Do Not Cry, by Jennifer Margaret Mcphillips

I found this poem when looking for a verse for my brothers eulogy, I think it is so simple, yet so beautiful.

Do not cry

Do not cry for me, my dear……

My last wish is for you to
Carry me with the breezes
When they swirl delicately
Beneath the storms you’ll
Gather amidst your spirit.

As rain pelts harshly against your heart,
Let the soothing trickle calm your soul,
When you feel like your drowning,
Lay down quietly and savour
The tranquillity of memories,
Allow them to cleanse your pain.

I’ll speak to you through nature’s gifts
And I’ll never be far from your door.
When colourless clouds surround your mind,
I’ll paint them brightly with tones of love.
I’ll ask the birds who sing so sweetly
If I can borrow their voice
To remind you that I haven’t gone far

Every leaf or feather you see floating
Is me, asking you not to cry,
Each pebble you see washed upon the shore
Is your reminder that I didn’t die.
The rippling waters are my giggles
And the wave tops are me saying hello,
Never forget how much I love you………

I’ll be here till you ask me to go.

This poem by Jennifer Margaret Mcphillips

On grief.....

“When great souls die,
The air around us becomes
Light, rare, sterile.
We breathe, briefly.
Our eyes, briefly,
See with a hurtful clarity.
Our memory, suddenly sharpened,
Examines,
gnaws on kind words unsaid,
Promised walks
Never taken.


Great souls die and
Our reality, bound to them,
Takes leave of us.
Our souls, dependent upon their nurture,
Now shrink wizened.
Our minds, formed and informed by their radiance,
Fall away.
We are not so much maddened
As reduced to the unutterable ignorance
Of dark, cold caves.


And when great souls die,
After a period peace blooms,
Slowly and always irregularly.
Spaces fill with a kind of soothing electric vibration.
Our senses, restored, never to be the same,
Whisper to us.
They existed. They existed.
We can be. Be and be better.
For they existed.


From a poem by the African American poet Maya Angelou.

Three Things

What Three Things are good about dying?


1. Never having to go to the dentist again.
2. Not having to fix the lawnmower/leaking tap
3. Not having to pay back Mastercard bills.


Your turn now!

My Dreams

I dream of dying, at least once a week these days. Almost once every 7 days, I dream of death, or dying, or being killed, or killing.

It appalls me, and always fills me with horror.

In one dream, Chris was driving our car down a steep hill. The road was wet, the light was fading, it must have been dusk.

He was in control, steering and driving the car.

I should have said “slow down!” or perhaps I should have said “brake for God’s sake!” or perhaps I could have even shouted “stay on your side of the road”, but I didn’t cry out any of those things, I remained silent, as I knew he wouldn’t listen.

He didn’t listen to me, because I didn’t say anything.

I could have, should have, said something; anything, but instead I sat beside him, white-knuckled, and screaming on the inside, but silent.

The wet, dark road took a slow bend to the left, and the next minute we are crashing through the scrub, smashing through the bush and hurling across treetops, when at once, we are air-borne, flying. I look down, and clearly see the city below us.

Everything is in slow motion now.

The city lights are beginning to come on with dusk, and we are flying through the air, hurtling downwards.

Looking at Chris and grabbing his left wrist, I say “We are never going to survive this! I love you - thanks for the kids!” before closing my eyes to the unfolding horror of the earth rushing upwards to meet us.

I wake with a start, I am barely breathing. It’s as though my body is already in shutdown. I remind myself I am awake, although I don’t believe it myself.

Breathe in, breathe out. I am alive.

But I just don’t believe it myself. I am filled with horror.