Scrap That Poetry Poem

I Love to Be a Mother #40

2011-05-05T17:22:00.002-04:00

I Love To Be a Mother

Some houses try to hide the fact

that children shelter there.

Ours boasts of it quite openly,

the signs are everywhere.

For smears are on the windows,

little smudges on the doors,

I should apologize, I guess,

for toys strewn on the floor.

But I sat down with the children

and we played and laughed and read;

And if the doorbell doesn't shine,

their eyes will shine instead.

For when at times I'm forced to choose

the one job or the other;

I like to be a housewife but

I love to be a mother.

...Author Unknown

Challenge #39 I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud

2011-04-10T05:46:00.000-04:00

I Wandered Lonely As A Cloud

by William Wordsworth

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The waves beside them danced, but they
Out-did the sparkling leaves in glee;
A poet could not be but gay,
In such a jocund company!
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:
For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

Challenge #38 Calmly We Walk Through This April's Day

2011-04-10T05:11:00.001-04:00

Calmly We Walk Through This April's Day
by Delmore Schwartz

Calmly we walk through this April's day,
Metropolitan poetry here and there,
In the park sit pauper and rentier,
The screaming children, the motor-car
Fugitive about us, running away,
Between the worker and the millionaire
Number provides all distances,
It is Nineteen Thirty-Seven now,
Many great dears are taken away,
What will become of you and me
(This is the school in which we learn...)
Besides the photo and the memory?
(...that time is the fire in which we burn.)
(This is the school in which we learn...)
What is the self amid this blaze?
What am I now that I was then
Which I shall suffer and act again,
The theodicy I wrote in my high school days
Restored all life from infancy,
The children shouting are bright as they run
(This is the school in which they learn . . .)
Ravished entirely in their passing play!
(...that time is the fire in which they burn.)
Avid its rush, that reeling blaze!
Where is my father and Eleanor?
Not where are they now, dead seven years,
But what they were then?
No more? No more?
From Nineteen-Fourteen to the present day,
Bert Spira and Rhoda consume, consume
Not where they are now (where are they now?)
But what they were then, both beautiful;
Each minute bursts in the burning room,
The great globe reels in the solar fire,
Spinning the trivial and unique away.
(How all things flash! How all things flare!)
What am I now that I was then?
May memory restore again and again
The smallest color of the smallest day:
Time is the school in which we learn,
Time is the fire in which we burn.

Challenge #37 Spring Pools

2011-03-17T21:06:00.003-04:00

Spring Pools
by Robert Frost
These pools that, though in forests, still reflect
The total sky almost without defect,
And like the flowers beside them, chill and shiver,
Will like the flowers beside them soon be gone,
And yet not out by any brook or river,
But up by roots to bring dark foliage on.
The trees that have it in their pent-up buds
To darken nature and be summer woods---
Let them think twice before they use their powers
To blot out and drink up and sweep away
These flowery waters and these watery flowers
from snow that melted only yesterday.

Challenge #36 March

2011-03-01T20:58:00.000-05:00

March

by Lucy Larcom

"March! March! March! They are coming
In troops to the tune of the wind.
Redheaded woodpeckers drumming,
Gold - crested thrushes behind;
Sparrows in brown jackets, hopping
Past every gateway and door;
Finches, with crimson caps, stopping
Just where they stopped before.
March! March! March! They are slipping
Into their places at last. . .
Literature white lily buds, dripping
Under the showers that fall fast;
Buttercups, violets, roses;
Snowdrop and bluebell and pink,
Throng upon throng of sweet posies
Bending the dewdrops to drink.
March! March! March! They will hurry
Forth at the wild bugle sound,
Blossoms and birds in a flurry,
Fluttering all over the ground.
Shake out your flags, birch and willow!
Shake out your red tassels, larch!
Grass blades, up from your earth - pillow.
Hear who is calling you. . . March."

Challenge #35 Children

2011-02-14T23:08:00.003-05:00

Children

by Khalil Gibran

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.

Challenge #34 May You Always Feel Loved

2011-01-31T21:42:00.000-05:00

May You Always Feel Loved

by Sandra Sturtz Hauss

May you find serenity and tranquility in a world

You may not always understand.

May the pain you have known and conflict you have experienced

Give you the strength to walk through life

Facing each new situation with courage and optimism.

Always know that there are those whose love and understanding

Will always be there, even when you feel most alone.

May you discover enough goodness in others

To believe in a world of peace.

