Seniors & Friends

Here's the place for those who enjoy writing, reading or hearing poetry.   :)

Hi Jeanne Lee
Thank you for the poetry board

Kelly

Hi Everyone
I will try and find the poem I started about the Isle of Man.

Kelly

Thank you, Jeanne Lee, for your arrangement of this forum.

Kelly, I hope I'll enjoy poetry from you soon.

Hi Sato
Hopefully in a few days with a poem.

Kelly

Here is an original poem, by yours truly, which may or may not be in finished form.  It's one I've worked on for ages, well a couple of years anyway.  Enjoy.

NAMING THE MUSE

My orphaned scribblings languish,
in a cabinet drawer,
A folder filled with shards of yellow legal pad,
And backs of envelopes,
With words scratched out, and others sent
To fill their void.
I cannot get them right.

This  Muse who visits in the night,
And flings these verbal morsels
At my sleepless mind.
She lights a flame
To vanish with the morning’s light.

I call her name - - almost a curse - - Insomnia!
J. McIntyre

Hi Tomereader1
Very good - thank you for sharing your poem with us.

Kelly

Tomereader1 I would say you have captured the very essence of a case of writers' block. I was able to relate readily to everything you wrote

It's so strange that the Muse leaves you when you're trying to write something pertinent, but dashes in to let you write a poem about "her". 

Tome - WOW!  Naming the Muse, is pretty darned awesome!  If you have others, you might consider putting a book of poetry together for possible publication. :thumbup:

Hi Everyone
I like the poetry by Spike Milligan, series or funny.

This I find funny!

On The Ning Nang Nong


On the Ning Nang Nong
Where the Cows go Bong!
and the monkeys all say BOO!
There's a Nong Nang Ning
Where the trees go Ping!
And the tea pots jibber jabber joo.
On the Nong Ning Nang
All the mice go Clang
And you just can't catch 'em when they do!
So its Ning Nang Nong
Cows go Bong!
Nong Nang Ning
Trees go ping
Nong Ning Nang
The mice go Clang
What a noisy place to belong
is the Ning Nang Ning Nang Nong!!

Tom, I enjoyed your poem very much. :)  I can relate and your style makes it easy to do so.  More?

Thank you Nita and Marilyne!  Glad you both enjoyed the poem.  Haven't written much lately...life seems to be getting in the way!  Isn't that always what happens? 

Did you like the Spike Milligan poem Tome?

Kelly

Very cute, Kelly.

Witty also!

Kelly

Kelly, it's an enjoyable nice poem!!  Thank you so much.

Hi Chocky
Lovely poem

Kelly

Chocky - I really liked your poem . . very well done!  It made me wonder about the Kestrel, so I looked it up, and was surprised to discover that it's a small Falcon!  Lots of beautiful pictures of this lovely bird on Google.   

Hi Marilyne
There is  a lovely English film called Kes, where a boy has a close bond with a falcon.  A much acclaimed film.

Kelly

Hoping Sato was missed by the earthquakes.

Hi Tomereader

How goes your day.

Kelly

Sun finally came out, after a night of rain, and severe weather warnings all around us in N.E. Texas.  Supposed to have almost a week of sunshine and higher temps.  Before the sun came out, it was 60 degrees, which felt wonderful!

Hi Tomereader
It was 50F here today and sunny spells

Kelly

I learned this poem in about my second year of school. could get up and say it. Just about the only one that I can still remember. Still my favourite.

he Owl and the Pussy-Cat
Related Poem Content Details
By Edward Lear
I
The Owl and the Pussy-cat went to sea
   In a beautiful pea-green boat,
They took some honey, and plenty of money,
   Wrapped up in a five-pound note.
The Owl looked up to the stars above,
   And sang to a small guitar,
"O lovely Pussy! O Pussy, my love,
    What a beautiful Pussy you are,
         You are,
         You are!
What a beautiful Pussy you are!"

II
Pussy said to the Owl, "You elegant fowl!
   How charmingly sweet you sing!
O let us be married! too long we have tarried:
   But what shall we do for a ring?"
They sailed away, for a year and a day,
   To the land where the Bong-Tree grows
And there in a wood a Piggy-wig stood
   With a ring at the end of his nose,
             His nose,
             His nose,
   With a ring at the end of his nose.

III
"Dear Pig, are you willing to sell for one shilling
   Your ring?" Said the Piggy, "I will."
So they took it away, and were married next day
   By the Turkey who lives on the hill.
They dined on mince, and slices of quince,
   Which they ate with a runcible spoon;
And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand,
   They danced by the light of the moon,
             The moon,
             The moon,
They danced by the light of the moon.

Thank you Jeanne.  The Owl and the Pussycat, brought back some fond memories for me.  My mother used to read it to me when I was young, along with many other poems. It was one of my favorites, and I liked hearing it over and over again.  I remember the illustration in the book I had, showing them dancing on the sand, with the full moon overhead. I always wondered - and still wonder - what is a runcible spoon?

I think a runcible spoon is something like a cake fork looks like. (Don't see them much in Us) Shape like a spoon only have 2 prongs and then a flat curve side.  I have a silver set of them. All my silver I brought from UK over the years. Have a full set of Fish Knives and forks and servings pieces.  Keep trying to give to Daughters and G. daughter but they say don't get so fancy .Would never use.

runcible spoon:  Just put it inyour search bar, and it will show many.  I can't seem to copy it to here.

For me, the most interesting thing about the spoon, was discovering that "Runcible" is a nonsense word invented by Edward Lear, himself.  Apparently Lear's friend, last name Runcy, had recently invented the utensil, as a spoon for children.  Lear, made up the name "Runcible", and used it in his poem The Owl and the Pussycat. :)

Hi Marilyne
I use Adapted cutlery and one of them looks like a runcible spoon!

Kelly

Hi Everyone
Another Spike Milligan poem I like.

Soldier Freddy
was never ready,
But! Soldier Neddy,
unlike Freddy
Was always ready
and steady,

That's why,
When Soldier Neddy
Is-outside-Buckingham-Palace-on-guard-in -the-pouring-wind-and-rain-being-steady-and-ready ,
Freddy
is home in beddy.

Kelly - The Mulligan poem is funny, and a real tongue-twister to boot! LOL! It's fun to read a poem that is cleverly written and makes you smile.  I have a witty one by Billy Collins, that I posted a few years ago . . . I'll look for it and post it again. :D

Geez, I love Billy Collins!  I have two of his books of poetry.

Hi Marilyne
Yes please regarding the poem you have.

Kelly

Here is the Billy Collins poem (non-rhyming) - especially for Tome and Kelly! ;D 


The Country House
          ~ Billy Collins

I wondered about you
when you told me never to leave
a box of wooden, strike-anywhere matches
lying around the house, because the mice
might get into them and start a fire.

But your face was absolutely straight
when you twisted the lid down on the round tin
where the matches, you said, are always stowed.

Who could sleep that night?
Who could whisk away the thought
of the one unlikely mouse,
padding along a cold water pipe
behind the floral wallpaper,
gripping a single wooden match
between the needles of his teeth?

Who could not see him rounding a corner,
the blue tip scratching against a rough-hewn beam,
the sudden flare, and the creature
for one bright, shining moment
suddenly thrust ahead of his time -
now a fire-starter, now a torch-bearer
in a forgotten ritual, little brown druid
illuminating some ancient night.

Who could fail to notice,
lit up in the blazing insulation,
the tiny looks of wonderment on the faces
of his fellow mice, one-time inhabitants
of what once was your house in the country?

Hi Marilyne
Lovely poem

Thank you

Kelly

 A beautiful poem by Kay Ryan.  I kind of relate this to Mother's Day.

THINGS SHOULDN'T BE SO HARD

A life should leave deep tracks:
ruts where she went out and back
to get the mail
or move the hose
around the yard;
where she used to
stand before the sink,
a worn-out place;
beneath her hand
the china knobs
rubbed down to
white pastilles;
the switch she
used to feel for
in the dark
almost erased.
Her things should
keep her marks.
The passage
of a life should show;
it should abrade.
And when life stops,
a certain space-
however small-
should be left scarred
by the grand and
damaging parade.
Things shouldn't
be so hard.

MIRROR by Mark Strand

A white room and a party going on
and I was standing with some friends
under a large gilt-framed mirror
that tilted slightly forward
over the fireplace.
We were drinking whiskey
and some of us, feeling no pain,
were trying to decide what precise shade of yellow
the setting sun turned our drinks.
I closed my eyes briefly,
then looked up into the mirror;
a woman in a green dress leaned
against the far wall.
She seemed distracted,
the fingers of one hand
fidgeted with her necklace,
and she was staring into the mirrror,
not at me, but past me, into a space
that might be filled by someone
yet to arrive, who at that moment
could be starting the journey
which would lead eventually to her.
Then, suddenly, my friends
said it was time to move on.
This was years ago,
and though I have forgotten
where we went and who we all were,
I still recall that moment of looking up
and seeing the woman stare past me
into a place I could only imagine,
and each time it is with a pang,
as if just then I were stepping
from the depths of the mirror
into that white room, breathless and eager,
only to discover too late
that she is not there.

