Poems
I have written poetry
since I was nine years old
and still I find that I must write
as others seek for gold.
And though I find no nuggets
amongst the things I write
still sometimes there's a sparkle
that gives me some delight.
poem by Gillian Commerford
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The Last Raven
They say the polar bears will soon be gone
and our children's children
won't believe birds once sang
in our gardens.
Already I note
the absence of chameleons
the scarcity of frogs
and the last raven
has taken refuge in my heart.
poem by Gillian Commerford
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I Call You Friend
I call You kindness
I call You gentleness
I call You Truth.
I call You beauty
I call You wisdom
I call You Beloved.
I call You light
I call You trust
I call You father, mother,
daughter, son
I love You because I must
I call You Friend.
poem by Gillian Commerford
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Don't be A Poet
I told my mother:
'I want to be a poet'.
She said: 'There's no money in it'.
I never was much interested
in making money.
Impractically
I knew the need to feed my soul.
I knew that money could keep me fed and clothed
but poetry would make me whole.
poem by Gillian Commerford
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No Good Days
There are no good days
and no bad days.
They all start out the same-
you wake
you have expectations
make assumptions
name the day 'good'
name the day 'bad'
name yourself 'happy'
name yourself 'sad'.
I tell myself this
still today I'm mildly content
but tomorrow maybe not.
poem by Gillian Commerford
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Follower
The first time I saw you
you were walking on the sea.
I took off my shoes and followed.
The second time I saw you
you were drinking homemade wine.
I poured some in a cup and swallowed.
The third time I saw you
you were hanging from a tree.
Shall I take off my shoes and follow.
poem by Gillian Commerford
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The Long Argument
Between You and I God
the long argument continues
I cannot worship You
without fear
without scepticism-
And yet You draw me ever nearer.
The more I withdraw
the closer You come-
So that in my doubt
I praise You
so that with my fear
I love You.
So that the more I deride You
the closer You become.
poem by Gillian Commerford
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Words
I've been thinking
a lot about me
and the art of good conversation
everyone talks and nobody listens
and the wind blows my words away.
I've been thinking a lot
about me
and the art of communication
if nobody listens
there's no need to talk
and the wind blows my words away.
You see I've been thinking
a lot
about me
and my final destination
Death has a strange fascination for me
and words are my only salvation.
poem by Gillian Commerford
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Jesus Wept
Jesus came to me in a vision.
His robes were pristine
purest white.
I felt his goodness fill my heart.
A tear was in his eye:
'After all I am Jewish.'
These were the only words he spoke
and I was overcome with such relief
as if the weight of 2,000 years of suffering
had been lifted from me-
had been lifted from us all.
I lit two candles-
one for the Christians
one for the Jews
and prayed for all the unnecessary martyrs
and Jesus wept.
poem by Gillian Commerford
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Auschwitz
Once I overheard a middle-aged Jewish woman
talking to her Rabbi
telling him of how she and a friend
travelled to Auschwitz
and finding so much sadness there
decided to do something happy
as if to spite the sadness.
So they danced on the railway line
leading to that camp of death-
two middle-aged women holding each other.
This to me say so much about the human spirit.
If I could I would paint a picture.
Will someone paint it for me please?
poem by Gillian Commerford
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