LIGHT FOR YOUR LIFE

Even if everyone else is not doing good,
I alone will
Even if everyone else is doing wrong,
I alone will not

It is our thoughts
that lead us into trouble
not the other people

Rely on the teacher's message,
not the personality,
Rely on meaning,
not just words,
Rely on the real meaning,
not the provisional one,
Rely on your wisdom mind,
not your ordinary judgemental mind.

We are what we think,
all that we are arises with our thoughts,
with our thoughts,
we make the world.

Just as water cools both good and bad,
and washes away all impurity and dust,
in the same way you should develop,
thought of love for friend and foe alike,
and having reached perfection in love,
you will attain enlightenment.

To be proud of what we have received
or to envy others.
for what they have will rob us of our peace of mind.

If we fail to look after others
when they need help
who will look after us?
Indifference brings indifference
lovingkindness brings lovingkindness.

If I want to succeed in guiding a human being towards a given goal,
I must find him where he is and right start there...
to help a person I must know more than he does,
but above all
I must understand what he understands.

If I tell You something, You will forget it,
If I show You something, You will remember it,
If I involve in something, You will understand it.

There are three ways to correct our faults,
we can change through BEHAVIOR,
we can change through UNDERSTANDING,
we can change from the Heart.

Our words should be carefully chosen
for people will hear them and be
influenced by them for good or for ill.

If you know anything that is hurtful and untrue,
don't say it.
If you know anything that is helpful but untrue,
don't say it.
If you know anything that is hurtful but true,
don't say it.
If you know anything that is helpful and true
find the right time.

by Sajith Ranatunga

THE HOOVES OF THE HORSES

By W.H.Ogilvie

"The hooves of the horses O' witching and sweet
Is the music earth steals from the iron-shod feet
No whisper of lover, no trilling of bird
Can stir me as hooves of the horses have stirred
They spurn disappointment and trample despair
And drown with their drum beats the challenge of care
With scarlet and silk for their banners above
They are swifter than fortune and sweeter than love
On the wings of the morning they gather and fly
In the hush of the night-time I hear them go by
The horses of memory thundering through
With flashing white fetlocks all wet with the dew
When you lay me to slumber no spot you can choose
But will ring to the rhythm of galloping shoes
And under the daisies no grave be so deep
For the hooves of the horses to sound in my sleep"

Source: Tim Cox Fine Art's
"GOOD HORSES AND WIDE OPEN SPACES."

WHEN I HAVE FEARS

by John Keats

When I have fears that I may cease to be
Before my pen has glean'd my teeming brain,
Before high-piled books, in charactery,
Hold like rich garners the full ripen'd grain;
When I behold, upon the night's starr'd face,
Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance,
And think that I may never live to trace
Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance;
And when I feel, fair creature of an hour,
That I shall never look upon thee more,
Never have relish in the faery power
Of unreflecting love;--then on the shore
Of the wide world I stand alone, and think
Till love and fame to nothingness do sink.
‪
Source: Old English Literature

EARTH GIFT LOVE MAN

The earth is a canvas
Nature the artist
You damage the canvas
You enrage the artist
Our lives are a gift
The choices our own
Squander the gift
Your on your own
Show compassion and love
To your fellow man
A world without love
Makes a beast out of man.

By: Shadowlands
November 14 2014

DREAM FOR WINTER

"In the winter, we shall travel in a little pink railway carriage
With blue cushions.
We shall be comfortable. A nest of mad kisses lies in wait
In each soft corner.
You will close your eyes, so as not to see, through the glass,
The evening shadows pulling faces.
Those snarling monsters, a population
Of black devils and black wolves.
Then you'll feel your cheek scratched...
A little kiss, like a crazy spider,
Will run round your neck...
And you'll say to me : "Find it !" bending your head
- And we'll take a long time to find that creature
- Which travels a lot...

By: Arthur Rimbaud
In a railway carriage, October 7, 70
- As translated by Oliver Bernard
(French poet Arthur Rimbaud died in Marseille, France, on this day in 1891, aged 37)

Source: Everyman's Library

ODE TO AUTUMN

by John Keats

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run;
To bend with apples the mossed cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For Summer has o'er-brimmed their clammy cell.
Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reaped furrow sound asleep,
Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers;
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;
Or by a cider-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings, hours by hours.
Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,---
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir, the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft,
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.

Source: Everyman's Library

The Charge of the Light Brigade

Lord Alfred Tennyson, 1809 - 1892

Half a league, half a league,
Half a league onward,
All in the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
“Forward, the Light Brigade!
Charge for the guns!” he said:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.

“Forward, the Light Brigade!”
Was there a man dismay’d?
Not tho’ the soldier knew
Some one had blunder’d:
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do and die:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them
Volley’d and thunder’d;
Storm’d at with shot and shell,
Boldly they rode and well,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of Hell
Rode the six hundred.

Flash’d all their sabres bare,
Flash’d as they turn’d in air
Sabring the gunners there,
Charging an army, while
All the world wonder’d:
Plunged in the battery-smoke
Right thro’ the line they broke;
Cossack and Russian
Reel’d from the sabre-stroke
Shatter’d and sunder’d.
Then they rode back, but not
Not the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon behind them
Volley’d and thunder’d;
Storm’d at with shot and shell,
While horse and hero fell,
They that had fought so well
Came thro’ the jaws of Death,
Back from the mouth of Hell,
All that was left of them,
Left of six hundred.

When can their glory fade?
O the wild charge they made!
All the world wonder’d.
Honor the charge they made!
Honor the Light Brigade,
Noble six hundred!

THE LAMB

Little lamb, who made thee?
Dost thou know who made thee,
Gave thee life, and bid thee feed
By the stream and o’er the mead;
Gave thee clothing of delight,
Softest clothing, woolly, bright;
Gave thee such a tender voice,
Making all the vales rejoice?
Little lamb, who made thee?
Dost thou know who made thee?

Little lamb, I’ll tell thee;
Little lamb, I’ll tell thee:
He is callèd by thy name,
For He calls Himself a Lamb.
He is meek, and He is mild,
He became a little child.
I a child, and thou a lamb,
We are callèd by His name.
Little lamb, God bless thee!
Little lamb, God bless thee!

− William Blake, 1789

LOVE and FRIENDSHIP

by Emily Brontë

Love is like the wild rose-briar,
Friendship like the holly-tree—
The holly is dark when the rose-briar blooms
But which will bloom most constantly?
The wild rose-briar is sweet in spring,
Its summer blossoms scent the air;
Yet wait till winter comes again
And who will call the wild-briar fair?
Then scorn the silly rose-wreath now
And deck thee with the holly’s sheen,
That when December blights thy brow
He still may leave thy garland green.
*
A celebration of friendship in all its aspects--from the delight of making a new friend to the serene joys of longtime devotion. Poems about best friends, false friends, dear friends, lost friends, even animal friends. These poems have been selected from the work of great poets in all times and places, including Emily Dickinson, W.H. Auden, Henry David Thoreau, William Shakespeare, Sappho, Robert Frost, Rudyard Kipling, Walt Whitman, and many others.