May a kind word, a reassuring touch, a warm smile be yours

Every day of your life,

And may you give these gifts as well as receive them.

Remember the sunshine when the storm seems unending.

Teach love to those who know hate,

And let that love embrace you as you go into the world.

May the teaching of those you admire become part of you,

So that you may call upon them.

Remember, those whose lives you have touched

And who have touched yours are always a part of you,

Even if the encounters were less than you would have wished.

It is the content of the encounter that is more important than it's form.

May you not become too concerned with material matters,

But instead place immeasurable value on the goodness in your heart.

Find time in each day to see the beauty and love in the world around you.

Realize that each person has limitless abilities,

But each of us is different in our own way.

What you may feel you lack in one regard

May be more than compensated for in another.

What you feel you lack in the present

May become one of your strengths in the future.

May you see your future as one filled with promise and possibility.

Learn to view everything as a worthwhile experience.

May you find enough inner strength to determine your own worth by yourself,

And not be dependent on another's judgement of your accomplishments.

May you always feel loved.

--- Copyright © 1987 Sandra Sturtz Hauss ---

Challenge #33 New Year

2011-01-14T17:02:00.000-05:00

New Year
Katharine Lee Bates

WHITE year, white year,
Muffled soft in snow,
A diamond spray whose gems are gone
Before their grace we know,
A crystal-coated spray whose hours
Melt when looked upon,
Hoarfrost stars and hoarfrost flowers,
White year!

Green year, green year,
Sweet with sun and showers,
A windblown spray whose blossoms bright
Are the seven-colored hours,
A dancing spray whose leaves are days,
A spray whose leaves delight
In azure gleam and silver haze,
Green year!

New Year, new year
From rosy leaf to gold,
A shining spray on the Tree of Time
Where myriad sprays unfold,
A spray so fair that God may see
And gather it, bloom and rime,
To deck the doors of Eternity,
New Year!

Challenge #32

2010-12-15T07:09:00.000-05:00

written by: Marinela Reka

Shiny

Little star

Burned bright

Full of glowing light

Spreading joy to the night

Christmas time!

A time that fills us with desire

And slowly sets our hearts on fire

We pray, we love and listen to the choir

A jolly Christmas time

The Christmas tree stands so tall and so proud

Takes a seat on the presents as they become a crowd

Looks over the treasured presents like a hovering cloud

Everybody loves Christmas time

It’s decorated merrily with colours and materials of all kinds

It created a place of pleasure and joy for our eyes, and our minds

And many years of pleasure and memories it always unwinds

Christmas

Is slowly

On its

Way

Challenge #31 Mistletoe

2010-12-15T07:05:00.000-05:00

Mistletoe a Christmas poem
by Walter de la Mare

Make it Snow !
Sitting under the mistletoe
(Pale-green, fairy mistletoe),
One last candle burning low,
All the sleepy dancers gone,
Just one candle burning on,
Shadows lurking everywhere:
Some one came, and kissed me there.
Tired I was; my head would go
Nodding under the mistletoe
(Pale-green, fairy mistletoe),
No footsteps came, no voice, but only,
Just as I sat there, sleepy, lonely,
Stooped in the still and shadowy air
Lips unseen - and kissed me there.

The Tables Turned

2010-11-30T21:46:00.002-05:00

The Tables Turned

by Williams Wordsworth

Up! Up! my Friend, and quit your books;

Or surely you'll grow double:

Up! up! my Friend, and clear your looks;

Why all this toil and trouble?

The sun, above the mountain's head,

A freshening lustre mellow

Through all the long green fields has spread,

His first sweet evening yellow.

Books! 'tis a dull and endless strife:

Come, hear the woodland linnet,

How sweet his music! on my life,

There's more of wisdom in it.

And hark! how blithe the throstle sings!

He, too, is no mean preacher:

Come forth into the light of things,

Let Nature be your Teacher.

She has a world of ready wealth,

Our minds and hearts to bless

Spontaneous wisdom breathed by health,

Truth breathed by cheerfulness.

One impulse from a vernal wood

May teach you more of man,

Of moral evil and of good,

Than all the sages can.

Sweet is the lore which Nature brings;

Our meddling intellect

Mis-shapes the beauteous forms of things:

We murder to dissect.

Enough of Science and of Art;

Close up those barren leaves;

Come forth, and bring with you a heart

That watches and receives.

