Gail McNaughton-Author Photographer Poet Artist

Watch for new poetry on a quarterly basis...

The Heart Tree Fairy, Valentine’s Day, February 14, 2011

A Visit From Santa Christmas, 2010

I HAVE FAITH TO BELIEVE
By Gail McNaughton, July 19, 2010

I have faith to believe in myself,
So I have faith to believe in you,
Therefore I have faith to believe in All of humanity,
And All of humanity would believe in our world –
And then, all would be well.
If that happened,
There would be a complete shift in thinking,
If we opened our minds and hearts.
It starts at home with parents raising children,
And with teachers and significant people in our lives,
Giving us nurturing,
And getting us on the right road,
To have self esteem and self confidence.
Our talents begin to shine like diamonds,
And when we are given the opportunity to develop them,
We blossom and then know our purpose.
With tutoring and mentoring,
We develop our likes and dislikes and our personalities continue to grow,
And before you know it,
We are working and getting older,
And part of this adult world of humanity,
Is where we understand concepts and universal laws for living.
How we conduct our lives has long-term consequences,
So we have many trials and tribulations to figure things out.
The faith we have in ourselves influences everyone around us,
For we are all part of the whole.
We rub off on one another like pollination.
We create a wave in the universe with our energy,
And we’re capable of changing the world,
By uniting the world towards peace.
With all this magic that takes place before our eyes,
We realize that it all starts with –
A faith to believe.
So,
I have faith to believe in myself,
So I have faith to believe in you,
Therefore I have faith to believe in All of humanity,
And All of humanity would believe in our world,
And have the ultimate purpose to be,
One in the universe,
And then, all would be well,
And Faith to believe would reign forever.

THE PAINTER & THE RED CANOE
By Gail McNaughton, September 19, 2009
Tribute to Paul Schleusner who died August 20, 2009

It was his last journey,
As he crossed the lake.
He painted the loons.
Who swam in his wake.
With a stroke of his brush,
Summer was almost over,
And it was time to lie down,
In a sun-burned field of clover.
He stroked his white hairs,
A day’s growth on his chin,
And hummed some bars,
From a German hymn.
The canvas before him,
Reflected bright light,
And we stared in awe,
At the Angelic presence in sight.
The red canoe glided,
With Angel’s wings paddling strong,
His bond with the earth,
With ease was gone.
We waved good-bye,
As the canoe ascended above,
Carried home to heaven,
On the wings of God’s dove.
He would live in Algonquin,
A park so lush,
And be one with nature,
With paint and brush.
In the changing seasons,
We’d know he was there,
And stare at the scenery,
Giving a silent prayer,
Knowing Paul Schleusner,
Was painting with glee,
As he drank some wine,
And a cup of tea.
He would always be painting,
With passion in his heart,
And throughout eternity,
We’d enjoy his art.

Paint Me A Garden
by Gail McNaughton

Paint me a garden,
And I'll tell you,
The story of my life.
Walk down a path with me,
And I'll show you,
The forks in my journey,
And the rainbow of choices I had.
See the sunshine on the moonflowers,
And my joys will cascade,
Like a waterfall of magnolia blooms.
I'll show you the harmony of a Zen garden,
And tears and sorrows,
In the faces of pansies;
And the tolling of the blue bells,
And heads bowed in surrender,
In a parade of lily-of-the-valley.
I'll heighten your senses,
In the fragrance of lilacs,
And cry in the rain,
In the reflection ponds of water lilies.
My garden is my mirror,
And my life's futures,
Are hidden in the gazing ball,
Under the "Rosebery Place" arbour,
Amongst the four-leaf clovers,
And periwinkle mixed greens,
And dancing fern grotto.
Breathing the garden,
In the soul of my being,
It kisses my human nature with kindness,
And sprouts me a flowerbed plethora,
For change.
I'll walk and whisper with the fairies,
And discover the truths,
At my core in the seasons,
Of my life's purpose.

Flower Face

A Face in the Garden

So...Paint me a garden,
And I'll tell you,
The story of my life,
And unravel the lessons,
I've learned,
That's brought me here,
To you.