The Poem-A-Day site where I found this called it "a rueful beauty" by Mark Strand.
It is that.

Tome - I like both poems very much, and will save them to read again and again.

Things Shouldn't Be So Hard, reminded me immediately of my mother.  Long story to tell, so I will spare you. I will just say that my mother left her "mark" in a few places in her house.  I didn't discover those small signs, until after my dad died, (18 years after her passing), when I was cleaning the house to get it ready for selling.  Brought tears to my eyes at the time . . . still does, when I think about it. 

Mirror
Wow, that's a heavy one!  The many choices over a lifetime . . . the missed opportunities, et al.  "The Road Not Taken", by Carl Sandburg, comes to mind.   I'll look for it and post it later.   

Marilyne, I would love to hear the "long story" you mention.  You could email me, and tell me about it.
I simply adore "The Mirror" poem. So many deep meanings all through the poem.

I think how many times I watched my mom go outside to move the hose around to the various flowerbeds and trees.

Another Spike Milligan poem, very funny I thought.

American Detectives
Never remove their hats
When investigating murders
In other people's flats.

P.S. Chinese Tecs
Are far more dreaded!
And they always appear
Bare-headed!

Kelly

Forgetfulness - Billy Collins

The name of the author is the first to go
followed obediently by the title, the plot,
the heartbreaking conclusion, the entire novel
which suddenly becomes one you have never read,
never even heard of,

as if, one by one, the memories you used to harbor
decided to retire to the southern hemisphere of the brain,
to a little fishing village where there are no phones.

Long ago you kissed the names of the nine Muses goodbye
and watched the quadratic equation pack its bag,
and even now as you memorize the order of the planets,

something else is slipping away, a state flower perhaps,
the address of an uncle, the capital of Paraguay.

Whatever it is you are struggling to remember,
it is not poised on the tip of your tongue,
not even lurking in some obscure corner of your spleen.

It has floated away down a dark mythological river
whose name begins with an L as far as you can recall,
well on your own way to oblivion where you will join those
who have even forgotten how to swim and how to ride a bicycle.

No wonder you rise in the middle of the night
to look up the date of a famous battle in a book on war.
No wonder the moon in the window seems to have drifted
out of a love poem that you used to know by heart.   

This is my Favorite Billy Collins.  I found one of the books "Aimless Love".

Oh yes Tome! Forgetfulness, is also my favorite Billy Collins poem!  It definitely speaks to those of us, of a certain age. ::)   I saved a link to a discussion about it on Poemfinder.com/ or similar site? . . . I'll see if I can find it and post it here.

which of his books do you have?

Forgetfulness is a good poem

Kelly

Quote from: Tomereader1 on April 30, 2016, 11:58:00 AM
Hoping Sato was missed by the earthquakes.

I was safe and visited here after a long time. The earthquakes have been in the south of Japan.

Hi Sato
Good to see your post on the poetry board.

Kelly

Tome - I don't have any books by Billy Collins, but would love to have some. (Why didn't I think of that when I was asked what I wanted for Mother's Day?)  I only have collections by poets of yesteryear, like Edna St. Vincent Millay, Sara Teasdale, Christina Rossetti, Ella Wheeler Wilcox. I do like poetry anthologies very much, and used to have a few, but now all are packed away.

Sato, so glad you are okay, and were not near the earthquake area.  My heart goes out to those who were affected.

Marilyne, Billy Collins' poems sometimes are "sneaky".  You're ambling along, and suddenly the ending just hits you in the heart or midsection!  I have ordered two from Thrift Books (one will probably be the other copy I can't find here at home), but c'est la vie!  If you will Google his poem, "The Revenant", you will be sad at the opening line, but will have to laugh out loud at the rest of it.  If we ever wonder what our pets are thinking.

Things Shouldn't Be So Hard, is a favorite of mine and yes it makes me think of my mother.    I can't see her mark on her house (her house is gone to another) but she did leave her marks on my heart and in my brain....I see them when   I do things like she did.  :)

Tome - I hope we can agree to disagree on The Revenant?  I Googled it, and have to be honest and say that I hated it. Not a shred of humor there for me. Just very discomforting and grim. I would never read it again. :(

I guess we can agree to disagree on this one, Marilyne.  I've read it several times, and even decided to read it to my hubby, who probably has never had a poem read to him in his adult life.  He laughed so hard, nearly fell out of his recliner, and I laughed till I had tears running down my face!  Takes all kinds, doesn't it?  LOL !  Like I said before, the opening lines were so very sad, but who can say what our dogs are thinking!  Sorry you didn't find anything humorous therein. 
There was a lovely one in this book, that fit right in with Mothers Day on Sunday.  Titled
"The Lanyard".  Google that one.

Tome - Whew!  I'm glad your feelings weren't too badly hurt by my dislike of The Revenant.  We usually agree on most literature and poetry, but occasionally we clash! LOL!  However, we agree once again, on The Lanyard. :thumbup:  That is one of my top three favorite Billy Collins poems. As you said, perfect for Mother's Day!  Here it is for everyone to read and enjoy.

The Lanyard

The other day I was ricocheting slowly
off the blue walls of this room,
moving as if underwater from typewriter to piano,
from bookshelf to an envelope lying on the floor,
when I found myself in the L section of the dictionary
where my eyes fell upon the word lanyard.

No cookie nibbled by a French novelist
could send one into the past more suddenlyâ€"
a past where I sat at a workbench at a camp
by a deep Adirondack lake
learning how to braid long thin plastic strips
into a lanyard, a gift for my mother.

I had never seen anyone use a lanyard
or wear one, if that's what you did with them,
but that did not keep me from crossing
strand over strand again and again
until I had made a boxy
red and white lanyard for my mother.

She gave me life and milk from her breasts,
and I gave her a lanyard.
She nursed me in many a sick room,
lifted spoons of medicine to my lips,
laid cold face-cloths on my forehead,
and then led me out into the airy light
and taught me to walk and swim,
and I , in turn, presented her with a lanyard.

Here are thousands of meals, she said,
and here is clothing and a good education.
And here is your lanyard, I replied,
which I made with a little help from a counselor.

Here is a breathing body and a beating heart,
strong legs, bones and teeth,
and two clear eyes to read the world, she whispered,
and here, I said, is the lanyard I made at camp.

And here, I wish to say to her now,
is a smaller giftâ€"not the worn truth
that you can never repay your mother,
but the rueful admission that when she took
the two-tone lanyard from my hand,
I was as sure as a boy could be
that this useless, worthless thing I wove
out of boredom would be enough to make us even.

Hi Marilyne
A superb poem, thank you for sharing it with us.

kelly

Hi Chocky
Nice poem.

Kelly

Chocky . . well done, and very "Springy"!  You're an excellent poet, and I hope to see more of your work here in the Poetry Corner. :thumbup:

High Flight, was written by John G. Magee on September 3, 1941. He had recently joined the Royal Canadian Air Force, and was sent to Britain, where he flew in a Spitfire squadron and was killed on December 11, 1941. The sonnet above was sent to his parents written on the back of a letter which said, "I am enclosing a verse I wrote the other day. It started at 30,000 feet, and was finished soon after I landed."

Magee's parents lived in Washington, D.C., at the time of his death, and the sonnet came to the attention of the Librarian of Congress, Archibald MacLeish. He acclaimed Magee, the first poet of the War, and included the poem in an exhibition of, "Poems of Faith and Freedom", at the Library of Congress in February 1942. The poem was then widely reprinted, and the RCAF distributed plaques with the words to all airfields and training stations.

President Ronald Reagan, quoted from the first and last lines in his televised address to the nation after the space shuttle Challenger exploded, January 28, 1986. 

The World Has Need of You by Ellen Bass

everything here seems to need us…
â€"Rilke

I can hardly imagine it
as I walk to the lighthouse, feeling the ancient
prayer of my arms swinging
in counterpoint to my feet.
Here I am, suspended
between the sidewalk and twilight,
the sky dimming so fast it seems alive.
What if you felt the invisible
tug between you and everything?
A boy on a bicycle rides by,
his white shirt open, flaring
behind him like wings.
It’s a hard time to be human. We know too much
and too little. Does the breeze need us?
The cliffs? The gulls?
If you’ve managed to do one good thing,
the ocean doesn’t care.
But when Newton’s apple fell toward the earth,
the earth, ever so slightly, fell
toward the apple as well.