Source: Everyman's Library

ANNABEL LEE

by Edgar Allan Poe

It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of Annabel Lee;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.
I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea,
But we loved with a love that was more than love—
I and my Annabel Lee—
With a love that the wingèd seraphs of Heaven
Coveted her and me.
And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her highborn kinsmen came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea.
The angels, not half so happy in Heaven,
Went envying her and me—
Yes!—that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.
But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we—
Of many far wiser than we—
And neither the angels in Heaven above
Nor the demons down under the sea
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling—my darling—my life and my bride,
In her sepulchre there by the sea—
In her tomb by the sounding sea.

On this day in 1849 Edgar Allan Poe's "Annabel Lee" was published, just two days after his death. (October 11)

Source: Everyman's Library

SWEENEY AMONG THE NIGHTINGALES

by T. S. Eliot (1888 - 1965)

Apeneck Sweeney spreads his knees
Letting his arms hang down to laugh,
The zebra stripes along his jaw
Swelling to maculate giraffe.
The circles of the stormy moon
Slide westward toward the River Plate,
Death and the Raven drift above
And Sweeney guards the horned gate.
Gloomy Orion and the Dog
Are veiled; and hushed the shrunken seas;
The person in the Spanish cape
Tries to sit on Sweeney’s knees
Slips and pulls the table cloth
Overturns a coffee-cup,
Reorganized upon the floor
She yawns and draws a stocking up;
The silent man in mocha brown
Sprawls at the window-sill and gapes;
The waiter brings in oranges
Bananas figs and hothouse grapes;
The silent vertebrate in brown
Contracts and concentrates, withdraws;
Rachel née Rabinovitch
Tears at the grapes with murderous paws;
She and the lady in the cape
Are suspect, thought to be in league;
Therefore the man with heavy eyes
Declines the gambit, shows fatigue,
Leaves the room and reappears
Outside the window, leaning in,
Branches of wistaria
Circumscribe a golden grin;
The host with someone indistinct
Converses at the door apart,
The nightingales are singing near
The Convent of the Sacred Heart,
And sang within the bloody wood
When Agamemnon cried aloud,
And let their liquid droppings fall
To stain the stiff dishonoured shroud.

Source: Everyman's Library

TWO RIVERS

by Ralph Waldo Emerson

Thy summer voice, Musketaquit,
Repeats the music of the rain;
But sweeter rivers pulsing flit
Through thee, as thou through the Concord Plain.
Thou in thy narrow banks art pent:
The stream I love unbounded goes
Through flood and sea and firmament;
Through light, through life, it forward flows.
I see the inundation sweet,
I hear the spending of the steam
Through years, through men, through Nature fleet,
Through love and thought, through power and dream.
Musketaquit, a goblin strong,
Of shard and flint makes jewels gay;
They lose their grief who hear his song,
And where he winds is the day of day.
So forth and brighter fares my stream,—
Who drink it shall not thirst again;
No darkness taints its equal gleam,
And ages drop in it like rain.

Source: Everyman's Library

Ralph Waldo Emerson is one of the best-loved figures in nineteenth-century American literature. Though he earned his central place in our culture as an essayist and philosopher, since his death his reputation as a poet has grown as well. Known for challenging traditional thought and for his faith in the individual, Emerson was the chief spokesman for the Transcendentalist movement. His poems speak to his most passionately held belief: that external authority should be disregarded in favor of one’s own experience. From the embattled farmers who “fired the shot heard round the world” in the stirring “Concord Hymn,” to the flower in “The Rhodora,” whose existence demonstrates “that if eyes were made for seeing, / Then Beauty is its own excuse for being,” Emerson celebrates the existence of the sublime in the human and in nature. Combining intensity of feeling with his famous idealism, Emerson’s poems reveal a moving, more intimate side of the man revered as the Sage of Concord.

AUTUMN

Soon we will plunge ourselves into cold shadows,
And all of summer's stunning afternoons will be gone.
I already hear the dead thuds of logs below
Falling on the cobblestones and the lawn.
All of winter will return to me:
derision, Hate, shuddering, horror, drudgery and vice,
And exiled, like the sun, to a polar prison,
My soul will harden into a block of red ice.
I shiver as I listen to each log crash and slam:
The echoes are as dull as executioners' drums.
My mind is like a tower that slowly succumbs
To the blows of a relentless battering ram.
It seems to me, swaying to these shocks, that someone
Is nailing down a coffin in a hurry somewhere.
For whom? -- It was summer yesterday; now it's autumn.
Echoes of departure keep resounding in the air.

~Charles Baudelaire

*
Modern poetry begins with Charles Baudelaire (1821-67), who employed his unequalled technical mastery to create the shadowy, desperately dramatic urban landscape -- populated by the addicted and the damned -- which so compellingly mirrors our modern condition. Deeply though darkly spiritual, titanic in the changes he wrought, Baudelaire looms over all the work, great and small, created in his wake.

Source: Everyman's Library

THE MORE LOVING ONE

"Looking up at the stars, I know quite well
That, for all they care, I can go to hell,
But on earth indifference is the least
We have to dread from man or beast.
How should we like it were stars to burn
With a passion for us we could not return?
If equal affection cannot be,
Let the more loving one be me.
Admirer as I think I am
Of stars that do not give a damn,
I cannot, now I see them, say
I missed one terribly all day.
Were all stars to disappear or die,
I should learn to look at an empty sky
And feel its total dark sublime,
Though this might take me a little time."

by W. H. Auden

Source: Everyman's Library

W.H. Auden died in Vienna, Austria on this day in 1973 (aged 66).

SEE ON THE INSIDE

♥*✿*•♥

Sometimes people are quick
to judge others,
when what you see
isn't really all there.

People have different moods
different personalities
different desires,
so what you're really seeing
is only a mask,
of what others want you to see.

On the inside,
we all have the same desires,
a kind smile,
a warm heart,
a tender soul,
all wanting to be reached
on the inside.

We're all not perfect,
only human,
we'll have ups and downs
like a merry-go-round,
we'll make many mistakes.

But just remember,
the next time you see a person,
do not judge whats on
the outside,
we could be having a bad day.

Try and see on the inside,
and you will see,
the kind smile,
the warm heart,
the tender soul,
reaching out....