Prayer for the Great Family

2010-11-16T13:36:00.004-05:00

Prayer for the Great Family

Gratitude to Mother Earth, sailing through night and day—
and to her soil: rich, rare and sweet
in our minds so be it.
Gratitude to Plants, the sun-facing, light-changing leaf
and fine root-hairs; standing still through wind
and rain; their dance is in the flowering spiral grain
in our minds so be it.
Gratitude to Air, bearing the soaring Swift and silent
Owl at dawn. Breath of our song
clear spirit breeze
in our minds so be it.
Gratitude to Wild Beings, our brothers, teaching secrets,
freedoms, and ways; who share with us their milk;
self-complete, brave and aware
in our minds so be it.
Gratitude to Water: clouds, lakes, rivers, glaciers;
holding or releasing; streaming through all
our bodies salty seas
in our minds so be it.
Gratitude to the Sun: blinding pulsing light through
trunks of trees, through mists, warming caves where
bears and snakes sleep— he who wakes us—
in our minds so be it.
Gratitude to the Great Sky
who holds billions of stars— and goes yet beyond that—
beyond all powers, and thoughts
and yet is within us—
Grandfather Space.
The Mind is his Wife.
so be it.

after a Mohawk prayer
by: Gary Snyder, Turtle Island
New Directions, New York, 1974, pp. 24-25

A Red, Red Rose

2010-11-01T18:02:00.002-04:00

A Red, Red Rose

by: Robert Burns

Oh my luve is like a red, red rose,

That's newly sprung in June:

Oh my luve is like the melodie,

That's sweetly play'd in tune.

As fair art thou, my bonie lass,

So deep in luve am I;

And I will luve thee still, my dear,

Till a' the seas gang dry.

Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,

And the rocks melt wi' the sun;

And I will luve thee still, my dear,

While the sands o' life shall run.

And fare thee weel, my only luve!

And fare thee weel a while!

And I will come again, my luve,

Tho' it were ten thousand mile!

There is Another Sky

2010-10-14T22:26:00.000-04:00

There is Another Sky
by Emily Dickenson

There is another sky,

Ever serene and fair,
And there is another sunshine,
Though it be darkness there;
Never mind faded forests, Austin,
Never mind silent fields—
Here is a little forest,
Whose leaf is ever green;
Here is a brighter garden,
Where not a frost has been;
In its unfading flowers
I hear the bright bee hum:
Prithee, my brother,
Into my garden come!

The Rock Cries Out to Us

2010-09-30T23:05:00.000-04:00

The Rock Cries Out to Us Today
by Maya Angelou

A Rock, A River, A Tree
Hosts to species long since departed,
Mark the mastodon.
The dinosaur, who left dry tokens
Of their sojourn here
On our planet floor,
Any broad alarm of their of their hastening doom
Is lost in the gloom of dust and ages.
But today, the Rock cries out to us, clearly, forcefully,
Come, you may stand upon my
Back and face your distant destiny,
But seek no haven in my shadow.
I will give you no hiding place down here.
You, created only a little lower than
The angels, have crouched too long in
The bruising darkness,
Have lain too long
Face down in ignorance.
Your mouths spelling words
Armed for slaughter.
The rock cries out today, you may stand on me,
But do not hide your face.
Across the wall of the world,
A river sings a beautiful song,
Come rest here by my side.
Each of you a bordered country,
Delicate and strangely made proud,
Yet thrusting perpetually under siege.
Your armed struggles for profit
Have left collars of waste upon
My shore, currents of debris upon my breast.
Yet, today I call you to my riverside,
If you will study war no more.
Come, clad in peace and I will sing the songs
The Creator gave to me when I
And the tree and stone were one.
Before cynicism was a bloody sear across your brow
And when you yet knew you still knew nothing.
The river sings and sings on.
There is a true yearning to respond to
The singing river and the wise rock.
So say the Asian, the Hispanic, the Jew,
The African and Native American, the Sioux,
The Catholic, the Muslim, the French, the Greek,
The Irish, the Rabbi, the Priest, the Sheikh,
The Gay, the Straight, the Preacher,
The privileged, the homeless, the teacher.
They hear. They all hear
The speaking of the tree.
Today, the first and last of every tree
Speaks to humankind. Come to me, here beside the river.
Plant yourself beside me, here beside the river.
Each of you, descendant of some passed on
Traveller, has been paid for.
You, who gave me my first name,
You Pawnee, Apache and Seneca,
You Cherokee Nation, who rested with me,
Then forced on bloody feet,
Left me to the employment of other seekers--
Desperate for gain, starving for gold.
You, the Turk, the Swede, the German, the Scot...
You the Ashanti, the Yoruba, the Kru,
Bought, sold, stolen, arriving on a nightmare
Praying for a dream.
Here, root yourselves beside me.
I am the tree planted by the river,
Which will not be moved.
I, the rock, I the river, I the tree
I am yours--your passages have been paid.
Lift up your faces, you have a piercing need
For this bright morning dawning for you.
History, despite its wrenching pain,
Cannot be unlived, and if faced with courage,
Need not be lived again.
Lift up your eyes upon
The day breaking for you.
Give birth again
To the dream.
Women, children, men,
Take it into the palms of your hands.
Mold it into the shape of your most
Private need. Sculpt it into
The image of your most public self.
Lift up your hearts.
Each new hour holds new chances
For new beginnings.
Do not be wedded forever
To fear, yoked eternally
To brutishness.
The horizon leans forward,
Offering you space to place new steps of change.
Here, on the pulse of this fine day
You may have the courage
To look up and out upon me,
The rock, the river, the tree, your country.
No less to Midas than the mendicant.
No less to you now than the mastodon then.
Here on the pulse of this new day
You may have the grace to look up and out
And into your sister's eyes,
Into your brother's face, your country
And say simply
Very simply
With hope
Good morning.