OLD AGE AND MEMORIES

When shades of night begin to fall,
And shadows lengthen on the wall,
My thoughts roll back to days of yore;
Like waves that gently lap the shore.

The youth I lost, so long ago.
Just where it went, I do not know.
Too soon, a young man took his place.
Then, age replaced that smiling face.

The child I raised, from very birth,
Has gone to find his place on earth.
He, too, will find that time flies by.
'Tis but a twinkle of God's eye.

I live my memories, o'er and o'er,
And wonder if I could have done more.
Not one of those days were perfect spent.
And yet, the next was duly sent.

I tried and tried, with all my might,
But never did get one just right.
I've lived for many thousand days;
A testament to God's patient ways.

And now, my memories, good and bad,
Remind me of the chance I had
To live my life the way I should;
To shun the bad, embrace the good.

And yet, I trod the time worn road.
I walked alone, with heavy load;
Too proud to think that God would care,
My many burdens to gladly share.

And then, one day, I was wholly spent.
So, down from heaven, His Son He sent.
Not only did He lift my earthly load,
But put me back on the narrow road.

So now, my mind is full at ease,
No longer tossed like heavy seas.
Whatever life, now, has in store,
I have a haven on yonder shore.

It's not a prize that I have won,
But the gift, from God, of His precious Son.

© by Robert Winters
arwin@comteck.com

 [attachimg=1]


Who Are You
E. T.

Who are you
Figment of my mind
Ghost with no breath
Who haunts my dreams?

Who are you
Half remembered
Half imagined
But always there?

What are you
To cling to me
Taking no rest
And giving none?

Where, would you
- would it be safe -
Pull me through, tug
And take me, where?

When you're near,
With your embrace,
Your heat and light
Combine in me.

But why am I
So filled with dread,
Shiv'ring and lost,
When you aren't there



Illustration:
by Frank Benson

© E. T.
All Rights Reserved
© 2005

The Sleeper in the Valley

  It is a green hollow where a stream gurgles
crazily catching silver rags of itself on the grass;
where the sun shines from the proud mountain:
it is a little valley bubbling over with light.
 
A young soldier, open-mouthed, bare-head,
his neck bathed in cool blue cress,
sleeps; he is stretched out on the grass, under the sky,
pale on his green bed where the light falls like rain.
 
His feet in the gladiolis, he sleeps. Smiling as
a sick child might smile, he has a nap:
cradle him warmly, Nature: he is cold.
 
No scent makes his nostril quiver;
he sleeps in the sun, his hand on his breast,
at peace. There are two red holes on his right side.

Arthur Rimbaud 
October 1870

LE DORMEUR DU VAL (The Sleeper in the Valley)

C'est un trou de verdure ou chante une riviere
Accrochant follement aux herbes des haillons
D'argent; ou le soleil, de la montagne fiere,
Luit: c'est un petit val qui mousse de rayons.
 
Un soldat jeune, bouche ouverte, tete nue,
Et la nuque baignant dans le frais cresson bleu,
Dort; il est etendu dans l'herbe, sous la nue,
Pale dans son lit vert ou la lumiere pleut.
 
Les pieds dans les glaieuls, il dort. Souriant comme
Sourirait un enfant malade, il fait un somme :
Nature, berce-le chaudement : il a froid.
 
Les parfums ne font pas frissonner sa narine ;
Il dort dans le soleil, la main sur sa poitrine
Tranquille. Il a deux trous rouges au cote droit.

Arthur Rimbaud 
October 1870

bubble -  The first forum I visit every morning is Leisure Activities.  What a wonderful surprise to see two lovely poems waiting in the Poetry Corner.  The first,  "Who Are You" is thought provoking!  I have been visited in my dreams by someone, but who was it, and what is this person trying to tell me? "Half remembered, half imagined, but always there."

"The Sleeper in the Valley": I can see him. So hopeless and sad . . . time passes, but wars will never end.     

I saw this poem mentioned in a couple of other forums this morning, so thought I would post the entire thing here in the Poetry Corner.  One of my favorites.  Very hopeful and comforting.

A Parable of Immortality ~ Henry Van Dyke

I am standing upon the seashore.

A ship at my side spreads her white sails to the morning breeze

and starts for the blue ocean.

She is an object of beauty and strength,

and I stand and watch until at last she hangs

like a speck of white cloud

just where the sea and sky come down to mingle with each other.


Then someone at my side says,

"There she goes!"

Gone where?
Gone from my sight . . . that is all.

She is just as large in mast and hull and spar

as she was when she left my side,

and just as able to bear her load of living freight,

to the place of destination.
Her diminished size is in me, not in her.

And just at the moment
when someone at my side says, "There she goes!"

there are other eyes watching her coming . . .
and other voices ready to take up the glad shout . . .

"Here she comes!"

Marilyne,    That is a beautiful poem and a favorite of mine.    I first read it quite a while back  in a pamphlet about The Dying Experience given out by Hospice.   As we have gone through the losses of various family members and close friends this poem is ever so more meaningful.   Thank you for sharing it here. 

To my darling Benji.......5.40pm....exactly 24 hours ago....08/02/2003 - 03/11/2016.....

The Last Battle
Author Unknown

If it should be that I grow weak,
And pain should keep me from my sleep,
Then you must do what must be done,
For this last battle cannot be won.

You will be sad, I understand;
Don't let your grief then stay your hand.
For this day more than all the rest,
Your love for me must stand the test.

We've had so many happy years -
What is to come can hold no fears.
You'd not want me to suffer so;
The time has come, so let me go.

Take me where my needs they'll tend
And please stay with me until the end.
Hold me firm and speak to me
Until my eyes no longer see.

I know in time that you will see
The kindness that you did for me.
Although my tail its last has waved,
From pain and suffering I've been saved.

Please do not grieve - it must be you
Who had this painful thing to do.
We've been so close, we two, these years -
Don't let your heart hold back its tears.....

Jackie - I'm sorry to hear about your sweet Benji.  It's so very sad when our dear pets leave us, after giving us so many years of happiness and love. The time comes too soon, when we must say goodbye. 

The poem, "The Last Battle" is just right for those of us with pets.  I'll save it to read again, when the day comes that I have to say goodbye to my 18 year old cat, Winnie.

THE ETERNAL SOLDIER

I am the eternal soldier; I’m there when you need me
Fighting for your liberties down every century
Standing on the front-line, bleeding for your cause
Just a name on a stone, at which you never pause.

Yet all I ask is wages and three square meals a day
To lay my life upon the line, to live in harms way,
But it’s the same old story, when your victory is won
Then I’m just an embarrassment, with a loaded gun.

And the debt is soon forgotten, when the nightmares come to call
When each night I hear my best friend scream and watch my comrades fall,
But I’m told to snap out of it and I’m told, warriors don’t cry
And I’m left to drink myself to death on a cold street to die.

Well I march on your decision, anywhere in this wide world
In places where our flag had no right to be unfurled,
And I’m not asking for riches, I want nothing for free
The only thing I’m asking for, is a measure of dignity.

Cos’ I halted the Armada, stood my ground at Marston Moor
I was in the line at Minden and I heard the Zulu roar,
I was in the square at Waterloo and I fought the fearless Boers
I was gassed in the trenches of the war to end all wars,

I piloted a Spitfire, stormed the beach at Normandy
Fought hard in Korea and I yomped to Port Stanley,
I was bombed to hell in Basra, under fire in Kabul
I am a deadly exocet, I’m just a politician’s tool


~ Author....Mark Vine

WE THOUGHT OF YOU WITH LOVE TODAY....
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

We thought of you with love today,

But that is nothing new.

We thought about you yesterday,

And days before that too.



We think of you in silence,

We often speak your name;

All we have now are memories,

And your picture in a frame.



Your memory is our keepsake,

With which we will never part;

God has you in his keep,

We have you in our heart.



It broke our heart to lose you.

But you didn't go alone,

For a part of us went with you...

The day God took you home.


{Author Unknown}

Jackie.  Lots of people use that one when putting Memorials in our Paper.

JEANNE P...
....oops, thank you for telling me, I only spotted it yesterday on my other forum, thought it was a freshly written poem...It is one I have never come across before...but yes, I can see how it would be a popular choice...

A little light Christmas Holiday humour....

The Twelve Days of Christmas ( Or the Everlasting Turkey)

On the first day of Christmas my true love said to me:
I`ve bought a big, fresh turkey and a proper Christmas tree.

On the second day of Christmas much laughter could be heard
as we tucked into our turkey- a most delicious bird.

On the third day of Christmas came the people from next door.
The turkey tasted just as good as it had done before.

On the fourth day of Christmas came relations, young and old.
We finished up the Christmas pud and had the turkey cold.

On the fifth day of Christmas, outside the snowflakes scurried
But we were nice warm inside â€" we had the turkey curried.