Copyright © Sherri Emily Avery

Source: Positive Thoughts

Where Peaceful Waters Flow

The clouds break forth the streams of light
To dance upon the earth,
And cradled in the sands of time,
Comes a newborn babies'' birth.
A gentle breeze blows through the night,
It whispers through the grass,
And ripples on the water form
As rain glistens on the glass.

And you listen to the sound,
The Lords' presence all around.
He summons us to go
Where peaceful waters flow.

A rainbow arcs across the sky,
A promise is displayed.
The graceful flight of a butterfly,
It takes my breath away.
The autumn leaves in their splendor
Fall gracefully to the earth,
And stars proclaim their song at night,
What is their beauty worth?

And you listen to the sound,
The Lords' presence all around.
He summons us to go
Where peaceful waters flow.

© Keith Burroughs
Feb 2011

Source: Family Friends Poetry

I'M NO STRANGER TO THE RAIN

I'm no stranger to the rain
I'm a friend of thunder
Friend, is it any wonder lightning strikes me
I've fought with the devil
Got down on his level
But I never gave in, so he gave up on me
I'm no stranger to the rain
I can spot bad weather
And I'm good at finding shelter in a downpour
I've been sacrificed by brothers
Crucified by lovers
But through it all I've withstood the pain
I'm no stranger to the rain
But when I get that foggy feeling
The one I'm a feelin' now
If I don't keep my head, I may drown
But it's hard to keep believing
I'll even come out even
While the rain beats a hole in the ground
And tonight it's really coming down
I'm no stranger to the rain
But there'll always be tomorrow
And I'll beg, steal, or borrow a little sunshine
I'll put this cloud behind me
That's how the Man designed me
To ride the wind and dance in hurricanes
I'm no stranger to the rain
Oh, no, I'm no stranger to the rain
I'm no stranger to the rain
I'm a friend of thunder
Friend, is it any wonder lightning strikes me
But I'll put this cloud behind me
That's how the Man designed me
To ride the wind and dance in hurricanes
I'm no stranger to the rain.
~Keith Whitley

A GIFTED PAINTER

If I were a gifted painter,
I would paint a world of delight.
If I were a wordsmith of note,
I would create a universe of kindness.
If my voice could entrance generations,
My music would echo round the globe.

I am simply what I am,
A Soul blessed with sight.
I see what the World could be.
I speak of Life, Joy and Love.
I build with my heart,
To the eternal tune of the song of Light.

Paint Your own world in your colors.
Sing Your own song in the key-of-you.
Write upon the ages
The Beauty of your Heart.
Let the Light of your Soul
Create your Own Life.

~Dulce Caramia

A GENTLE BREEZE

As I sit here all alone admiring the view of an early sunrise
I tilt my head back and close my eyes.
A soft gentle breeze crosses my face
I look around and enjoy the quietness of God's peace and the soft gentle pace
The trees are in full bloom, the leaves ready to fall
God's beauty of earth, I admire it all.
As the sun comes up and begins a new day
I sit here quietly and begin to pray.
Dear God, I begin to say, please watch over my life and keep me safe
Give me hope and show me faith.
Guide my path and let me know you are near.
Allow me to be strong and filled with love, for love conquers all fear.
A gentle breeze crosses my path, and gives me a slight chill
God answers and says: I am with you still.
I've never left you alone, or threw you aside, I am in your heart, I will be your guide.
I will show you the way to master life's difficulties, and trust your heart,
For I am with you now and forever, I shall never part.
A gentle breeze I feel again, I know my prayers are answered, God has heard my plea.
He has pointed this out for me to see.
Life has many surprises each and every day. We cannot live on regrets and sorrow.
Once again I feel a gentle breeze which means God is saying:
My child there is a tomorrow:
The sun will shine once again, the birds will continue to sing.
Memories will last forever, and enjoy life a new today, and all that it may bring.

© Laurie Swartzfager
September 2011

Source: Family Friend Poems

LIGHT

♥*✿*•♥

I am blue
I am ocean
I am sky
I am brown
I am soil
I am the roots
that never die
I am yellow
I am sun
I am stars
I am red
I am blood
I am every beat
of my waking heart.
I am orange
I am fire
I am the get set
before the go.
I am green
I am the trees
I am the moss which
finds beauty
in cracks and holes.
I am white
I am cotton trees
I am the moon
The falling snow
I am grey
I am mountain
I am rock, pebbles
and stone.
I am all life
I am all colour
Earth is my mother.
Life is my father.
In embracing
every colour
of our souls
We find the love.
We find home.
This you are this
This you are that
No, we are it all
together,
Our souls deep down
Remember that.
Why war?
Because we deny our colours.
We go against nature
trying just to be one and
no way the other.
But one day
I believe the heart
Will say that
too much red
has been shed.
And we will bow
before the blue,
the brown and the green
and the healing
will begin
all the colours will
again fuse as a
glorious team.
There will be no just black
or no just white.
We will realise our rainbow
heritage.
We will remember
all colours come from
Light.

by SC Lourie, from Light

"CHILDREN" by Khalil Gibran

Source: Everyman's Library

"And a woman who held a babe against her bosom said, 'Speak to us of Children.'
And he said:
Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you, yet they belong not to you.
You may give them your love but not your thoughts.
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.
You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, and He bends you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;
For even as he loves the arrow that flies, so He loves also the bow that is stable."

A bilingual anthology of poems from the sixth century to the present, Arabic Poems is a one-of-a-kind showcase of a fascinating literary tradition. The Arabic poetic legacy is as vast as it is deep, spanning a period of fifteen centuries in regions from Morocco to Iraq. Themes of love, nature, religion, and politics recur in works drawn from the pre-Islamic oral tradition through poems anticipating the recent Arab Spring. Editor Marlé Hammond has selected more than fifty poems reflecting desire and longing of various kinds: for the beloved, for the divine, for the homeland, and for change and renewal. Poets include the legendary pre-Islamic warrior ‘Antara, medieval Andalusian poet Ibn Zaydun, the mystical poet Rabi‘a al-‘Adawiyya, and the influential Egyptian Romantic Ahmad Zaki Abu Shadi. Here too are literary giants of the past century: Khalil Gibran , author of the best-selling The Prophet; popular Syrian poet Nizar Qabbani; Palestinian feminist Fadwa Tuqan; Mahmoud Darwish, bard of occupation and exile; acclaimed iconoclast Adonis; and more. In their evocations of heroism, nostalgia, mysticism, grief, and passion, the poems gathered here transcend the limitations of time and place.

"PEACEFUL WATERS"

"Thus, the first instruction toward Peace:
is not to be silent, nor to act on a roll of dice.
The first instruction toward Peace is:
One cannot step into the same water twice.

Thus, Peace I leave with you;
My peace I give to you.
And may it be so, world without end.
This being a Truth no human can undo.