First Day of School by Eddie Garcia

2010-09-15T00:01:00.002-04:00

First day of school

by Eddie Garcia

Remembering my first day of school,

scared and feeling i'd become a fool...

afraid of being left alone,

away from mom and dad my comfort zone...

I remember being taken away,

by a lady saying we were going to have some fun today...

Screaming and kicking calling for mom and dad,

I was feeling very lonely and sad...

walking into the room I couldn't believe,

what I saw and stood before me...

it was my friend who lived next door,

his name was johnny he was four...

we coloured pictures we played with the toys,

even played on the swings and slide with the rest of the girls and boys...

the teacher even told us a story today,

we thought it was funny at certain things she'd say...

then it was time to eat lunch,

with the other kids there were a bunch...

it was time to go back and see,

what fun would come next for me...

we sang songs said nursery rhymes,

then before you knew it, it was time...

to go home but I wanted to stay,

asking mom n dad can I come back the next day...

Ode to the End of Summer by Phyllis McGinley

2010-09-01T00:01:00.004-04:00

Ode to the end of Summer

by: Phyllis McGinley

Summer, adieu

Adieu gregarious season.

Goodbye, 'revoir, farewell.

Now day comes late; now chillier blows the breeze on

Forsaken beach and boarded-up hotel.

Now wild geese fly together in thin lines

And Tourist Homes take down their lettered signs.

It fades--this green this lavish interval

This time of flowers and fruits,

Of melon ripe along the orchard wall,

Of sun and sails and wrinkled linen suits;

Time when the world seems rather plus than minus

And pollen tickles the allergic sinus.

Now fugitives to farm and shore and highland

Cancel their brief escape.

The Ferris wheel is quiet at Coney Island

And quaintness trades no longer on the Cape;

While meek-eyed parents hasten down the ramps

To greet their offspring, terrible from camps.

Turn up the steam. The year is growing older.

The maple boughs are red.

Summer, farewell. Farewell the sunburnt shoulder

Farewell the peasant kerchief on the head.

Farewell the thunderstorm, complete with lightning,

And the white shoe that ever needeth whitening.

Farewell, vacation friendships, sweet but tenuous

Ditto to slacks and shorts,

Farewell, O strange compulsion to be strenuous

Which sends us forth to death on tennis courts.

Farewel, Mosquito, horror of our nights;

Clambakes, iced tea, and transatlantic flights.

The zinnia withers, mortal as the tulip.

Now from the dripping glass

I'll sip no more the amateur mint julep

Nor dine al fresco on the alien grass;

Nor scale the height nor breast the truculent billow

Nor lay my head on any weekend pillow.

Unstintingly I yield myself to Autumn

And Equinoctial sloth.

I hide my swim suit in the bureau's bottom

Nor fear the fury of the after-moth

Forswearing porch and pool and beetled garden,

My heart shall rest, my arteries shall harden.

Welcome, kind Fall, and every month with 'r' in

Whereto my mind is bent.