On the sixth day of Christmas, the Christmas spirit died
As the children fought and bickered â€" we had turkey rissoles fried.

On the seventh day of Christmas my true love he did wince
When he sat down at the table and was offered turkey mince.

On the eighth day of Christmas the dog had run for shelter
He`d seen our turkey pancakes and the glass of Alka Seltzer.

On the ninth day of Christmas by lunchtime Dad was blotto
He knew that bird was back again, this time as a risotto.

On the tenth day of Christmas we were drinking home-made brew
As if that wasn't bad enough, we were eating turkey stew.

On the eleventh day of Christmas the Christmas tree was moulting.
With chilli, soy and oyster sauce the turkey was revolting.

On the twelfth day of Christmas we had smiles upon our lips.
The guests had gone, the turkey too â€" we dined on fish chips.....

~ Anon...

 :roflBig:

Jeanne. I am not that happy this morning. Darn Car will not start.  my fault as I didn't drive it for 3 days in this freezing weather. Need to finish getting it charged up and drive out over the Interstate for awhile. Hate this weather.

Jackie - That version of "The Twelve Days of Christmas", is clever and funny!  I've already copied and sent it along to a few friends and relatives, who will get a good laugh this morning.  Thanks for posting! ;D

Didnt I do well?.... :dancingdog:

Christmas Dog

Tonight's my first night as a watchdog,
And here it is Christmas Eve.
The children are sleeping all cozy upstairs,
While I'm guardin' the stockin's and tree.

What's that now---footsteps on the rooftop?
Could it be a cat or a mouse?
Who's this down the chimney?
A thief with a beard---
And a big sack for robbin' the house?

I'm barkin', I'm growlin', I'm bitin' his butt.
He howls and jumps back in his sleigh.
I scare his strange horses, they leap in the air.
I've frightened the whole bunch away.

Now the house is all peaceful and quiet again.
The stockin's are safe as can be.
Won't the kiddies be glad when they wake up tomorrow
And see how I've guarded the tree.

(Written by Shel Silverstein)

EAT UP, EAT UP....

Eat up, it is Christmas time, food is going amok:
Turkey, peas, potatoes, and dressing perhaps even a duck.
It’s OK, eat away:
Corn, gravy, cranberries, ham.
Eat up, it is Christmas day:
Salad, rolls, butter and jams.

Eat up, it is Christmas time:
Chips, bean dip, carrots, peas.
You must do it, it is the season.
Grape juice, milk, teas and coffee.
You can not refuse; there is no reason:
Cake, gum, chocolate, candy.

The year is ending, never fear.
New Years Eve will soon be here
All resolutions will be listed in play.
A diet awaits you the very next day....

~ Anon...

Full Of The Christmas Spirit

Come Christmas day
I will be full of Christmas spirit
Buck fizz with my breakfast
Is only the start of it
Then a sherry with the vicar
After the candles have been lit
And aperitif before lunch
Maybe Vodka or a Gin and it
Wine with every course
Brandy when the pudding is lit
Liqueur with coffee
Then more brandy as we sit
Then when the day is over
I whish shoe a ferry Hacky Fhrismit

~ Anon...

(https://www.seniorsandfriends.org/proxy.php?request=http%3A%2F%2Fi303.photobucket.com%2Falbums%2Fnn134%2Fbenjipetramegan%2Fpositive20new20year.jpg&hash=ffc6b48cdb70e49a3b333aded2bd243fc77a5952)

Jackie - Thanks for the cheerful New Years poem!  I have a couple of poems that I usually post every New Years Eve, so I'll do that later on tonight.  One of course, is Auld Lang Syne!   

~ The Passing of the Year ~
   
My glass is filled, my pipe is lit,
My den is all a cosy glow;
And snug before the fire I sit,
And wait to feel the old year go.
I dedicate to solemn thought
Amid my too-unthinking days,
This sober moment, sadly fraught
With much of blame, with little praise.
   â€¢   
Old Year! upon the Stage of Time
You stand to bow your last adieu;
A moment, and the prompter's chime
Will ring the curtain down on you.
Your mien is sad, your step is slow;
You falter as a Sage in pain;
Yet turn, Old Year, before you go,
And face your audience again.
   â€¢   
That sphinx-like face, remote, austere,
Let us all read, whate'er the cost:
O Maiden! why that bitter tear?
Is it for a dear one you have lost?
Is it for fond illusion gone?
For trusted lover proved untrue?
O sweet girl-face, so sad, so wan
What hath the Old Year meant to you?
   â€¢   
And you, O neighbour on my right
So sleek, so prosperously clad!
What see you in that aged wight
That makes your smile so gay and glad?
What opportunity unmissed?
What golden gain, what pride of place?
What splendid hope? O Optimist!
What read you in that withered face?
   â€¢   
And You, deep shrinking in the gloom,
What find you in that filmy gaze?
What menace of a tragic doom?
What dark, condemning yesterdays?
What urge to crime, what evil done?
What cold, confronting shape of fear
O haggard, haunted, hidden One
What see you in the dying year?
   â€¢   
And so from face to face I flit,
The countless eyes that stare and stare;
Some are with approbation lit,
And some are shadowed with despair.
Some show a smile and some a frown;
Some joy and hope, some pain and woe:
Enough! Oh, ring the curtain down!
Old weary year! it's time to go.
   â€¢   
My pipe is out, my glass is dry;
My fire is almost ashes too;
But once again, before you go,
And I prepare to meet the New:
Old Year! a parting word that's true,
For we've been comrades, you and I --
I thank God for each day of you;
There! bless you now! Old Year, good-bye!

Robert W. Service
   

A little light humour....

( This Take the Biscuit........A poem by Pamela Trudie Hodge....)

*****************************************

Have Wagon Wheels fallen off wagons?

Are Jaffa Cakes biscuits in drag?

Why Don't Jammie Dodgers keep dodging

about instead of just lying in bags?

Are Hobnobs the most sociable biscuits?

Does a Happy Face ever feel sad?

Do Iced Gems just long for a sunbed

And does calling Time Out make them sad?

Do Rich Tea have poor relations?

Do Ginger Nuts need to be cracked?

Why is Jack in a Flap and are Brandy Snaps cross?

Do Oaties feel they're sassenached?

Do Digestives not suffer from heartburn?

Does a broken Kitkat ever mend?

Do frisky Date Slices meet up after dark

and do Cereal Bars never end?

For Women's day...


He has two women:
one sleeping in his bed
and the other sleeping in his dreams.
He has two women who love him:
one that  grows older next to him
and the other  that offers him her youth
hiding soon after.

He has two women:
one in the  heart of  his house
and one in the house of his heart.

(MARAM AL-MASRI)
Syrian woman writer

bubble - thanks for posting the poem by Maram Al-Masri. I enjoyed seeing it here first thing this morning.

It's only a little past 8:00 AM, but it looks like it's going to be a lovely day. Maybe Spring has arrived at last?  I've been thinking of posting some Spring poetry, and the first thing to come to mind is this verse from The Song of Solomon.

For lo, the winter is past,

The rain is over and gone.

The flowers appear on the earth;

The time of singing has come,

And the voice of the turtledove

Is heard in our land.

The fig tree puts forth her green figs,

And the vines with the tender grapes

Give a good smell.


Rise up, my love, my fair one,

And come away!
O my dove, in the clefts of the rock,

In the secret places of the cliff,

Let me see your face,

Let me hear your voice;

For your voice is sweet,

And your face is lovely.

Catch us the foxes,

The little foxes that spoil the vines,

For our vines have tender grapes.

Song of Solomon

I read your new postings, Marilyne, Bubble, Jackie. Thanks a lot.

Hello Sato - great to see you posting!  I hope strength is returning and you will be able to get more active :)

SATO...thank you...

You've Got A Friend

When you’re feeling stuck,
And don’t know what to do,
Remember you’ve got a friend right here,
That’s always there for you.

Whether you need a hand to hold,
Or someone to lead the way,
Don’t think for a second that you’ll impose
Because “Real Friends” are always there
To help you through the day.

Friends are the flowers in the garden of life.
They help you through times of trouble and strife.

There's nothing like friends to make a heart sing.
True friends will share with you most everything.

They will not abandon you in times of need.
They aren't overcome by envy or greed.

Friends are icing on life's great big cake.
Real friends will give and allow you to take.

I don't know how I would survive without friends.
The applaud my beginnings and mourn my sad ends.

Tell me, please tell me, what would I do.
If I didn't have a garden full of friends just like YOU!

~ Anon...

Bubble, Jackie, thanks so much.  Read them to tears.

Sato - Welcome back!  So good to have you with us again.  I'm looking forward to your messages, your poetry, and your comments. :thumbup: 

            BIG CATCH

At sunrise, glorious sunrise
it's a big catch!
A big catch of sardines!
On the beach, it's like a festival
but in the sea, they will hold funerals
for the tens thousands dead.