For Peace comes from loving what ought never be un-loved,
from an eternal bell that cannot be unrung for any price….
Peace comes from ever knowing in love and in life,
one cannot step into the same water twice."

~Dr. Clarissa Pinkola Estes
✻ღ♥*✿*•♥ღ✻

Source: Tim Cox Fine Arts

MAN OF THE SEA

D. H. Lawrence

Do you see the sea, breaking itself to bits against
the islands
yet remaining unbroken, the level great sea?

Have I caught from it
the tide in my arms
that runs down to the shallows of my wrists,
and breaks
abroad in my hands, like the waves among the rocks
of substance?

Do the rollers of the sea
roll down my thighs
and over the submerged islets of my knees
with power, sea-power
sea-power
to break against the ground
in the flat, recurrent breakers of my two feet?

And is my body ocean, ocean
whose power runs to the shores along my arms
and breaks in the foamy hands, whose power rolls out
to the white-trending waves of two salt feet?

I am the sea, I am the sea!

Source: Everyman's Library

STILL I'LL RISE

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may tread me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I'll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don't you take it awful hard
'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines
Diggin' in my own back yard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I'll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I've got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history's shame
I rise
Up from a past that's rooted in pain
I rise
I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.

╔═════ ೋღ☃ღೋ ═════╗

Maya Angelou

╚═════ ೋღ☃ღೋ ═════╝

RIP: 28 May 2014

WHERE WE BELONG

we'll find a place
to call our own
it won't be long now
we're almost home

reflections of another time
reflections of another place

the light above
rained down its grace

it's here and now
this time is ours
this journey now
this road we're on
is where we belong

remember us
remember when
so long ago
when it was cold
deep in the woods
the autumn chill
hung in the air
we didn't care

this is our time
this is our place

it's not a dream
this love is real
i can feel it in
my heart can feel
it in my soul

this is where
we both belong.

~Michael Traveler
Postcards from the Past

✧~✧~✧~✧~✧~✧~✧~✧~✧~✧~✧~✧

TIME PASSED

There was a time in my life that I fell in a hole.
I’m not proud about it.
I saw it coming and I still fell in.
It hurt I cried... I cried a lot.
The hole was dark.
I was terrified I might never find my way out.
Time passed.

I planted bitter seeds in the bare earth.
My eyes adjusted to the darkness.
I was still in a hole, but it was MY hole.
It wasn’t so bad.
Time passed.

I began to decorate the walls.
I lined the shelves with books.
I stocked the larder.
It felt comfortable in the hole now.
It wasn’t so bad.
Time passed.

The wall paper began to sag and tear away from the walls. My eyes could see the bare earth beneath.
I saw the roots of the bitter seeds I had planted.
I blessed their gnarled form.
I touched their withered blooms.
I whispered sweet soulful words of hope.
I still cried.... but now I prayed.
Time passed.

I began to read books.
My mind grew curious.
My eyes grew wise.
My heart grew bold.
My body grew restless.
I startled the darkness with a giggle.
It felt wonderful.
I read more, asked more, wanted more.
I grew bold
There was a time when I climbed out of a hole.

©Kristin Louise Granger
23/8/13

Source: FB via Butterflies and Pebbles

PROMISE YOURSELF

Promise Yourself
To be so strong that nothing
can disturb your peace of mind.
To talk health, happiness, and prosperity
to every person you meet.
To make all your friends feel
that there is something in them
To look at the sunny side of everything
and make your optimism come true.
To think only the best, to work only for the best,
and to expect only the best.
To be just as enthusiastic about the success of others
as you are about your own.
To forget the mistakes of the past
and press on to the greater achievements of the future.
To wear a cheerful countenance at all times
and give every living creature you meet a smile.
To give so much time to the improvement of yourself
that you have no time to criticize others.
To be too large for worry, too noble for anger, too strong for fear,
and too happy to permit the presence of trouble.
To think well of yourself and to proclaim this fact to the world,
not in loud words but great deeds.
To live in faith that the whole world is on your side
so long as you are true to the best that is in you.

✿*•..¸✿ Christian D. Larson ✿*•..¸✿

Source: Journey to Peace

"POPPIES ON LUDLOW CASTLE"

by Willa Cather (1873-1947)

"THROUGH halls of vanished pleasure,
And hold of vanished power,
And crypt of faith forgotten,
A came to Ludlow tower.

A-top of arch and stairway,
Of crypt and donjan cell,
Of council hall, and chamber,
Of wall, and ditch, and well,

High over grated turrets
Where clinging ivies run,
A thousand scarlet poppies
Enticed the rising sun,

Upon the topmost turret,
With death and damp below,--
Three hundred years of spoilage,--
The crimson poppies grow.

This hall it was that bred him,
These hills that knew him brave,
The gentlest English singer
That fills an English grave.

How have they heart to blossom
So cruel and gay and red,
When beauty so hath perished
And valour so hath sped?

When knights so fair are rotten,
And captains true asleep,
And singing lips are dust-stopped
Six English earth-feet deep?

When ages old remind me
How much hath gone for naught,
What wretched ghost remaineth
Of all that flesh hath wrought;

Of love and song and warring,
Of adventure and play,
Of art and comely building,
Of faith and form and fray--

I'll mind the flowers of pleasure,
Of short-lived youth and sleep,
That drunk the sunny weather
A-top of Ludlow keep."


Before Willa Cather went on to write the novels that would make her famous, she was known as a poet, the most popular of her poems reprinted many times in national magazines and anthologies. Her first book of poetry, April Twilights, was published in 1903, but Cather significantly revised and expanded it in a 1923 edition entitled April Twilights and Other Poems. This Everyman’s Library edition reproduces for the first time all the poems from both versions of April Twilights, along with a number of uncollected and previously unpublished poems by Cather, as well as an illuminating selection of her newly released letters. In such lyrical poems as “The Hawthorn Tree,” “Winter at Delphi,” “Prairie Spring,” “Poor Marty,” and “Going Home,” Cather exhibits both a finely tuned sensitivity to the beauties of the physical world and a richly symbolic use of the landscapes of myth. The themes that were to animate her later masterpieces found their first expression in these haunting, elegiac ballads and sonnets.