Come, sedentary season that I star in,

O fire-lit Winter of my deep content!

Amid the snow, the sleet, the blizzard's raw gust

I shall be cozier than I was in August.

Safe from the picnic sleeps the unlittered dell.

The last Good Humor sounds its final bell

And all is silence.

Summer, farewell, farewell.

Home Sweet Home by John Howard Payne

2010-08-15T00:01:00.002-04:00

Home, Sweet Home

Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam,

Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home;

A charm from the sky seems to hallow us there,

Which, seek through the world, is ne'er met with elsewhere.

Home, home, sweet, sweet home!

There's no place like home, oh, there's no place like home!

An exile from home, splendor dazzles in vain;

Oh, give me my lowly thatched cottage again!

The birds singing gayly, that come at my call --

Give me them -- and the peace of mind, dearer than all!

Home, home, sweet, sweet home!

There's no place like home, oh, there's no place like home!

I gaze on the moon as I tread the drear wild,

And feel that my mother now thinks of her child,

As she looks on that moon from our own cottage door

Thro' the woodbine, whose fragrance shall cheer me no more.

Home, home, sweet, sweet home!

There's no place like home, oh, there's no place like home!

How sweet 'tis to sit 'neath a fond father's smile,

And the caress of a mother to soothe and beguile!

Let others delight mid new pleasures to roam,

But give me, oh, give me, the pleasures of home.

Home, home, sweet, sweet home!

There's no place like home, oh, there's no place like home!

To thee I'll return, overburdened with care;

The heart's dearest solace will smile on me there;

No more from that cottage again will I roam;

Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home.

Home, home, sweet, sweet, home!

There's no place like home, oh, there's no place like home!

Annabel Lee by Edgar Allan Poe

2010-08-01T01:27:00.000-04:00

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 winged 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 kinsman 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 the sepulchre there by the sea,
In her tomb by the sounding sea.

Dreams by Langston Hughes

2010-07-15T00:01:00.001-04:00

Dreams

by: Langston Hughes

Hold fast to dreams
For if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird
That cannot fly.
Hold fast to dreams
For when dreams go
Life is a barren field
Frozen with snow.

First Love by John Clare

2010-07-01T00:01:00.001-04:00

First Love

by John Clare

I ne'er was struck before that hour
With love so sudden and so sweet,
Her face it bloomed like a sweet flower
And stole my heart away complete.
My face turned pale as deadly pale.
My legs refused to walk away,
And when she looked, what could I ail?
My life and all seemed turned to clay.
And then my blood rushed to my face
And took my eyesight quite away,
The trees and bushes round the place
Seemed midnight at noonday.
I could not see a single thing,
Words from my eyes did start --
They spoke as chords do from the string,
And blood burnt round my heart.
Are flowers the winter's choice?
Is love's bed always snow?
She seemed to hear my silent voice,
Not love's appeals to know.
I never saw so sweet a face
As that I stood before.
My heart has left its dwelling-place
And can return no more

Footprints in the Sand by Mary Stevenson

2010-06-15T00:00:00.003-04:00

Footprints in the Sand

Mary Stevenson

One night I had a dream --
I dreamed I was walking along the beach with the Lord, and
Across the sky flashed scenes from my life.
For each scene I noticed two sets of footprints in the sand;
One belonged to me, and the other to the Lord.
When the last scene of my life flashed before us,
I looked back at the footprints in the sand.
I noticed that many times along the path of my life,
There was only one set of footprints.
I also noticed that it happened at the very lowest and saddest times in my life
This really bothered me, and I questioned the Lord about it.
"Lord, you said that once I decided to follow you,
You would walk with me all the way;
But I have noticed that during the most troublesome times in my life,
There is only one set of footprints.
I don't understand why in times when I
needed you the most, you should leave me.
The Lord replied, "My precious, precious
child. I love you, and I would never,
never leave you during your times of
trial and suffering.
When you saw only one set of footprints,
It was then that I carried you."