((C)2016 Sally Ito, Michiko Tsuuboi, Chin Music Press)
.... original: Misuzu Kaneko (1903-30)

Sadly I passed a funeral today, passed twice....on the way going and on the way back, as they were on there way into the church, the hearse car was sitting outside, then as they were on there way back to theirs cars, or walking the short distance to their homes, everyone was dressed in their finest black clothes....just the next village away....This is the same village where a little boy was supposedly murdered by his step- daddy last year, his trial I believe is soon to be taking place....Strangely this little boys home was a group of three terraced homes next door to another close by, but smaller church...today's church was just a very short distance further along the road....

Sato, yes on the land and the sea, we are totally unaware of what is happening...food for thought that, deep in our seas can hold so much tragedies.....To this day it is still very much a mystery as to what happened to the..." Malaysia Airlines Flight MH370 " and its passengers...

Sato - Interesting poem about the sardines.  Is that the way you fish for sardines?  When I was a teenager and living in Southern California, we used to go to the beach at night when there was a full moon, to go grunion hunting!  Grunion is a small fish about the size of a sardine, and when there was a full moon, they would wash up on the shore to spawn. . . thousands of them in every wave.  We would scoop them up and throw them in buckets.  Very exciting, with lots of laughing and slipping on the fish in the shallow water. 

I think Grunion are a species of sardines, but I'm not sure?  I'll have to Google and find out.   

Interesting stories, thank you!

As we no longer have our " Tranquil Cove..." I shall post this in here.... This is especially for those in hospital...



Poem Title: "Hope must be at all times"

Poem by: anonymous


You can live three weeks without food.
You can live three days without water.
But you cannot live three minutes without hope.

Good morning Jackie:  Thanks for reminding us to always have "Hope".  That's a good thought, first thing in the morning.  It's not yet 7:30 here, so I'm still not completely awake.  Another cup of coffee should help! :cup:

I am only one,
But still I am one.
I cannot do everything,
But still I can do something;
And because I cannot do everything,
I will not refuse to do the something that I can do.

-Edward Everett Hale, author (3 Apr 1822-1909)

Does anyone remember having to read this poem in School. We had to Recite what we remembered
I was reading something the other day which said "The Boy stood on the burning Deck" It brought the poem to me.  Not that I remember any of it.

  CASABIANCA.



The boy stood on the burning deck,
Whence all but he had fled;
The flame that lit the battle’s wreck,
Shone round him o’er the dead.

Yet beautiful and bright he stood,
As born to rule the storm;
A creature of heroic blood,
A proud, though childlike form.

The flames rolled on â€" he would not go,
Without his father’s word;
That father, faint in death below,
His voice no longer heard.

He called aloud â€" ‘Say, father, say
If yet my task is done?’
He knew not that the chieftain lay
Unconscious of his son.

‘Speak, father!’ once again he cried,
‘If I may yet be gone!’
â€" And but the booming shots replied,
And fast the flames rolled on.

Upon his brow he felt their breath
And in his waving hair;
And look’d from that lone post of death,
In still yet brave despair.

And shouted but once more aloud,
‘My father! must I stay?’
While o’er him fast, through sail and shroud,
The wreathing fires made way.

They wrapped the ship in splendour wild,
They caught the flag on high,
And streamed above the gallant child,
Like banners in the sky.

There came a burst of thunder sound â€"
The boy â€" oh! where was he?
Ask of the winds that far around
With fragments strewed the sea!

With mast, and helm, and pennon fair,
That well had borne their part,
But the noblest thing which perished there,
Was that young faithful heart.
Image © Felicia Dorothea Hemans after Unknown artist © National Portrai

Good morning and Happy Thanksgiving!    In preparation for our family gathering, I was getting my apple pie ready for transporting and thought of the traditional addition of a slice of cheese.    Our great granddaughter age 9 is quite inquisitive about things that are new for her and we have talked a bit about this custom before.   Anyway I took out my favorite block of sharp cheddar and sliced a few slices to take along.....not everyone is so old fashioned as Granny.   In thinking about the cheese and apple pie I decided to do just a little research and came across this poem by Eugene Field and thought I'd share it this Thanksgiving morning.

  Poems by Eugene Field (https://www.poemhunter.com/eugene-field/poems/) : 33 / 287

   
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Apple-Pie And Cheese - Poem by Eugene Field         
   Full many a sinful notion
Conceived of foreign powers
Has come across the ocean
To harm this land of ours;
And heresies called fashions
Have modesty effaced,
And baleful, morbid passions
Corrupt our native taste.
O tempora! O mores!
What profanations these
That seek to dim the glories
Of apple-pie and cheese!

I'm glad my education
Enables me to stand
Against the vile temptation
Held out on every hand;
Eschewing all the tittles
With vanity replete,
I'm loyal to the victuals
Our grandsires used to eat!
I'm glad I've got three willing boys
To hang around and tease
Their mother for the filling joys
Of apple-pie and cheese!

Your flavored creams and ices
And your dainty angel-food
Are mighty fine devices
To regale the dainty dude;
Your terrapin and oysters,
With wine to wash 'em down,
Are just the thing for roisters
When painting of the town;
No flippant, sugared notion
Shall my appetite appease,
Or bate my soul's devotion
To apple-pie and cheese!

The pie my Julia makes me
(God bless her Yankee ways!)
On memory's pinions takes me
To dear Green Mountain days;
And seems like I see Mother
Lean on the window-sill,
A-handin' me and brother
What she knows 'll keep us still;
And these feelings are so grateful,
Says I, 'Julia, if you please,
I'll take another plateful
Of that apple-pie and cheese! '

And cheese! No alien it, sir,
That's brought across the sea,-
No Dutch antique, nor Switzer,
Nor glutinous de Brie;
There's nothing I abhor so
As mawmets of this ilk-
Give me the harmless morceau
That's made of true-blue milk!
No matter what conditions
  Dyspeptic come to feaze,
The best of all physicians
Is apple-pie and cheese!

Though ribalds may decry 'em,
For these twin boons we stand,
Partaking thrice per diem
Of their fulness out of hand;
No enervating fashion
Shall cheat us of our right
To gratify our passion
With a mouthful at a bite!
We'll cut it square or bias,
Or any way we please,
And faith shall justify us
When we carve our pie and cheese!

De gustibus, 't is stated,
Non disputandum est.
Which meaneth, when translated,
That all is for the best.
So let the foolish choose 'em
The vapid sweets of sin,
I will not disabuse 'em
Of the heresy they're in;
But I, when I undress me
Each night, upon my knees
Will ask the Lord to bless me
With apple-pie and cheese!

  Eugene Field (https://www.poemhunter.com/eugene-field/poems/)

Mary C, I seldom look in the Poetry folder (and few others do too), but I saw your name so decided to look in.  My nephew and I are going to his son's for the day and we are taking two pies; neither of them is Apple, but one is Pumpkin and the other is Cherry.  I don't have the patience or stamina to peel apples and I don't want to use canned apples (canned cherry is OK).  Maybe some day I'll get ambitious and fix an honest-to-gosh Apple Pie and there will be cheddar cheese with it.

I copied and saved the poem.

Have a good Thanksgiving Day.

Mary Ann

mary - Thanks for posting Apple Pie and Cheese by Eugene Field.  He's one of my childhood favorites, along with Robert Lewis Stevenson.  I had a book of poems by both, but the one I remember of Field's, is Wynken, Blynken and Nod.  It was one that my mother read to me before bed at night, when I was very young.

Wynken, Blynken, and Nod one night
   Sailed off in a wooden shoe,â€"
Sailed on a river of crystal light
   Into a sea of dew.
“Where are you going, and what do you wish?”
   The old moon asked the three.
“We have come to fish for the herring-fish
   That live in this beautiful sea;
   Nets of silver and gold have we,"
            Said Wynken,
            Blynken,
            And Nod.

The old moon laughed and sang a song,
   As they rocked in the wooden shoe;
And the wind that sped them all night long
   Ruffled the waves of dew;
The little stars were the herring-fish
   That lived in the beautiful sea.
“Now cast your nets wherever you wish,â€"
   Never afraid are we!”
   So cried the stars to the fishermen three,
            Wynken,
            Blynken,
            And Nod.

All night long their nets they threw
   To the stars in the twinkling foam,â€"
Then down from the skies came the wooden shoe,
   Bringing the fishermen home:
‘Twas all so pretty a sail, it seemed
   As if it could not be;
And some folk thought ‘twas a dream they’d dreamed
   Of sailing that beautiful sea;
   But I shall name you the fishermen three:
            Wynken,
            Blynken,
            And Nod.