Source: Everyman's Library

YOU'VE GOT TO

I know just how it feels
to climb a mountain
only to fall back down;
there’s no will to try again
once you’ve hit the ground

But you’ve got to
You’ve got to move,
And I’ll be there
Be right there to help you

I know just how it feels
to spread your wings
only to never fly;
there’s no desire
to give it another try

But you’ve got to
You’ve got to fly,
And I’ll be there
Be right there to fly with you

I know just how it feels
to put one foot in front of the other
only to stumble before you fall;
there’s no strength left
to give it your all

But you’ve got to
You’ve got to walk,
And I’ll be there
Be right there to break your fall

I know just how it feels
to face the world alone
only to realize you were wrong;
there’s a friend there
to help you along

I’ll always be there to help you along

╔═════ ೋღ☃ღೋ ═════╗

Ups, Downs & Roundabouts

╚═════ ೋღ☃ღೋ ═════╝

YOU LEARN

After a while you learn
The subtle difference between
Holding a hand and chaining a soul
And you learn that love doesn't mean leaning
And company doesn't always mean security.
And you begin to learn
That kisses aren't contracts
And presents aren't promises
And you begin accept your defeats
With the grace of a woman
Not the grief of a child.
And you learn
To build all your roads on today
Because tomorrow's ground is
Too uncertain for plans
And futures have a way
Of falling down in mid flight
After a while you learn
That even sunshine burns if you get too much
So you plant your own garden
And decorate your own soul
Instead of waiting
For someone to bring you flowers
And you learn
That you really can endure
That you are really strong
And you really do have worth
And you learn and you learn
With every goodbye, you learn.

♥*✿*•♥ Veronica A. Shoffstall ♥*✿*•♥

Source: Thyme and Again, FB

LIFE IS BEAUTIFUL

To those who see with loving eyes,
Life is beautiful.

To those who speak with a tender voice,
Life is peaceful.

To those who help with gentle hands,
Life is full.

And to those who care with compassionate hearts,
Life is good beyond all measures."

♥*✿*•♥ ANON ♥*✿*•♥

ALONENESS

Willing to experience aloneness,
I discover connection everywhere;
Turning to face my fear,
I meet the warrior who lives within;
Opening to my loss,
I am given unimaginable gifts;
Surrendering into emptiness,
I find fullness without end.
Each condition I flee from pursues me.
Each condition I welcome transforms me
And becomes itself transformed
Into its radiant jewel-­like essence.
I bow to the one who has made it so,
Who has crafted this Master Game;
To play it is pure delight,
To honor it is true devotion.

by Jennifer Welwood

Source: Ups, Downs and Roundabouts

A COWBOY'S PRAYER

Oh Lord, I've never lived where churches grow.
I love creation better as it stood,
That day You finished it so long ago
And looked upon Your work and called it good.

I know that others find you in the light
That's sifted down through tinted window panes,
And yet I seem to feel You near tonight
In this dim, quiet starlight on the plains.

I thank You, Lord, that I am placed so well,
That You have made my freedom so complete;
That I'm no slave of whistle, clock, or bell
Nor weak-eyed prisoner of wall and street.

Just let me live my life as I've begun
And give me work that's open to the sky;
Make me a pardner of the wind and sun,
And I won't ask a life that's soft or high.

Let me be easy on the man that's down;
Let me be square and generous with all.
I'm careless sometimes, Lord, when I'm in town,
But never let 'em say I'm mean or small!

Make me as big and open as the plains,
As honest as the hoss between my knees,
Clean as the wind that blows behind the rains,
Free as the hawk that circles down the breeze!

Forgive me, Lord, if sometimes I forget.
You know about the reasons that are hid.
You understand the things that gall and fret;
You know me better than my mother did.

Just keep an eye on all that's done and said
And right me, sometimes when I turn aside,
And guide me on the long, dim trail ahead
That stretches upward toward The Great Divide.

~Badger Clark

Source: The Horse Mafia, FB

WHEN I WAKE EARLY IN THE MORNING

✻ღ♥*✿*•♥ღ✻

When I wake early in the morning,
A brand new day I see,
I lift my head up to the sky,
And thank God for letting me be me.

Uncertain as to what the day will bring,
Don't know what lies ahead,
Not sure of my confrontations,
I ask God to guide me on the path Ill tread.

The birds sing their sweet, sweet song,
The bees hum their precious melody,
The wind blows where it wishes,
All coming together in perfect harmony.

Down on the ground the ants find their prey,
And the squirrel rambles from tree to tree,
The gopher finds its place in a hole,
And the rabbit roams aimlessly.

The beautiful lily blooms bright and fair,
The roses are red and pink and white,
The dandelions are ready for picking,
And the grass is green and full and bright.

How blue and beautiful the sky is above,
How lovely the stream and river and sea,
And each new day I open my eyes,
I thank God for letting me be me.

╔═════ ೋღ☃ღೋ ═════╗

Ups, Downs and Roundabouts

╚═════ ೋღ☃ღೋ ═════╝

POEM by Walt Whitman

"I bequeathe myself to the dirt, to grow from the grass I love;
If you want me again, look for me under your boot-soles.

You will hardly know who I am, or what I mean;
But I shall be good health to you nevertheless,
And filter and fibre your blood.

Failing to fetch me at first, keep encouraged;
Missing me one place, search another;
I stop somewhere, waiting for you."

By Walt Whitman

Source: Everyman's Library

Walt Whitman died in Camden, New Jersey on this day in 1892 (aged 72).

Poems: Whitman contains forty-two of the American master's poems, including "Crossing Brooklyn Ferry," "Song of Myself," "I Hear America Singing," "Halcyon Days," and an index of first lines.

WHERE THERE IS LOVE

Where there is love the heart is light,
Where there is love the day is bright.

Where there is love there is a song,
To help when things are going wrong.

Where there is love there is a smile,
To make all things seem more worthwhile.

Where there is love there’s quiet peace,
A tranquil place where turmoils cease.

Love changes darkness into light,
And makes the heart take wingless flight.

From Ups, Downs & Roundabouts

ONCE BY THE PACIFIC

"The shattered water made a misty din.
Great waves looked over others coming in,
And thought of doing something to the shore
That water never did to land before.
The clouds were low and hairy in the skies,
Like locks blown forward in the gleam of eyes.
You could not tell, and yet it looked as if
The shore was lucky in being backed by cliff,
The cliff in being backed by continent;
It looked as if a night of dark intent
Was coming, and not only a night, an age.
Someone had better be prepared for rage.
There would be more than ocean-water broken
Before God's last Put out the light was spoken."

~Robert Frost

Source: from Everyman's Library

TOMORROW IS A BEAUTIFUL ROAD

Tomorrow is a beautiful road
That will take you right where
You want to go...

If you spend today
walking away from worry
and moving towards serenity;
leaving behind conflict
and traveling towards solutions;
and parting with emptiness
and finding fulfillment.

If you can do what works for you,
your present will be happier
and your path will be smoother.

And best of all?
You'll be taking a step
into a beautiful future...

~ © Douglas Pagels

Source: Inspiration Line

ECCE PUER

"Ecce Puer" by James Joyce

"Of the dark past
A child is born;
With joy and grief
My heart is torn.

