Choices Of Life Poetry Of Life Tony Robin Bulley New Zealand

The Choice is Ours
Tony Robin Bulley 2005 ©
I sometimes wonder if we really care
Or just pretend and gaze with vacant stare
At all the death and pain in this life
Is it not our concern for others strife
Or do we feel we want to shout and cry
but in the end just walk on by
For their grief may be our day of regret
For what we left behind we cannot forget
Nor if we close our eyes and sit and pray
Without change today will be yesterday
Have we really become void and cold
Ignoring life just growing old
And if we stand and never say a word
What change will come for no one heard
And when we die and look back as we go
Will we be satisfied with what we know
That one small voice can become a swell
Creating paradise where once was h***

Often we see things we don’t like or that we think are not good for the world we live in, but rather than speak out for change we say nothing, or think maybe someone else will do it.Not realizing that if we were to take action then others would be aware and join in and hopefully things would change for the good.

Often we think well who is going to pay attention, but although we may not be aware at the time, our very outpouring will sow seeds, and those seeds will grow, it may be only one or two to start but eventually if you shout loud and long enough people will pay attention especially if its something really important concerning us all.

I hope this poem is thought provoking, it gives us choices in life, things we can act upon, things we can change for the better of all mankind, and above all this is( love - hope - charity )choices well worth having. Tony Robin Bulley 17/05/2004

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Comment by windsfeather on September 24, 2008 at 2:57pm
In An Angels Arms
A simple reminder that life is precious. Don’t take any minute for granted. It is so easy for us to get caught up in our own sorrows to remember that life is passing us by. Make the most of your time.

My Mother
With all the sorrows and ill health, she always managed to make time and be there each and every day to listen and give us the hugs we needed. She needed a few hugs.

An angel is holding her and helping us to learn to give when she needs. Our time will be short yet; a blessing has come to say our good-byes.

The grace of God has given us the chance to learn the acceptance of life and death. To die with dignity and grace.

When it rained; we cried and mom reassured us that it was just an old farmer with his potato cart going down an old cobble stone road. It was a heavy load and made a lot of noise. At one point the cart broke open and the potatoes came rolling down that old cobble stone road and the angels came down and helped that poor old farmer with his load of potatoes. The farmer never knew who to thank as the angels were faceless. Now, I see my mother there helping the old farmer. And this time I can see a face. Warm and caring as mother has always been.

The lighting was Gods staff of life and every time it came its beauty was beholding. When the rain subsided; we often have seen rays descending from the clouds. Mom would say it was blessings from heaven; being answered. To this day when I am driving down some highway and I see the ray of clouds and know God is answering someone’s prayers.

I believe there is an angel holding my mothers hand and walking with her through the pain. She said sometimes people have to feel a lot; of pain before they can let go.

She is a goddess; she has felt everyone’s pain and held their pain while guiding them to stand when life kicked them down hard. Who else could do such a task? She risked her life to have me. She was gravely ill and yet, she managed to fight all the odds and seen me to adulthood.

Every occasion was a special occasion with my mother. She never let a time go by without letting us know how precious we were. Mother always taught us to grasp life and hold onto it with some kind of meaning. Even when we chose the wrong paths we could always look back to see she was standing there ready to catch us when we fell. All those childhood days knowing our mother was there. Coming home to greet her and knowing she was there gave a special warmth and comfort.

When the neighborhood bully came knocking mothers answer was the best. “Kill ‘em with kindness.” So, I picked all moms prized roses and took them to the bully. She never said a word about the destroyed rose garden. She knew I couldn’t really kill her. Mother’s lesson was far greater and was remembered throughout my life.

She always knows the answer to the problem we never questioned that she wouldn’t know what to do. She just did what had to be done. Mothers always have a way to be humble and giving.

Even in the pain of her life she fights and goes on living. I cry and moan and she still manages to find a way to smile. She has the dignity of a saint and has the gift of doing good to others in the mist of her own sorrows. She pains no one and manages to lift us out of the ashes. May-be she has another one of those lessons she gives about giving without taking, loving without hurting. Sometimes you have to go through a lot of pain before you can reach the other side.

I imagine there is a bright rose garden waiting for my mothers touch. Perhaps the touch of life in an angels arm. It’s a gift…my mother.

Every day of my life I will look towards the sky in the after storms ray of light; somehow knowing my mother has got to be behind those clouds helping answer without question those rays of unanswered prayers.

I miss you already. I will hold your hand and walk with you in the midst of your pain. And when it is your time I will reluctantly let you go. I know you have carried the pain of the world. What a special gift you left me. A chance to be part of you.

Just remember mother, you have given me the specialist gift of all. The gift of living and the knowledge to be thankful for what I have. No matter how little it may be. The difference is all mine. Thank you for being my white dove. Love Karie
Comment by Paul RETI on September 24, 2008 at 12:28pm
Poems like this are worth re-reading almost every day. ==PmR


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