The Poets Corner

You'll find an unique collection of poetry, that's been collected over the years, by many people.

So, sit back, relax and enjoy the music.

The following poems come from Tom & Carol Miller

Some Genealogy humor you might appreciate! These epitaphs, taken from actual tombstones, were submitted by: Angel Otto

On the grave of Ezekial Aikle in East Dalhousie Cemetery, Nova Scotia:

Here lies Ezekial Aikle*Age 102*The Good*Die Young*

In a London, England cemetery:
Ann Mann
Here lies Ann Mann,
Who lived an old maid
But died an old Mann.
Dec. 8, 1767

In a Ribbesford, England, cemetery:
Anna Wallace
The children of Israel wanted bread
And the Lord sent them manna,
Old clerk Wallace wanted a wife,
And the Devil sent him Anna.

Playing with names in a Ruidoso, New Mexico, cemetery:
Here lies
Johnny Yeast
Pardon me
For not rising.

Memory of an accident in a Uniontown, Pennsylvania cemetery:
Here lies the body
of Jonathan Blake
Stepped on the gas
Instead of the brake.

In a Silver City, Nevada, cemetery:
Here lays Butch,
We planted him raw.
He was quick on the trigger,
But slow on the draw.
A widow wrote this epitaph in a Vermont cemetery:
Sacred to the memory of
my husband John Barnes
who died January 3, 1803
His comely young widow, aged 23, has
many qualifications of a good wife, and
yearns to be comforted.

A lawyer's epitaph in England:
Sir John Strange
Here lies an honest lawyer,
And that is Strange.

Someone determined to be anonymous in Stowe, Vermont:
I was somebody.
Who, is no business
Of yours.

Lester Moore was a Wells, Fargo Co. station agent for Naco,
Arizona
in the cowboy days of the 1880s.  He's buried in the Boot Hill
Cemetery
in Tombstone,  Arizona:
Here lies Lester Moore
Four slugs from a .44
No Les No More.

In a Georgia cemetery:
"I told you I was sick!"

John Penny's epitaph in the Wimborne, England, cemetery:
Reader if cash thou art
In want of any
Dig 4 feet deep
And thou wilt find a Penny.

On Margaret Daniel's grave at Hollywood Cemetery Richmond,
Virginia:
She always said her feet were killing her
but nobody believed her.

In a cemetery in Hartscombe, England:
On the 22nd of June
- Jonathan Fiddle -
Went out of tune.

Anna Hopewell's grave in Enosburg Falls, Vermont has an epitaph
that
sounds like something from a Three Stooges movie:
Here lies the body of our Anna
Done to death by a banana
It wasn't the fruit that laid her low
But the skin of the thing that made her go.

More fun with names with Owen Moore in Battersea, London,
England:
Gone away
Owin' more
Than he could pay.

Someone in Winslow, Maine didn't like Mr. Wood:
In Memory of Beza Wood
Departed this life
Nov. 2, 1837
Aged 45 yrs.
Here lies one Wood
Enclosed in wood
One Wood
Within another.
The outer wood
Is very good:
We cannot praise
The other.

On a grave from the 1880s in Nantucket, Massachusetts:

Under the sod and under the trees
Lies the body of Jonathan Pease.
He is not here, there's only the pod:
Pease shelled out and went to God.

The grave of Ellen Shannon in Girard, Pennsylvania is almost a
consumer tip:
Who was fatally burned
March 21, 1870
by the explosion of a lamp
filled with "R.E. Danforth's
Non-Explosive Burning Fluid"

Oops! Harry Edsel Smith of Albany, New York:
Born 1903--Died 1942
Looked up the elevator shaft to see if
the car was on the way down. It was.

In a Thurmont, Maryland, cemetery:
Here lies an Atheist
All dressed up
And no place to go.

ETERNAL INK  (the actual account of a dream) by Craig F. Pitts

I dreamed I was in heaven
Where an angel kept God's book.
He was writing so intently
I just had to take a look.

It was not, at first, his writing
That made me stop and think
But the fluid in the bottle
That was marked eternal ink.

This ink was most amazing,
Dark black upon his blotter
But as it touched the parchment
It became as clear as water.

The angel kept on writing,
But as quickly as a wink
The words were disappearing
With that strange eternal ink.

The angel took no notice,
But kept writing on and on.
He turned each page and filled it
Till all its space was gone.

I thought he wrote to no avail,
His efforts were so vain
For he wrote a thousand pages
That he'd never read again.

And as I watched and wondered that
This awesome sight was mine,
I actually saw a word stay black
As it dried upon the line.

The angel wrote and I thought I saw
A look of satisfaction.
At last he had some print to show
For all his earnest action.

A line or two dried dark and stayed
As black as black can be,
But strangely the next paragraph
Became invisible to see.

The book was getting fuller,
The angel's records true,
But most of it was blank, with
Just a few words coming through.

I knew there was some reason,
But as hard as I could think,
I couldn't grasp the significance
Of that eternal ink.