Calm in his cradle
The living lies.
May love and mercy
Unclose his eyes!

Young life is breathed
On the glass;
The world that was not
Comes to pass.

A child is sleeping:
An old man gone.
O, father forsaken,
Forgive your son!"

This selection of the major poems James Joyce published in his lifetime is accompanied by his only surviving play, Exiles. Joyce is most celebrated for his remarkable novel Ulysses, and yet he was also a highly accomplished poet. Chamber Music is his debut collection of lyrical love poems, which he intended to be set to music; in it, he enlivens the styles of the Celtic Revival with his own brand of playful irony. Pomes Penyeach, a collection written while Joyce was working on A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, sounds intimately autobiographical notes of passion and betrayal that would go on to resonate through the rest of his work. Joyce’s other poems include the moving “Ecce Puer,” written on the birth of his grandson, and his fiery satires “The Holy Office” and “Gas from a Burner.” Exiles was written after Joyce had left Ireland, never to return; it is a richly nuanced drama that reflects a grappling with the state of his own marriage and career as he was about to embark on the writing of Ulysses. In its tale of an unconventional couple involved in a love triangle, Exiles engages Joycean themes of envy and jealousy, freedom and love, men and women, and the complicated relationship between an artist and his homeland.

Source: Everyman's Library

BUY ME A ROSE

He works hard to give her all he thinks she wants —
A three-car garage, her own credit cards;
He pulls in late to wake her up with a kiss goodnight
If he could only read her mind, she'd say . . .
Buy me a rose,
Call me from work,
Open a door for me ...
What would it hurt?
Show me you love me by the look in your eyes,
These are the little things I need the most in my life.

Now the days have grown to years of feeling all alone
And she can't help but wonder what she's doing wrong;
Lately she'd try anything to turn his head,
Would it make a difference if she'd said . . .

Buy me a rose,
Call me from work,
Open a door for me
What would it hurt?
Show me you love me by the look in your eyes,
These are the little things I need the most in my life.

And the more that he lives, the less that he tries
To show her the love that he holds inside;
And the more that she gives, the more that he sees,
This is the story of you and me.

So I bought you a rose
On the way home from work
To open the door
To a heart that I hurt,
And I hope you notice this look in my eyes
'Cause I'm gonna make things right for the rest of your life.

And I'm gonna hold you tonight . . .
Do all those little things for the rest of your life.

~Written by Jim Funk and Erik Hickenlooper
(Sung by Kenny Rogers and Alison Krauss

Source: Inspiration Line

A STRONG WOMAN

A strong woman works out every day to keep her body in shape —
But a woman of strength looks
deep inside to keep her soul in shape.

A strong woman isn't afraid of anything —
But a woman of strength shows
courage in the midst of her fear.

A strong woman won't let anyone get the best of her —
But a woman of strength gives
the best of herself to everyone.

A strong woman makes mistakes and avoids the same in the future —
But a woman of strength realizes
life's mistakes can also be blessings and capitalizes on them.

A strong woman walks sure footedly —
But a woman of strength knows
when to ask for help.

A strong woman wears the look of confidence on her face —
But a woman of strength wears
an aura of grace.

A strong woman has faith that she is strong enough for the journey —
But a woman of strength has faith
that it is in the journey that she will become strong.

~Author Unknown

(March 8, 2014: A Global Day of Celebration connecting all women
around the world and inspiring them to achieve their full potential.)

TIME PASSES BY

Dreams drift away like leaves on the water,
They roll down the river and slip out of sight;
Too many times we do what we ought,
Put off 'til tomorrow what we'd really rather do tonight,
And later realize:

Time passes by, people pass on,
At the drop of a tear, they're gone;
Let's do what we dare, do what we like,
And love while we're here before time passes by.

Thoughts are like pennies we keep in our pockets,
They're never worth nothing 'til we give them away;
But love's like a promise in an unopened letter,
Where nights full of pleasure seldom see the light of day,
When life gets in the way.

Time passes by, people pass on,
At the drop of a tear, they're gone;
Let's do what we dare, do what we like,
And love while we're here before time passes by.

Written by Jon Vezner & Susan Longaker
Sung by Kathy Mattea

Source: Inspiration Line

BLESSINGS

✻ღ♥*✿*•♥ღ✻

May Light always surround you;
Hope kindle and rebound you.

May your Hurts turn to Healing;
Your Heart embrace Feeling.

May Wounds become Wisdom;
Every Kindness a Prism.

May Laughter infect you;
Your Passion resurrect you.

May Goodness inspire
your Deepest Desires.

Through all that you Reach For,
May your arms Never Tire.

~D. Simone

Source:Ups, Downs & Roundabouts

I AM A WILD WOMAN

Woman is the light of God. ~Rumi

♥*✿*•♥

I am a wild woman
I know, inspite of myself
and in spite of what I've been told
that there's beauty in every age
no matter how old

I am a wild woman
I've learned what it means to be a life bearer
to bear children
to create art
to plant seeds of love

I am a wild woman
from the depths of the dirt underneath my fingernails
to the height of my very soul
I am one with the Earth
the winds from the four directions whisper through my skin

I am a wild woman
and the spirit of every wild woman coalesces in me
for we are each wild women
and we are all the spirit of the wild woman
I will follow the voice in my heart

I am a wild woman
I sing from my heart
I dance with the stars
I howl at the moon
I love uncontrollably

I am a wild woman
from the deepest, darkest, most sacred part of me
I am fearless
I cry in strength
I open my arms to the sky and welcome the rain

I am a wild woman
I nurture, love and protect
I stand, strongly, silently, sweetly for my brothers
I walk dutifully, prayerfully, joyfully upon the mother
and I will not be stopped

I am a wild woman.

♥ྀ ♥ྀ ♥ྀ Melissa Clary ♥ྀ ♥ྀ ♥ྀ

TAKE TIME

Take time to think - It is the source of all power.
Take time to read - It is the fountain of wisdom.
Take time to play - It is the source of perpetual youth.
Take time to be quiet - It is the opportunity to seek God.
Take time to be aware - It is the opportunity to help others.
Take time to love and be loved - It is God's greatest gift.
Take time to laugh - It is the music of the soul.
Take time to be friendly - It is the road to happiness.
Take time to dream - It is what the future is made of.
Take time to pray - It is the greatest power on earth.
Take time to give - It is too short a day to be selfish.
Take time to work - It is the price of success.
There is a time for everything. . . .(Anon)

Source: •● Ups, Downs & Roundabouts ●•

ON THE DEATH OF A BELOVED

(To My Parents)

On the the death of a beloved...
Though we need to weep your loss,
You dwell in that safe place in our hearts,
Where no storm or might or pain can reach you.

