced the sky,
A beacon of hope, for every passerby.
Though he’s now gone, his legacy remains,
In the hearts of those, who remember his reign.
On May 16, 2023, he took his final flight,
Leaving behind memories, shining bright.
So here’s to Pale Male, the hawk so grand,
Who made his mark, on this bustling land.
May his spirit soar, in the skies above,
A testament to nature, and a symbol of love.
In Memory Of
In Memory of my Nana Viola Mae Yeager (Chamberlain)
12/02/1928-04/12/2014
Written By Ashley Marie Gilchrist
On April 13, 2014
Today the time has come the sun shall rise,
and sure to set today
Nana's time has come,
She has no regrets.
Her life she lived, as beautiful and wonderful as she did.
Sure we all know,
a better place, that. She has to go.
Rejoice today Because it is at the end of Nana's time but she will see us, once again when it is our time to leave this world behind us.
Written By Ashley Marie Gilchrist
04/12014
In Memory Of
In Memory of my Nana Viola Mae Yeager (Chamberlain)
12/02/1928-04/12/2014
Written By Ashley Marie Gilchrist
On April 13, 2014
Today the time has come the sun shall rise,
and sure to set today
Nana's time has come,
She has no regrets.
Her life she lived, as beautiful and wonderful as she did.
Sure we all know,
a better place, that. She has to go.
Rejoice today Because it is at the end of Nana's time but she will see us, once again when it is our time to leave this world behind us.
Written By Ashley Marie Gilchrist
04/12014
On those long days
when it was too hot to ride
or run, a boy would find
an island of cool beneath
a tree and sit there
with his pocket knife
to whittle away time
and a piece of wood.
A good blade could shape
the hull of a model boat
or thinly peel an apple
or carve a name clean
into the smooth bark
of a spotted gum.
There was a world to make
with a pocket knife,
mine a pearl handled beauty
with two folding blades,
short and long.
It was beyond the mind
to think it a weapon, only
a treasured possession
of pure utility, a tool
for hands to bring forth
a creation or to cut free
a form from its binding.
Finally,
years saw its blades become
blunt and spend less time
in my pocket, more languishing
at the bottom of a drawer.
It's still preserved with
a nostalgic reverence.
Nowadays, whittling
has become a lost art for boys,
pocket knives tarnished
by a new age and drafted
for duty in the service
of fear. On those long days
when it is too hot
to do anything much,
hands still crave to carve
things that substitute
for a piece of wood,
twitching away
in the cramped solitude
of an air-conditioned self.
In Memory of Oreo, the Glasses Thief
My guinea pig named Oreo, an affectionate little soul with a talent to behold..
With fur as soft as moonlight’s gleam,
And eyes so bright, like stars in a dream.
My Oreo, you brought such delight,
With mischief in your heart, mischief in your sight.
A master of curiosity, you wandered with grace,
Exploring the world at your own little pace.
When I’d ask you kindly, Take my glasses, you’d take them away,
With gentle nibbles, you’d remove them with care,
As I marveled at the magic we shared,
My Oreo, with your mischievous ways,
You taught me to find joy, even in mundane days.
You reminded me to cherish life’s little charms,
And embrace the bliss found in unexpected arms.
Now, as I stand here, in this bittersweet rhyme,
Remembering the laughter you brought in your prime,
I bid you farewell, my Oreo
May your spirit live on, in a world without end.
Farewell, Oreo, the glasses thief so sly,
Thank you for the love that will never die.
A reminder of the joy in life’s whimsical stride.
In loving memory of Chewy, my guinea pig friend,
Whose gentle soul touched mine, until the end.
A guinea pig with a heart so pure and kind,
You were the one who rescued me, in my mind.
Four years ago, we found each other,
Your soft, black and white fur and eyes so full of light,
Brought warmth and joy into my darkest nights.
With every squeak, you brightened up my days.
A tiny creature but with a spirit so strong,
Now, my Chewy, you've crossed the Rainbow Bridge,
Leaving footprints in my heart,
where my memories of you will forever remain
Amongst the peaceful meadows, where rainbows can be seen,
A cherished guardian angel, for eternity.
Chewy, may your spirit forever rise,
As you find Oreo in celestial skies,
Thank you for the joy, filling that empty space
Rest well, my Chewy, in that sacred, heavenly space.
The gate of heaven opens wide
as angels on either side guide
her through, while we all mourn and cry.
Praising, she sits by our Lord's side.
12/14/2023
Back then,
backyards were big enough
to nurture a growing soul
and provide a space
for the earth to play out
its seasons in full rehearsal.
There were wide tracks
of grass, trees to climb,
old sheds to rummage
with their interiors full of tools
and bric-a-brac
webbed in history.
There was food - ripe tomatoes
and corn from a vegetable patch,
grapes swelling
under a cool canopy of vines,
soft skins bursting
their dark sweetness
inside expectant mouths,
almonds, apricots and the luscious
dribble of a warm peach
down sticky cheeks.
Some had roaming chickens
with their bounty of eggs.
Backyards were blotting paper
for a child's hurt, a hiding place
to get away, a theater
for projecting the phantasies
of a sheriff or a princess
high in a golden tower.
And in summer, a sprinkler
casting a gauntlet of cold spray
for tiny feet to challenge.
Then it all ends
when backyards become
too small and more exotic places
call a restless soul to leave
its Eden and break the spell
of its beginning.
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