The mystery burned within me,
And I finally dared to ask
The angel to explain to me
Of his amazing task.

And what I heard was frightful
As the angel turned his head.
He looked directly at me,
And this is what he said...

I know you stand and wonder
At what my writing's worth
But God has told me to record
The lives of those on earth.

The book that I am filling
Is an accurate account
Of every word and action
And to what they do amount.

And since you have been watching
I must tell you what is true;
The details of my journal
Are the strict accounts of YOU.

The Lord asked me to watch you
As each day you worked and played.
I saw you as you went to church,
I saw you as you prayed.

But I was told to document
Your life through all the week.
I wrote when you were proud and bold,
I wrote when you were meek.

I recorded all your attitudes
Whether they were good or bad.
I was sorry that I had to write
The things that make God sad.

So now I'll tell the wonder
Of this eternal ink,
For the reason for its mystery
Should make you stop and think.

This ink that God created
To help me keep my journal
Will only keep a record of
Things that are eternal.

So much of life is wasted
On things that matter not
So instead of my erasing,
Smudging ink and ugly blot.

I just keep writing faithfully and
Let the ink do all the rest
For it is able to decide
What's useless and what's best.

And God ordained that as I write
Of all you do and say
Your deeds that count for nothing
Will just disappear away.

When books are opened someday,
As sure as heaven is true;
The Lord's eternal ink will tell
What mattered most to you.

If you just lived to please yourself
The pages will be bare,
And God will issue no reward
For you when you get there.

In fact, you'll be embarrassed,
You will hang your head in shame
Because you did not give yourself
In love to Jesus' Name.

Yet maybe there will be a few
Recorded lines that stayed
That showed the times you truly cared,
Sincerely loved and prayed.

But you will always wonder
As you enter heaven's door
How much more glad you would have been
If only you'd done more.

For I record as God sees,
I don't stop to even think
Because the truth is written
With God's eternal ink.

When I heard the angel's story
I fell down and wept and cried
For as yet I still was dreaming
I hadn't really died.

And I said: O angel tell the Lord
That soon as I awake
I'll live my life for Jesus-
I'll do all for His dear sake.

I'll give in full surrender;
I'll do all He wants me to;
I'll turn my back on self and sin
And whatever isn't true.

And though the way seems long and rough
I promise to endure.
I'm determined to pursue the things
That are holy, clean and pure.

With Jesus as my helper,
I will win lost souls to Thee,
For I know that they will live with Christ
For all eternity.

And that's what really matters
When my life on earth is gone
That I will stand before the Lord
And hear Him say, well done.

For is it really worth it
As my life lies at the brink?
And I realize that God keeps books
With His eternal ink.

Should all my life be focused
On things that turn to dust?
>From this point on I'll serve the Lord;
I can, I will, I must!

I will NOT send blank pages
Up to God's majestic throne
For where that record's going now
Is my eternal home.

I'm giving all to Jesus
I now have seen the link
For I saw an angel write my life
With God's eternal ink!

Did Jesus use a modem?

Did Jesus use a modem,
At the Sermon on the Mount?
Did He ever try to send a fax,
To get His message out?
Did the disciples carry beepers,
As they went about their route?
Did Jesus use a modem,
At the Sermon on the Mount?

Did Paul use a laptop,
With lots of RAM and ROM?
Were his letters posted on a BBS,
At Paul-dot-Rome-dot-Com?
Did the man from Macedonia,
Send an e-mail saying "Come?"
Did Paul use a laptop,
With lots of RAM and ROM?

Did Moses use a joystick,
At the parting of  the Sea?
And a Satellite Guidance Tracking System,
To show him where to be?
Did he write the law on tablets,
Or are they really on CD?
Did Moses use a joystick,
At the parting of the Sea?

Did Jesus really die for us,
One day upon a tree?
Or was it just a Hologram,
Technical Wizardry?
Can you download a video clip,
To play on your PC?
Did Jesus really die for us,
One day upon a tree?

Have the wonders of this modern age,
Made you question what is true?
How a single man, in a simple time,
Could offer life anew?
How a sinless life, a cruel death,
Then a glorious life again,
Could offer more to a desperate world,
Than all the inventions of man?

If in your life, the voice of God,
Is sometimes hard to hear.
With other voices calling,
His doesn't touch your ear.
Then set aside your laptop,
And all your fancy gear.
And open your Bible, open your heart,.
And let your Father draw near.



We all seem to lose track of what is really important in our own lives,
if
we would only listen to what He said and try to live as He did.  To
judge no
one because of their skin color, religion, or life style.  God loves us
all
not just who we think He should.  Jesus was born to give His gift to us
all.........

I want to wish your and yours a very Merry Christmas.  May God Bless you
all
and keep you safe, warm and healthy.  Praise His name forever, for He
alone
is King......
M. F. PicKell
csimp@uclink4.berkeley.edu


"To my mind, the life of a lamb is no less precious than that of  a
human
being.  I hold that, the more helpless a creature, the more entitled it
is
to protection by man from the cruelty of man."...Mahatma Gandhi