Your love was like the dawn
Brightening over our lives
Awakening beneath the dark
A further adventure of colour.

The sound of your voice
Found for us
A new music
That brightened everything.

Whatever you enfolded in your gaze
Quickened in the joy of its being;
You placed smiles like flowers
On the altar of the heart.
Your mind always sparkled
With wonder at things.

Though your days here were brief,
Your spirit was live, awake, complete.

We look towards each other no longer
From the old distance of our names;
Now you dwell inside the rhythm of breath,
As close to us as we are to ourselves.

Though we cannot see you with outward eyes,
We know our soul's gaze is upon your face,
Smiling back at us from within everything
To which we bring our best refinement.

Let us not look for you only in memory,
Where we would grow lonely without you.
You would want us to find you in presence,
Beside us when beauty brightens,
When kindness glows
And music echoes eternal tones.

When orchids brighten the earth,
Darkest winter has turned to spring;
May this dark grief flower with hope
In every heart that loves you.

May you continue to inspire us:

To enter each day with a generous heart.
To serve the call of courage and love
Until we see your beautiful face again
In that land where there is no more separation,
Where all tears will be wiped from our mind,
And where we will never lose you again.

♥*✿*•♥John O'Donohue ♥*✿*•♥

Source: Rest in the Arms of Angels

THE JOY of UNSELFISH GIVING

♥*✿*•♥
Time is not measured by the years that you live
But by the deeds that you do and the joy that you give-
And each day as it comes brings a chance to each one.
To love to the fullest, leaving nothing undone
That would brighten the life or lighten the load
of some weary traveler lost on Life's Road-
So what does it matter how long we may live
If as long as we live we unselfishly give.

╔═════ ೋღ☃ღೋ ═════╗

Helen Steiner Rice

╚═════ ೋღ☃ღೋ ═════

BEAUTIFUL WORLD

♥*✿*•♥

╔═════ ೋღ☃ღೋ ═════╗

W. L. CHILDRESS

╚═════ ೋღ☃ღೋ ═════╝

Here's a song of praise for a beautiful world,
For the banner of blue that's above it unfurled,
For the streams that sparkle and sing to the sea,
For the bloom in the glade and the leaf on the tree;
Here's a song of praise for a beautiful world.

Here's a song of praise for the mountain peak,
Where the wind and the lightning meet and speak,
For the golden star on the soft night's breast.
And the silvery moonlight's path to rest;
Here's a song of praise for a beautiful world.

Here's a song of praise for the rippling notes
That come from a thousand sweet bird throats
For the ocean wave and the sunset glow,
And the waving fields where the reapers go;
Here's a song of praise for a beautiful world.

Here's a song of praise for the ones so true,
And the kindly deeds they have done for you;
For the great earth's heart, when it's understood,
Is struggling still toward the pure and good;
Here's a song of praise for a beautiful world.

Here's a song of praise for the One who guides,
For He holds the ships and He holds the tides.
And underneath and around the above
The world is lapped in the light of His love;
Here's a song of praise for a beautiful world.

✻ღ♥*✿*•♥ღ✻

My Personal Note: Today is 14 February 2014. It's the day that I could have chosen better than any day in my life. For today, I found my true love after years of futile searching in the libraries wherever I go. I tried searching it from any poetry websites but to no avail. Then I tried one more time. I Google(d) it and typed a line in the browser: 'here's a song of praise for the beautiful world'. Then a miracle happened when I was taken to Google Archive of world's oldest newspapers. The Lewiston Daily Sun of Mississippi USA has opened its door for me when its edition of 9 August 1941 revealed the middle of page 4 with a box entitled WIDER and DEEPER and there it was! A big bold printed beloved poem of mine, BEAUTIFUL WORLD which is close to my heart for as long as I can remember since my elementary days. I could not remember the author, but after a thorough reading of the whole stanzas, i was convinced without doubt and decided that THIS IS IT!

This poem has a huge sentimental value to me. Its great impact has me to see the world around me,and, view it with awesome inspiration. That inspiration helped mould my desire to connect with our loving Creator; how His great grand design of this world's most beautiful, delightful and magnificent landscape we live in manifested His Omnipotent Power! His glory as can be observe in the movement, coming and going of the sun from dawn to twilight till it rests at night time, only to find that bright glowing orb lighting the other side of the world. How His divine hands made the mountains, hills, valleys, plateaus, flatlands, hinterlands, swamps, seas, oceans, rivers, seashores, beaches, fields, trees, plants, and flowers of all kinds, birds, animals, wildlife,

My awesome Creator has never stopped to amaze me even in times He shows His wrath as shown in the turbulence of the apocalyptic deliverance of natural disasters and catastrophes manifested in cyclones, hurricanes, modern Noah's deluge, burning bushes, tsunamis and many more!

The BEAUTIFUL WORLD brings me back happy memories of my old hometown where I partly grew up as a child. Where I spent my early childhood education, where I learned hard days of life that helped develop my understanding about survival.

The BEAUTIFUL WORLD in my time was of simplicity where thunders and lightnings coloured the sky at night and made me curled up under the floor mat, covering my ears because of fears. The simplicity which found me whistling among the tiny birds on the tree and calling the wind on dry airless hot season. The simplicity of which our means of transport was our little shoeless feet as we walked long walks towards the big river, lake and spring to do our laundry, take a bath, gather shell food and play. Simplicity as we go to the woodland, forest, mountain or hills to gather drift woods for firewoods. Simplicity for the whole time we come and go to places our life was destined to be. All things comprise our BEAUTIFUL WORLD in the midst of both times in prosperity and adversity.

Thank you Google for sending me back the rippling notes of my old school days poetry once printed out in our English Reading Book, Doorways to Reading the BEAUTIFUL WORLD that I learned and remembered being taught to us in the class by my all time favourite teacher MRS. GLORIA REGIS ALAGAR of KAROMATAN CENTRAL ELEMENTARY SCHOOL (KAROMATAN, LANAO DEL NORTE) in 1962. My only regret was that, Mrs. ALAGAR did not stay through our graduation day.

SEASHORE

by Ralph Waldo Emerson

I heard or seemed to hear the chiding Sea
Say, Pilgrim, why so late and slow to come?
Am I not always here, thy summer home?
Is not my voice thy music, morn and eve?
My breath thy healthful climate in the heats,
My touch thy antidote, my bay thy bath?
Was ever building like my terraces?
Was ever couch magnificent as mine?
Lie on the warm rock-ledges, and there learn
A little hut suffices like a town.
I make your sculptured architecture vain,
Vain beside mine. I drive my wedges home,
And carve the coastwise mountain into caves.
Lo! here is Rome and Nineveh and Thebes,
Karnak and Pyramid and Giant's Stairs
Half piled or prostrate; and my newest slab
Older than all thy race.