Wynken and Blynken are two little eyes,
   And Nod is a little head,
And the wooden shoe that sailed the skies
   Is a wee one’s trundle-bed;
So shut your eyes while Mother sings
   Of wonderful sights that be,
And you shall see the beautiful things
   As you rock in the misty sea
   Where the old shoe rocked the fishermen three:â€"
            Wynken,
            Blynken,
            And Nod.

Marilyne,   My grandmother used to recite Wynken, Blynken and Nod to us quite often.   It paints delightful mind pictures, doesn't it?

On my bookshelf is a small book called A Child's Garden of Verses by Robert Louis Stevenson.   Originally it had a hard cover but after 80 years of tumbling around through the family collection it is reduced to just the front and back pages for covers.  I must have nearly memorized that little book in my early reading years.    We didn't have piles of books as children but what we had we read and re read.   

Marilyne, I liked reading Wynken, Blynken and Nod as it had been many years since I had read it.

MaryC, I think we had a book of A Child's Garden of Verses but I have no idea what might have happened to it.  When my nephews were small, I bought another book and I still have that.  Every so often I will read a poem and remember reading or hearing it when I was a child.

Mary Ann

mary - I also have my childhood copy of RL Stevenson's, A Child's Garden of Verses.  The illustrations are beautiful!  I remember liking "The Swing", and "The Land of Counterpane", which was about playing with your toys in bed, when you were sick.  There was also one about "My Shadow", that I especially liked.

My mother had a beautiful hard bound book of the long narrative poem, The Song of Hiawatha, by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. (which I still have).  The illustrations, by Harrison Fisher, are absolutely gorgeous!  The full page watercolor pictures fascinated me when I was a little girl, and I recall sitting and looking at them over and over again.  The ones of Minnehaha, were especially lovely, and the one at the end,  that showed Minnehaha, on her deathbed, made a real impression on me.  I still have the book, and I would like to actually read the entire poem!  I've never gotten past the first couple of chapters. 

Marilyne, I have a book given to me by my mother's cousin and copywrited 1898 - The Counterpane Fairy - which has stories about the blocks in the counterpane and the fairy takes the child to various places.  I have read the book but not recently; maybe I should.

Mary Ann

Not sure if this will get the recognition it deserves here but seems the most likely Forum for it...........

This is a good one to think about!

A  CHRISTMAS POEM

‘TWAS THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS, HE LIVED ALL ALONE,
IN A ONE BEDROOM HOUSE MADE OF PLASTER AND STONE.

I HAD COME DOWN THE CHIMNEY WITH PRESENTS TO GIVE,
AND TO SEE JUST WHO IN THIS HOME DID LIVE.

I LOOKED ALL ABOUT, A STRANGE SIGHT I DID SEE,
NO TINSEL, NO PRESENTS, NOT EVEN A TREE.
    NO STOCKING BY MANTLE, JUST BOOTS FILLED WITH SAND,
ON THE WALL HUNG PICTURES OF FAR DISTANT LANDS.
  WITH MEDALS AND BADGES, AWARDS OF ALL KINDS,
A SOBER THOUGHT CAME THROUGH MY MIND.
FOR THIS HOUSE WAS DIFFERENT, IT WAS DARK AND DREARY,
I FOUND THE HOME OF A SOLDIER, ONCE I COULD SEE CLEARLY.
THE SOLDIER LAY SLEEPING, SILENT, ALONE,
CURLED UP ON THE FLOOR IN THIS ONE BEDROOM HOME.
THE FACE WAS SO GENTLE, THE ROOM IN SUCH DISORDER,
NOT HOW I PICTURED A UNITED STATES SOLDIER.
WAS THIS THE HERO OF WHOM I'D JUST READ?
CURLED UP ON A PONCHO , THE FLOOR FOR A BED?
I REALIZED THE FAMILIES THAT I SAW THIS NIGHT,
OWED THEIR LIVES TO THESE SOLDIERS  WHO WERE WILLING TO FIGHT.
SOON ROUND THE WORLD, THE CHILDREN WOULD PLAY,
AND GROWNUPS WOULD CELEBRATE A BRIGHT CHRISTMAS DAY.
THEY ALL ENJOYED FREEDOM EACH MONTH OF THE YEAR,
BECAUSE OF THE SOLDIERS, LIKE THE ONE LYING HERE.
I COULDN'T HELP WONDER HOW MANY LAY ALONE,
ON A COLD CHRISTMAS EVE IN A LAND FAR FROM HOME.
THE VERY THOUGHT BROUGHT A TEAR TO MY EYE,
I DROPPED TO MY KNEES AND STARTED TO CRY.
THE SOLDIER AWAKENED AND I HEARD A ROUGH VOICE,
"SANTA DON'T CRY, THIS LIFE IS MY CHOICE;
  I FIGHT FOR FREEDOM, I DON'T ASK FOR MORE,
MY LIFE IS MY GOD, MY COUNTRY, MY CORPS."
  THE SOLDIER ROLLED OVER AND DRIFTED TO SLEEP,
I COULDN'T CONTROL IT, I CONTINUED TO WEEP.
I KEPT WATCH FOR HOURS, SO SILENT AND STILL
AND WE BOTH SHIVERED FROM THE COLD NIGHT'S CHILL.
I DIDN'T WANT TO LEAVE ON THAT COLD, DARK, NIGHT,
THIS GUARDIAN OF HONOR SO WILLING TO FIGHT.
THEN THE SOLDIER ROLLED OVER, WITH A VOICE SOFT AND PURE,
WHISPERED, "CARRY ON SANTA, IT'S CHRISTMAS DAY, ALL IS SECURE."
ONE LOOK AT MY WATCH, AND I KNEW HE WAS RIGHT.
"MERRY CHRISTMAS MY FRIEND, AND TO ALL A GOOD NIGHT."
  This poem was written by a Marine. The following is his request. I think it is reasonable.....
  PLEASE. Would you do me the kind favor of sending this to as many people as you can? Christmas will be coming soon, and some credit is due to our U.S. service men and women for our being able to celebrate these festivities. Let’s try in this small way to pay a tiny bit of what we owe.

Make people stop and think of our heroes, living and dead, who sacrificed themselves for us. Please, do your small part to plant this small seed.

Donklan,
Thank you so much for posting this very special Christmas poem. 
I sent it on to my husband, and others who I know will appreciate it.
Some wonderful Christmas sentiment there!

Every Christmas I post the following poem by Longfellow, and every time I do, I'm saddened because the world never changes.  There is always a war going on somewhere in the world, and I'm afraid there always will be.  I used to believe in Peace on Earth, someday, but now I am doubtful?

I Heard The Bells On Christmas Day

I heard the bells on Christmas Day
Their old, familiar carols play,
And wild and sweet
The words repeat
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

And thought how, as the day had come,
The belfries of all Christendom
Had rolled along
The unbroken song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

Till, ringing, singing on its way
The world revolved from night to day,
A voice, a chime,
A chant sublime
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

Then from each black, accursed mouth
The cannons thundered in the South,
And with the sound
The Carols drowned
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

And in despair I bowed my head;
'There is no peace on earth,' I said;
'For hate is strong,
And mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!'

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
'God is not dead; nor doth he sleep!
The Wrong shall fail,
The Right prevail,
With peace on earth, good-will to men!'

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

MARILYNE:

I agree with you ......


IF ONLY.........................

I just discovered this discussion group. It took me so long because I was never a big fan of poetry, a result, I think, of an over zealous poetry loving 8th grade teacher. Anyway, this morning I found this book of poems which I like on Project Gutenberg during my morning cruise through it. New York Nocturnes and Other Poems by Sir Charles. G. D. Roberts. Roberts is considered the Father of Canadian Poetry and wrote many novels and some non-fiction as well.

http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/56418

MarsGal - Thanks for posting that link to the Roberts poetry book.  I clicked on it, and read a couple of the New York poems, and will go back later and take a look at some of the others.  I enjoy poems from that era, even though they are often very flowery and dramatic.  About twenty years ago, I picked up a poetry book, at a garage sale, that I absolutely love.  The poet is Ella Wheeler Wilcox, and I have often posted her poems in this folder.  I had never heard of her before buying that book, but later found out that she is fairly well known.  A quote from one of her poems, which rings true:
"Laugh and the world laughs with you -
Weep, and you weep alone". 

Dust off your Robby Burns poetry and celebrate. Tonight is the night. NO, I didn't eat haggis at dinner tonight as is traditional for the very enthusiastic. I had pork.

Danklan & Marilyne this is a little late, but thanks for those lovely Christmas poems.

MarsGal, I never was much into poetry untils my son started writing poems. In grade school we seem we had to learn, by heart so many poems. Although, I read poems to my sons nearly every night. For Mark he wanted me to read Little Orphan Annie and Dennis always like Casey at The Bat.  I still have that book of poems, Best Loved Poems of the American People.

