The poem project was an email which asked that you send a poem to the sender before the current sender and then send it on to 3 or 5 friends. This meant that each participant received interesting poems from people they, probably, did not know.
In
Flanders
fields
the
poppies
blow
Between
the
crosses,
row
on
row,
That
mark
our
place;
and
in
the
sky
The
larks,
still
bravely
singing,
fly
Scarce
heard
amid
the
guns
below.
We
are
the
Dead.
Short
days
ago
We
lived,
felt
dawn,
saw
sunset
glow,
Loved
and
were
loved,
and
now
we
lie
In
Flanders
fields.
Take
up
our
quarrel
with
the
foe:
To
you
from
failing
hands
we
throw
The
torch;
be
yours
to
hold
it
high.
If
ye
break
faith
with
us
who
die
We
shall
not
sleep,
though
poppies
grow
In
Flanders
fields.
–Unknown
(Irene
Matthews)
Light
Shining
Out
of
Darkness
God
moves
in
a
mysterious
way,
His
wonders
to
perform;
He
plants
his
footsteps
in
the
sea,
And
rides
upon
the
storm.
Deep
in
unfathomable
mines
Of
never
failing
skill,
He
treasures
up
his
bright
designs,
And
works
his
sovereign
will.
Ye
fearful
saints,
fresh
courage
take,
The
clouds
ye
so
much
dread
Are
big
with
mercy,
and
shall
break
In
blessings
on
your
head.
Judge
not
the
LORD
by
feeble
sense,
But
trust
him
for
his
grace;
Behind
a
frowning
providence,
He
hides
a
smiling
face.
His
purposes
will
ripen
fast,
Unfolding
ev’ry
hour;
The
bud
may
have
a
bitter
taste,
But
sweet
will
be
the
flow’r.
Blind
unbelief
is
sure
to
err,
And
scan
his
work
in
vain;
GOD
is
his
own
interpreter,
And
he
will
make
it
plain.
–William
Cowper
(Simon
Pauk)
It
Is
Better
To
Be
Together
It
is
better
to
be
together.
Tossed
together
in
a
white
wave,
than
to
see
the
ocean
like
an
eagle.
It
is
better
to
lie
in
the
stormy
seething
than
to
judge
the
weather
in
an
eagle’s
eye.
Cold
is
the
bird
who
flies
too
far
in
the
clear
vision
which
saints
and
eagles
share:
their
faraway
eyes
are
bitter
with
darkened
prayer.
O,
it
is
better
to
try
with
the
white
wave,
together
to
overturn
the
sky.
–Ruth
Miller
(Amy
Stimson)
Busrit
in
die
aand
Elk
langs
sy
yl
weerkaatsing
in
die
ruit,
sit
hulle
suf,
met
monde
moeg
gesluit,
die
werkers
van
die
stad
wat
huis
toe
gaan.
Skaduwee-skimme
gly
verby…Dis
laat,
en
lang
ligvaandels
wapper
oor
die
straat
soos
oor
‘n
dam
die
blinkpad
na
die
maan.
Ons
ploeg
deur
stormsee
met
ons
kaperskuit:
die
stuurman
voor,
die
passasiers
die
buit
wat
ons
as
slawe
huis
toe
bring
vanaand…
Die
vaartuig
waggel
afdraand,
om
die
draai
met
skril
gekners
en
skommelende
swaai,
en
hyg
en
skok
en
snork
en
swoeg
opdraand,
terwyl
ons,
soos
twee
kinders
opgetoë,
mekaar
toelag
met
glinsterende
oë…
Asof
hul
jammerlik
hul
lot
kan
raai,
sit
hulle
suf,
met
monde
moeg
gesluit,
elk
langs
sy
yl
weerkaatsing
in
die
ruit,
die
werkers
van
die
stad
wat
huis
toe
gaan.
–Elisabeth
Eybers
(Tobi
Louw)
i
thank
You
God
for
most
this
amazing
day:for
the
leaping
greenly
spirits
of
trees
and
a
blue
true
dream
of
sky;
and
for
everything
which
is
natural
which
is
infinite
which
is
yes
(i
who
have
died
am
alive
again
today,
and
this
is
the
sun’s
birthday;
this
is
the
birth
day
of
life
and
of
love
and
wings:
and
of
the
gay
great
happening
illimitably
earth)
how
should
tasting
touching
hearing
seeing
breathing
any–lifted
from
the
no
of
all
nothing–human
merely
being
doubt
unimaginable
You?
(now
the
ears
of
my
ears
awake
and
now
the
eyes
of
my
eyes
are
opened)
–e.e.
cummings
1894-1962
(Sinead
Comninos)
Creation
I
wandered
lonely
as
a
cloud
That
floats
on
high
o’er
vales
and
hills,
When
all
at
once
I
saw
a
crowd,
A
host,
of
golden
daffodils;
Beside
the
lake,
beneath
the
trees,
Fluttering
and
dancing
in
the
breeze.
Continuous
as
the
stars
that
shine
And
twinkle
on
the
milky
way,
They
stretched
in
never-ending
line
Along
the
margin
of
a
bay:
Ten
thousand
saw
I
at
a
glance,
Tossing
their
heads
in
sprightly
dance.
The
waves
beside
them
danced;
but
they
Out-did
the
sparkling
waves
in
glee:
A
poet
could
not
but
be
gay,
In
such
a
jocund
company:
I
gazed-
and
gazed-
but
little
thought
What
wealth
the
show
to
me
had
brought:
For
oft,
when
on
my
couch
I
lie
In
vacant
or
in
pensive
mood,
They
flash
upon
that
inward
eye
Which
is
the
bliss
of
solitude;
And
then
my
heart
with
pleasure
fills,
And
dances
with
the
daffodils.
–Wordworth
(Jean-Louis
Leysens)