Behold the Sea,
The opaline, the plentiful and strong,
Yet beautiful as is the rose in June,
Fresh as the trickling rainbow of July;
Sea full of food, the nourisher of kinds,
Purger of earth, and medicine of men;
Creating a sweet climate by my breath,
Washing out harms and griefs from memory,
And, in my mathematic ebb and flow,
Giving a hint of that which changes not.
Rich are the sea-gods:—who gives gifts but they?
They grope the sea for pearls, but more than pearls:
They pluck Force thence, and give it to the wise.
For every wave is wealth to Daedalus,
Wealth to the cunning artist who can work
This matchless strength. Where shall he find, O waves!
A load your Atlas shoulders cannot lift?

I with my hammer pounding evermore
The rocky coast, smite Andes into dust,
Strewing my bed, and, in another age,
Rebuild a continent of better men.
Then I unbar the doors: my paths lead out
The exodus of nations: I disperse
Men to all shores that front the hoary main.

I too have arts and sorceries;
Illusion dwells forever with the wave.
I know what spells are laid. Leave me to deal
With credulous and imaginative man;
For, though he scoop my water in his palm,
A few rods off he deems it gems and clouds.
Planting strange fruits and sunshine on the shore,
I make some coast alluring, some lone isle,
To distant men, who must go there, or die.

Source: www.infoplease.com

SONG OF NATURE

by Ralph Waldo Emerson

Mine are the night and morning,
The pits of air, the gulf of space,
The sportive sun, the gibbous moon,
The innumerable days.

I hide in the solar glory,
I am dumb in the pealing song,
I rest on the pitch of the torrent,
In slumber I am strong.

No numbers have counted my tallies,
No tribes my house can fill,
I sit by the shining Fount of Life
And pour the deluge still;

And ever by delicate powers
Gathering along the centuries
From race on race the rarest flowers,
My wreath shall nothing miss.

And many a thousand summers
My gardens ripened well,
And light from meliorating stars
With firmer glory fell.

I wrote the past in characters
Of rock and fire the scroll,
The building in the coral sea,
The planting of the coal.

And thefts from satellites and rings
And broken stars I drew,
And out of spent and aged things
I formed the world anew;

What time the gods kept carnival,
Tricked out in star and flower,
And in cramp elf and saurian forms
They swathed their too much power.

Time and Thought were my surveyors,
They laid their courses well,
They boiled the sea, and piled the layers
Of granite, marl and shell.

But he, the man-child glorious,—
Where tarries he the while?
The rainbow shines his harbinger,
The sunset gleams his smile.

My boreal lights leap upward,
Forthright my planets roll,
And still the man-child is not born,
The summit of the whole.

Must time and tide forever run?
Will never my winds go sleep in the west?
Will never my wheels which whirl the sun
And satellites have rest?

Too much of donning and doffing,
Too slow the rainbow fades,
I weary of my robe of snow,
My leaves and my cascades;

I tire of globes and races,
Too long the game is played;
What without him is summer's pomp,
Or winter's frozen shade?

I travail in pain for him,
My creatures travail and wait;
His couriers come by squadrons,
He comes not to the gate.

Twice I have moulded an image,
And thrice outstretched my hand,
Made one of day and one of night
And one of the salt sea-sand.

One in a Judaean manger,
And one by Avon stream,
One over against the mouths of Nile,
And one in the Academe.

I moulded kings and saviors,
And bards o'er kings to rule;—
But fell the starry influence short,
The cup was never full.

Yet whirl the glowing wheels once more,
And mix the bowl again;
Seethe, Fate! the ancient elements,
Heat, cold, wet, dry, and peace, and pain.

Let war and trade and creeds and song
Blend, ripen race on race,
The sunburnt world a man shall breed
Of all the zones and countless days.

No ray is dimmed, no atom worn,
My oldest force is good as new,
And the fresh rose on yonder thorn
Gives back the bending heavens in dew.


Source: www.infoplease.com

TWO RIVERS

by Ralph Waldo Emerson

Thy summer voice, Musketaquit,
Repeats the music of the rain;
But sweeter rivers pulsing flit
Through thee, as thou through Concord Plain.

Thou in thy narrow banks art pent:
The stream I love unbounded goes
Through flood and sea and firmament;
Through light, through life, it forward flows.

I see the inundation sweet,
I hear the spending of the stream
Through years, through men, through Nature fleet,
Through love and thought, through power and dream.

Musketaquit, a goblin strong,
Of shard and flint makes jewels gay;
They lose their grief who hear his song,
And where he winds is the day of day.

So forth and brighter fares my stream,—
Who drink it shall not thirst again;
No darkness stains its equal gleam.
And ages drop in it like rain.


Source: www.infoplease.com

WALDEINSAMKEIT

by Ralph Waldo Emerson

I do not count the hours I spend
In wandering by the sea;
The forest is my loyal friend,
Like God it useth me.

In plains that room for shadows make
Of skirting hills to lie,
Bound in by streams which give and take
Their colors from the sky;

Or on the mountain-crest sublime,
Or down the oaken glade,
O what have I to do with time?
For this the day was made.

Cities of mortals woe-begone
Fantastic care derides,
But in the serious landscape lone
Stern benefit abides.

Sheen will tarnish, honey cloy,
And merry is only a mask of sad,
But, sober on a fund of joy,
The woods at heart are glad.

There the great Planter plants
Of fruitful worlds the grain,
And with a million spells enchants
The souls that walk in pain.

Still on the seeds of all he made
The rose of beauty burns;
Through times that wear and forms that fade,
Immortal youth returns.

The black ducks mounting from the lake,
The pigeon in the pines,
The bittern's boom, a desert make
Which no false art refines.

Down in yon watery nook,
Where bearded mists divide,
The gray old gods whom Chaos knew,
The sires of Nature, hide.

Aloft, in secret veins of air,
Blows the sweet breath of song,
O, few to scale those uplands dare,
Though they to all belong!

See thou bring not to field or stone
The fancies found in books;
Leave authors' eyes, and fetch your own,
To brave the landscape's looks.

Oblivion here thy wisdom is,
Thy thrift, the sleep of cares;
For a proud idleness like this
Crowns all thy mean affairs.

Word Meaning:

Waldeinsamkeit - German - means "A feeling of solitude, being alone in the woods and a connectedness to nature."

Source: Maptia Blog

WHEN GREAT TREES FALL

When great trees fall,
rocks on distant hills shudder,
lions hunker down
in tall grasses,
and even elephants
lumber after safety.

When great trees fall
in forests,
small things recoil into silence,
their senses
eroded beyond fear.

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.”

༺♥༻Maya Angelou༺♥༻