I am glad I rediscovered this forum

Not the correct month for posting this but a friend on my UK forum posted it...not a poem I have come across before....

" The Menin Gate Memorial to the Missing is a war memorial in Ypres, Belgium, dedicated to the British and Commonwealth soldiers who were killed in the Ypres Salient of World War I and whose graves are unknown. The memorial is located at the eastern exit of the town and marks the starting point for one of the main roads out of the town that led Allied soldiers to the front line. Designed by Sir Reginald Blomfield and built and maintained by the Commonwealth War Graves Commission, the Menin Gate Memorial was unveiled on 24 July 1927."

You might also find this link of interest as well...
" ‘Anon.’ no longer: the author of ‘Man at Arms’ revealed.

https://simonjoneshistorian.com/2014/02/02/anon-no-longer-the-author-of-man-at-arms-revealed/


Man at Arms

What are you guarding, Man-at-Arms?

Why do you watch and wait?

'I guard the graves, said the Man-at-Arms

I guard the graves by Flanders farms

Where the dead wil rise at my call to arms,

And march to the Menin gate'.



'When do they march then,Man-at-Arms?

Cold is the hour-and late'

'They march tonight' said the Man-at-Arms'

With the moon on the Menin gate.

They march when the midnight bids them go.

With they're rifles slung and their pipes aglow,

Along the roads, the roads they know,

The roads to the Menin gate.



'What are they singing, Man-at-Arms,

As they march to the Menin gate?

'The Marching songs', said the Man-at-Arms,

That let them laugh at fate.

No more will  the night be cold for them,

For the last tattoo has rolled for them, And their souls will sing as old for them, As they march to the Menin gate.

~ Anon.   

Jackie, Thanks for posting that lovely poem.

Jackie - That's a great World War I poem.  I hadn't seen it either.  Interesting to learn about The Menin Gate Memorial, in Belgium. 

This morning, during my cruise through Project Gutenberg, I snapped up this volume of reverential poems called Poems from the Inner Life by Lizzie Doten, a poet unknown to me(as many are)  http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/56575  I thought of our recently missing members and relatives of members as well as others of us who are dealing with health problems.

MarsGal - I tried to download the Lizzie Doten poetry, but unfortunately my computer would not cooperate.  Not to worry however, since I Googled her name, and found lots of interesting sites about her and her poems.  I'm thinking of ordering an Amazon soft cover book of her poetry, for $9.95.  I have a bunch of things to order, so might as well add that to the growing list! ::)

I should have posted this Valentines day...14 February...

Best Friends...
by Ron Carnell...

One hand in mine, my hand in thine,
We walk through life's stark shadow,
Two as one and one combine,
To fight the night's dark battle.

My strength to thee, and thine to mine,
Our fervor never fallow,
Two friends are one by co-design
To face our common morrow.

I pledge my trust, thy trust is mine,
Through life's deep joy and sorrow,
One for all and all align
And this our common motto.

Best friend of mine, and mine to thine,
No greater love to follow,
Two as one and one define
A friendship to the marrow...

I don't know if this has been posted before, but I heard it on the radio this morning.......

Under Milk Wood ~ Dylan Thomas Read by Richard Burton

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VdfqcSN-I0M

Ferocious - I like Dylan Thomas, and Richard Burton has the perfect voice to read his poetry!  R. Burton is my long time favorite actor, so I love to listen to him, or watch his movies.  I wonder who the artist is on this video?  Fun to watch the artwork, as the poem moves along.  Thanks for posting.

Pam Ayres: Dad's Swimming Costume


The superb Pam enthralling us with one of her funny stories.


https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WGcKVumVO08

Hello, is there anyone there?

Here's Pam with one of her clever, funny poems.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ImU2zBSYSiU

Good morning Ferocious - Yes, I'm always checking in, and enjoying what you or anyone else posts here.  I did watch both YouTube videos featuring Pam, but had a hard time understanding her?  Do we both speak English? LOL  It's a problem I have, when I listen to someone from the UK, or Australia.  The language is the same, but the accent is on different syllables.  I can figure it out if I watch and listen long enough! ???

Rats! I just lost my post. Oh, well, once again into the breach---

I am not big on poetry but have always liked Ogden Nash, Robert Frost, and Helen Steiner Rice (whose poems graced many wonderful greeting cards). Tennyson's "The Lady of Shallot" is a worthy read. In fact, we read it for a discussion group a few years back. I also liked reading the epic poems, The Iliad and The Odyssey, and Gilgamesh. I did not, however, like Ovid's Metamorphosis  , but quite possibly that was because it was part of a Latin class where we were rotating translating the sentences. I was concentrating on translating my sentences, which made it all kind of disjointed. There others I could probably list, but those are what come to mind just now. Oh, and I am not particularly fond of Shakespeare's Sonnets.

Anyhow, I post one now and again, over on SeniorLearn.org when something strikes me interesting. I don't think I've ever posted one here. But I do look in.

For Marilyne and Marsgal

Richard Burton reads John Donne's poem 'Go and catch a falling star'


https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qiZygUSkMYw

Ferocious  - Now that's more like it! :)  I'll listen to anything Richard Burton has to say!  Also I like John Donne's, "Go and catch a falling star", and others by him as well.

Marilyne, Ialso have a hard time understanding

MarsGal, when my sons were small I use to read poem and story poems to my son every night Mark had me red Little Orphan Annie all the time and Dennis like Casey at the Bat.

Here are two short poem from Marks book of poems:
                                                    THE SPRING OF LIFE
                                    The spring of life is like the beginning of a river
                                                   Thousand of littlestreams
                                                Created by other winters ends
                                             Andblends in a flowing existence
                                    Which with a combine love of there rivers
                                                 Forms the ocean of humanity
                                                        ......................

                                                   TRIP TO THE ZOO
                                                Mother, the tigers are gone
                                                       Where are they?
                                                        If they are not here
                                                        Where can they be?
                                                 I have seen their pictures in the text books
                                                  But the cages at the Zoo are empty
                                                   The must be where?  Are they?

Jeanne Pentecost <gmjeannep2@gmail.com>
   
11:54 AM (6 hours ago)
   


Some time when you're feeling important,
Some time when your ego's in bloom.
Some time when you take it for granted.
You're the best qualified man in the room.
Some time when you feel that your going
Would leave an unfillable hole,
Just follow these simple instructions
and see how it humbles your soul.

Take a basin and fill it with water,
Put your hands in up to the wrists,
Pull them out, and the hole that remains
Is a measure of how you'll be missed.

You may splash all you please as you enter,
You can stir up the water galore,
But stop, and you'll find in a minute,
that it looks the same as before.
The moral of this is quite simple,
Just do the best that you can,
Be proud of yourself, but remember-

There is no indispensable man.

by Saxon White Kessinger.   

Jeanne Pentecost
   
   
   
   

Enjoyed the poem Jeanne. Thanks.

Jeanne P...
...thank you...I copied and pasted this for my UK forum...had two uplifting comments already... :)

Somebody mentioned Al Jolson ( of the Black and White Minstrels ) fame..which brought this to mind...

When I Leave the World Behind
Al Jolson

I know a millionaire who's burdened down with care
A load is on his mind
He's thinking of the day
When he must pass away
And leave his wealth behind
I haven't any gold to leave when I grow old
Somehow it passed me by
I'm very poor but still
I leave a precious will
When I must say goodbye

I leave the sunshine to the flowers
I leave the springtime to the trees
And to the old folks I leave the memories
Of a baby on their knees
I leave the nighttime to the dreamers
I leave the songbirds to the blind
I leave the moon above to those in love
When I leave the world behind
When I leave the world behind.

To ev'ry wrinkled face
I'll leave a fireplace
To paint their fav'rite scene:
Within the golden rays
Scenes of their childhood days
When they were sweet sixteen.
I'll leave them each a song
To sing the whole day long
As toward the end they plod.
To ev'ry broken heart
With sorrow torn apart
I'll leave the love of God.


https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pb-9lk249v4

~ Iris Hellelden

You will never be old with a twinkle in your eye
With the springtime in your heart as you watch the winter fly
You will never be old while you have a smile to share
While you wonder at mankind and you find the time to care
While there's magic in your world and a special dream to hold
While you still can laugh at life you will never be old

Jackie - That's a very cheerful, upbeat poem!  Maybe it will help me today, to have a more positive attitude toward life. :)

I've put this little poem here before--I don't know the origin or the poet's name--but here it is again.

"Spring has sprung,
The grass has ris.

I wonder where the flowers is!"

Just a little nonsense for a dreary February day.
SCFSue

Sue - Thank you for that little reminder of Spring! I also remember that little nonsense rhyme. :)

I'm so happy to see signs of Spring this year. I've always liked the month of March, so I'm looking forward to next week. It's an unpredictable month, as far as weather is concerned, but rain or shine, I love it.  The position of the sun seems to do a major shift toward the end of February and throws a different slant of light on everything.

