Poems

The Slate

Posted by: Ray MacRae, Tue 7 Jun, 2011
Poem by: 
Ray MacRae

The Slate

Raymond E MacRae 28 May 2001

We are given a slate with our first breath,

Upon which we record our life until death.

When we die we don’t get the slate

But what is writ is what we take.

A man and his son

Posted by: Ray MacRae, Thu 12 May, 2011
Poem by: 
Ray MacRae

 

R.E.MacRae Sept 1973

He sits quietly, comfortably, eyes closed

He allows the pictures of his past to flick by.

Some he enjoys, some he loves, and some cause pain,

But they are all clear in his memories eye.

Ah, there, that’s worth gazing upon,

He has to shade his eyes the sun is so strong.

He looks out from the homestead verandah,

Bush Fire 1990

Posted by: Ray MacRae, Tue 26 Apr, 2011
Poem by: 
Ray MacRae

The fire had left very little,

as it roared off down the track.

We'll say goodbye to the fire now boys,

but we'll catch it, up on the mountains back.

 

We will go by Bryant's lane,

and hold it at their fence.

Be quick my lads no time to stand,

up there where the smoke is dense.

 

It's there we'll find what men we are,

IN FLANDERS FIELDS

Posted by: Iain McCrae, Sun 13 Nov, 2005
Poem by: 
Ian McCrae

Ian McCrae writes:

In Flanders Fields
By: Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae, MD (1872-1918)
Canadian Army

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