| Frank Savidge On Music, Poetry and Life | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| Poetry Page | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
WHAT IS POETRY? I think of it in a way as like a window of a person's thoughts and emotions. If you go up to the window of a house, you may be able to see partially what is inside the room. How much you can see depends on factors such as: how far the curtains are opened, the size of the window, the position of the window in the room and location of various items of furniture. Some of these factors, such as the curtains and furniture location, are in control of the occupier rather that the person outside. In the same way, a person can use a poem to expose a certain amount of themselves, their emotions and their thinking and do it to just the extent and in the way that they want to. Anyway, here we go with the poems. Frank Savidge The following poem is dedicated to my wife,whom I love very much. MY MARIE I love to be with my Marie. She even loves to be with me. I asked myself how that could be But realised God sent her to me. Upon His chessboard she did stand: Some great manoeuvre He had planned And moved her with His skilful hand. Although she couldn't understand Why things that caused her pain should be, In retrospect we now can see, Because of them she came to me. I thank You Lord for my Marie. Now here is a poem actually written by my wife. Her Grandson, Joel was born at a time of great distress for her and she found looking after him took her mind off the pain. AN APPRECIATION OF MY GRANDSON He was there, he was there, When things went wrong, Without a song, God saw my need He did intercede: Joel was there. Jesus, how good You are All the time You are a shining star I'm glad You are mine Thank you for a love so sincere To a worthless soul like me Keep me steadfast, 'till Eternity O Joel, thank God for you Sweet little flower of God Remain sincere in love Grow to love Him and all that you do. Marie E F Savidge A BRITISH TRIBUTE TO COUNTRY MUSIC I am a London Limey, as British as they come. My dad was born in England and so too was my mum. And yet the kind of music that I really love to play Is very much a product of the good old USA. I'll give some clues; the bluegrass banjo makes me feel so great. The wailing of the steel guitar I do appreciate. You just can't beat the fiddlers who play two strings at a time, While honky tonk piano playing gives me thrills sublime. I love to pick my guitar in a bouncy sort of way (Called "hammer-ons" and "pull-offs" so the music experts say). I'd love an opportunity to play a Dobro later. It really makes a great sound with its metal resonator. There are the "Grand Ole Opry", and the "Country Hall of Fame" (Oh! I just gave the game away and said the music's name). Well, now you know the music that has done so much for me. It's good old country music from Nashville, Tennessee. LANDMINES We've heard of hidden landmines And their power to kill and maim. Our late Princess Diana campaigned to ban the same. Evil devices used by man against humanity - But what about the landmines of our personality. It's sad when, just by speaking, we walk down a perilous road Lest something that we say will cause some person to explode. It is not honouring to God that our breath must be bated As, by our words, somebody's mine may well be detonated. Let's pray that, by God's Spirit, we can make a brand new start, That He will sweep, de-fuse and clear the mines in every heart. SIN'S SUPERMARKET Sin's like a supermarket that's sumptuously spaced With shelves and shelves of merchandise, designed for every taste. There are some shelves we linger at, our baskets fill with glee; At other shelves we shake our heads quite disapprovingly. Our baskets get quite chock-a-block with no more space to fill. We then go to the checkout and queue to pay the bill. The items are all totted up to ascertain the cost: A lack of fellowship with God; our peace of mind is lost. "This is a most expensive place" we mumble to ourselves, Yet, next time, take a trolley to help unload the shelves. If we were wise, then we would seek our heavenly Father more For strength, when tempted, to avoid sin's supermarket door. Here are are the words of an song which I penned many years ago. It goes to the tune of "The Battle Hymn of the Republic" and I do it in the style suggested by the title. COUNTRY BOY Once there was a country boy from Southern USA Who shocked his mother when he said he didn't need to pray. She tried to reason with him, but she couldn't make him see He said "I'm sorry ma that kinda thang jest ain't fer me. You can keep your old religion You can keep your old religion You can keep your old religion There ain't no God in heaven so I ain't agonna pray. Religion is a prop" he said "for people who are weak. It's something independent guys like me don't need to seek. I'm gonna show you momma just how tough I really am And fight for people's freedom out in far away Viet Nam. You can keep your old religion You can keep your old religion You can keep your old religion There ain't no God in heaven so I ain't agonna pray". He joined the US Airforce and they taught him how to fly But little did he know that he was very soon to die. He cried to God to save him when a wing was shot away And, as he hurtled down, he wished he had more time to pray. (For technical reasons there's no chorus this time if you get my drift). | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||