Lots of memorable poetry has been written about Spring..  Maybe those of you who read this folder, can contribute a couple that you especially like. Here is one that I remember from long ago.

The Year's At The Spring - by Robert Browning

The year's at the spring,
And day's at the morn;
Morning's at seven;
The hill-side's dew-pearled;
The lark's on the wing;
The snail's on the thorn;
God's in his Heaven —
All's right with the world!

   

To go along with Sue's poem -

Spring has sprung
Fall has fell
Winter is here
And it's cold as usual.

I also do not know the origin.

Now I'll go into hiding!

Mary Ann

Mary Ann, I always thought that poem's first verse ended in HE double toothpicks!

Just kidding!
Sue

Sue, maybe we had to learn my version because the other word was not allowed in our household.  Actually, all of my friends used my version and I probably learned it from them!  Ha!

If anyone is reading this on Sunday afternoon, click on the Grand Haven below my name and have the sound on.  I don't know that we have the 50-75 mph winds, but the winds are in the 30-40 mph category and there are loads of whitecaps and you really can hear the surf.

Mary Ann

This is at the beginning of a Gothic supernatural mystery that I pulled off Project Gutenberg. The book is titled Death, the Knight and the Lady by H. De Vere Stacpoole. Arras is city in France once known for its' rich wall tapestries in the 14th and 15th centuries. These tapestries were referred to as Arras tapestries, or simply Arras.

Ballad of the Arras

Lo! where are now these armoured hosts
Mailed for the tourney cap-a-pie,
These dames and damozelles where ghosts
Make of the past this pagentry?

O sanguine book of History!
Romance with perfume cloaks they must,
But he who shakes the page may see
--Dust.

Stiff hangs the arras in the gloom;
I turn my head awhile to gaze:
Here lordly stallions fret and fume,
Here streams o'er briar and brake the chase.

Here sounds a horn, here turns a face,
How filled with fires of life and lust!
Wind shakes the arras and betrays
--Dust

Ephemeral hand inditing this
Great hound that lolls against my knee,
Lips pursed in thought as if to kiss
Regret--full soon the time must be.

When one shall search, but find not ye,
For that dim moth whose labours rust
All forms in them or tapestry
--Dust

Forth offspring to the perch and then
Clap wings--or fall, if find you must
This saddest fate of books or men
--Dust

Interesting, easy read, story set in the 19th century, I think. There are two other poems in the book, but not as compelling  as this. (The spelling is as in the poem.)

MarsGal - what a beautiful poem! As I read it over again, the  second time, I began to visualize the Arras tapestries. They can easily come to life in your imagination - stallions, hounds, a face.  The last line is thought provoking for sure - "This saddest fate of books or men . . . Dust".

St Patricks Day poem 17th March ( 2019..)

Christ with me,
Christ before me,
Christ behind me,
Christ in me,
Christ beneath me,
Christ above me,
Christ on my right,
Christ on my left,
Christ when I lie down,
Christ when I sit down,
Christ when I arise,
Christ in the heart of every man who thinks of me,
Christ in the mouth of everyone who speaks of me,
Christ in every eye that sees me,
Christ in every ear that hears me.

Jackie - Thank you for posting!  That poem certainly has a clear message!  Very nice.  I think I'll look around for some meaningful poetry this afternoon, and maybe I'll find something worthy of posting.

It is Spring, I have put this in before, but we all need a little cheer:
                I use to love my garden
                 But now my love is dead
                I found a bachelor button in
                 Black Eyed Susan's bed

Gloria de - That is such a cute poem for Spring!  It does make me smile!  We need more things like that to lift our spirits!   ;D  :thumbup:

That is a cute one. Never read it before.
Doesn't feel like spring here. Cold and windy.🤢  Wish it would make up its mind if it wanted to stay spring. Trees were leafying out good and then the rain an winds came and they are bare again.
I think I am finely going to spend time trying to learn windows 10 on this new computer.  I got the book. "Windows 10 for seniors"Dummies. 🤷‍♀️I sure wish I still had my W7. Also my old keyboard. This curved one I will have to work with and try keeping my hands turned out. I think I am just going to stop buying new technology. finely spent 2 hours setting up a new I phone  so could use Texting. They don't want to use Emailing anymore. Everyone into Facebook or Text.
As I am typing this I am trying out the different keys on keyboard. I thought we once had a place on S and F where we could use to practice doing things.

Jeanne, I saw that poem in Brookgreen Gardens,SC years ago and it caught my eye. I saw another one there called Lydia and Louise, it was a poem about a southern grandmother and a Northern grandmother, which my children had. My mother was from NY and Cyriels mother form Ala.

AS I SIT HERE SAFE IN HEAVEN...( for all who are grieving as I am after the sudden loss of my partner of 19 years...Richard..)

To many I am forgotten
Just a sad story from the past
but to those that love and lost me
the memories will always last

As I sit here safe in heaven
and watch you everyday
I try and let you know with signs
I never went away...

I hear you when your speaking
and watch you as you sleep
I even place my arms around you
to calm you as you weep

I see you wish the days away
as you beg to have me home
so I try and send you messages
that you are not alone

Don't feel guilty that you have a life
that was denied to me
oh, heaven is truly beautiful,
just you wait and see

Please live your life and laugh again
Enjoy yourself, be free!
Then I'll know with every breath you take
you're taking one for me...

~ by Hazel Birdsall   

If I Can't....
Julie Stevens publishes poetry under the name Jumping Jules. She writes honest, funny, and moving poems about her experiences living with MS. Her poem, If I can't, won a hiddenvoices poetry award in 2019. It's about how MS wont win and how there's always a different way of looking at things.

If I can't walk that fast
then I'll start a new race
If I can't keep my balance
Then I'll sing as I sway
If i can't use my hand
Then I'll learn a new trick
If i get so very tired
Then I'll run in my sleep
If the heat is too much
Then I'll wave at the sun
If i forget the answer
Then I'll find a new question
If i can't sleep at night
Then I'll say good morning to the stars

Jackie - That's a good poem, by Julie Stevens, about "outsmarting" MS.  It's a very inspirational message, for those who suffer with MS.  Thanks for posting in this folder.  It's been neglected for a long time. 

Marilyne...
...as you know i have MS, this was in our MS Societies magazine that got posted to me..

Be thou a bright flame before me,
Be thou a guiding star above me,
Be thou a smooth path below me,
Be thou a kindly shepherd behind me,
Today - tonight - and for ever

~ Columba (?521-597) Irish monk and missionary in Scotland

Wendell Berry reads a Poem of Hope..

Excerpt from Author Andy Seed...Poems For Pensioners..

We swam in rivers,
Fell out of trees,
Jumped off the bus,
And skinned our knees.

We hid in the woods,
Fished in lakes,
Raced on bikes,
With dodgy brakes.

We played near ponds,
On building sites;
Crossed busy roads,
Flew our own kites.

Throwing snowballs,
For winter frills;
Sliding on ice,
Sledging down the hills.

Building tree houses,
Dens with sticks,
Making go karts,
Learning tricks.

With catapults, penknives,
Arrows and bows;
Stings and splinters,
Bloodied nose.

Armed with stink bombs,
Or itching powder;
Jumping Jacks
Or something louder. 

We ate cakes and cream
And toffee and jam,
Pilfered apples
And tins of spam.

We drank from glass bottles,
Had lead-paint toys;
And were whacked by teachers
When naughty boys.

There were no bike helmets,
No childproof lids;
No mobile phones,
Just happy kids.

Author and copy rite of Andy Seed from All Teachers Great and Small..

(https://www.seniorsandfriends.org/proxy.php?request=http%3A%2F%2Fprojectbritain.com%2Fspecialdays%2Fimages%2Fpoppy.gif&hash=d0d5abec18b777473c43256de329e0bed73d9860)
Rouge Bouquet
by Joyce Kilmer

In a wood they call Rouge Bouquet
There is a new-made grave today,
Built by never a spade nor pick
Yet covered with earth 10 meters thick.
There lie many fighting men,
Dead in their youthful prime,
Never to laugh nor love again
Nor taste the Summertime.
For Death came flying through the air
And stopped his flight at the dugout stair,
Touched his prey and left them there,
Clay to clay.
He hid their bodies stealthily
In the soil of the land they fought to free
And fled away.
Now over the grave abrupt and clear
Three volleys ring;
And perhaps their brave young spirits hear
The bugles sing:
" Go to sleep!
Go to sleep!
Slumber well where the shell screamed and fell.
Let your rifles rest on the muddy floor,
You will not need them any more.
Danger's past;
Now at last,
Go to sleep!"

*******************************************

( On the 11th hour - the 11th day - the 11th month )