WASHING ANGEL WINGS
March 14, 2008, By Gail McNaughton

I gently unhooked the wings,
And dipped them in the pond.
Using a fishbone,
I pampered the wings with a bit of a scratch.
I reached for my Love Potion hand cream,
And massaged the wings,
Until they were soft to the touch.
I sat them in the sun on a park bench,
Located along a winding path to the ocean.
A lovely young woman came my way.
Angelica was her name and,
She sat with her back to my wings,
That were nicely drying on the bench.
She was meditating,
And the joy in her heart,
Reached through her body and,
Hooked the wings to her back.
As she woke up,
She glowed in a shimmer of light.
God told her he had a new role for her,
That she would be a bridge of love,
Between Heaven and Earth.
She didn’t hesitate,
Got up from the bench,
And took the path to the ocean.
At seashore God handed her a halo,
Prayed over her,
And they both vanished.
As for me,
My wings were growing in,
And on wash day,
I would find a new Earth Angel,
To bestow with my wings,
All washed, refreshed and revitalized.

(This poem was written in Hawaii on board the plane to the Big Island. When we got to the car rental office Bob went inside to secure our car which had previously been ordered. I waited outside and happened to notice artwork on the back of a woman also waiting for a ride on the shuttle to the airport. Upon closer view I discovered that she had a large pair of wings tattooed on her back.. I guess God has new technology.)

Angel Wings

Alma College Alummi & Newspaper Reporter

I Am Alma, Your Mother Forever
Alma College burned down May, 2008
By Gail McNaughton, June 3, 2008

I was once a community within a community.
I was prosperous and my doors were open to all.
I was a Mother with arms around the women of the world,
Who dignified me with their presence.
They will remember me for I stood for stability in their lives.
I was the energy and catalyst for them,
To take their place in the world.
They laughed in my corners,
Saw hope out my windows,
Danced in the halls,
Made life-long friends,
But stayed near and far.
Near, to remember their youth,
And not too far to return for a visit.
Don’t cry for me for I nurtured you well.
Don’t pine for me for I am alive.
I am bricks.
I am ashes,
But the essence of who I am,
Is sacred space within your heart.
I will always be your Alma –
Your passage of time through my doors,
And your memory of yesterdays.
Don’t forget that I am still here for you –
In the spirit of the community,
In the roots of my soil,
And in the radiance of the bright sunshine,
That nourishes the seeds of life within.
My chapel has survived,
And the angels will pray with you at my side.
We grand old women never die and we revitalize,
And unfold with creativity and intuition,
To bring forth new growth, new opportunity and new energy.
I reach out to you,
For I too will not forget you.
You have touched my soul,
And given me strength,
Through my challenges of old age.
I am not asleep so plant flowers in your mind,
And help me grow.
I am Alma, your Mother forever.©

Alma College Fire May 26, 2008
Photo by Pam Hedden

"Discover your Psychic Powers
- A Practical Guide to Psychic Development & Spiritual Growth"
Author: Tara Ward

References to reincarnation are found frequently in poetry throughout the ages.
Do you know the often-quoted passage from William Wordsworth?

'Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting:
The soul that rises with us, our life's star,
Hath had elsewhere its setting,
And cometh from afar.'

Gail's Book Launch at The Old English Church, 2006

Perhaps you know those lines but have never connected them with the concept of reincarnation. If you start reading more poetry, you'll probably be quite taken aback by the constant references to an afterlife and to the effects of karmic law. Why is it found so often among poems, in particular? Perhaps it's because poets are often soul-searchers and use their work as a means of expressing their inner selves. Also, as poetry is often a very lyrical form of expression, do we not find it easier to accept than if the words had been written in a factual book? Perhaps we should all read more poetry to improve contact with our own spiritual selves.

All poetry is copyright and can not be reproduced without the consent of the author.

Poetry is the lightning rod of God. Prose produces light, but poetry strikes fire – and to live, we need fire! We need the fire of faith, the warmth of love. That is why metaphysics should be poetry. When it becomes poetry, it helps us to live, it helps us to be.
~ By James Dillet Freeman from his book, Angels Sing In Me. James Dillet was a Unity poet laureate. He lived from 1912 – 2003 and his aim in life was “to help people not to hurt so much." He died at the age of 91.