The Giving Tree- by Shel Silverstein

2010-06-01T00:04:00.002-04:00

The Giving Tree

by Shel Silverstein

Once there was a giving tree who loved a little boy.
And everyday the boy would come to play
Swinging from the branches, sleeping in the shade
Laughing all the summer’s hours away.
And so they love,
Oh, the tree was happy.
Oh, the tree was glad.
But soon the boy grew older and one day he came and said,
"Can you give me some money, tree, to buy something I’ve found?"
"I have no money," said the tree, "Just apples, twigs and leaves."
"But you can take my apples, boy, and sell them in the town."
And so he did and
Oh, the tree was happy.
Oh, the tree was glad.
But soon again the boy came back and he said to the tree,
"I’m now a man and I must have a house that’s all my home."
"I can’t give you a house" he said, "The forest is my house."
"But you may cut my branches off and build yourself a home"
And so he did.
Oh, the tree was happy.
Oh, the tree was glad.
And time went by and the boy came back with sadness in his eyes.
"My life has turned so cold," he says, "and I need sunny days."
"I’ve nothing but my trunk," he says, "But you can cut it down
And build yourself a boat and sail away."
And so he did and
Oh, the tree was happy.
Oh, the tree was glad.
And after years the boy came back, both of them were old.
"I really cannot help you if you ask for another gift."
"I’m nothing but an old stump now. I’m sorry but I’ve nothing more to give"
"I do not need very much now, just a quiet place to rest,"
The boy, he whispered, with a weary smile.
"Well", said the tree, "An old stump is still good for that."
"Come, boy", he said, "Sit down, sit down and rest a while."
And so he did and
Oh, the trees was happy.
Oh, the tree was glad.

Link to Shel's site
http://www.shelsilverstein.com/html/books.asp

Woman Work by Maya Angelou

2010-05-15T00:05:00.006-04:00

Woman Work
Challenge #16
by Maya Angelou

I've got the children to tend
The clothes to mend
The floor to mop
The food to shop
Then the chicken to fry
The baby to dry
I got company to feed
The garden to weed
I've got shirts to press
The tots to dress
The can to be cut
I gotta clean up this hut
Then see about the sick
And the cotton to pick.
Shine on me, sunshine
Rain on me, rain
Fall softly, dewdrops
And cool my brow again.
Storm, blow me from here
With your fiercest wind
Let me float across the sky
'Til I can rest again.
Fall gently, snowflakes
Cover me with white
Cold icy kisses and
Let me rest tonight.
Sun, rain, curving sky
Mountain, oceans, leaf and stone
Star shine, moon glow
You're all that I can call my own.

A Mother's Love by Judy Dowling

2010-04-30T17:19:00.002-04:00

A Mother's Love
by Judy Dowling
June 2, 1978

Mother's are the very best
That God has ever made
The love they give their children
will never ever fade.

They give without thinking
They love with no bounds
Welcome you with open arms
With smiles and not frowns

A Mother's love is special
In every sort of way
It stays with you forever
She never lets it stray

April by John Greenleaf Whittier

2010-04-15T00:01:00.022-04:00

April- challenge #14
by John Greenleaf Whittier

'T is the noon of the spring-time, yet never a bird
In the wind-shaken elm or the maple is heard;
For green meadow-grasses wide levels of snow,
And blowing of drifts where the crocus should blow;
Where wind-flower and violet, amber and white,
On south-sloping brooksides should smile in the light,
O'er the cold winter-beds of their late-waking roots
The frosty flake eddies, the ice-crystal shoots;
And, longing for light, under wind-driven heaps,
Round the boles of the pine-wood the ground-laurel creeps,
Unkissed of the sunshine, unbaptized of showers,
With buds scarcely swelled, which should burst into flowers
We wait for thy coming, sweet wind of the south!
For the touch of thy light wings, the kiss of thy mouth;
For the yearly evangel thou bearest from God,
Resurrection and life to the graves of the sod!
Up our long river-valley, for days, have not ceased
The wail and the shriek of the bitter northeast,
Raw and chill, as if winnowed through ices and snow,
All the way from the land of the wild Esquimau,
Until all our dreams of the land of the blest,
Like that red hunter's, turn to the sunny southwest.
O soul of the spring-time, its light and its breath,
Bring warmth to this coldness, bring life to this death;
Renew the great miracle; let us behold
The stone from the mouth of the sepulchre rolled,
And Nature, like Lazarus, rise, as of old!
Let our faith, which in darkness and coldness has lain,
Revive with the warmth and the brightness again,
And in blooming of flower and budding of tree
The symbols and types of our destiny see;
The life of the spring-time, the life of the whole,
And, as sun to the sleeping earth, love to the soul

An Easter Flower Gift- Challenge #12

2010-04-01T00:01:00.013-04:00

An Easter Flower Gift- challenge #12

John Greenleaf Whittier Poem

O dearest bloom the seasons know,
Flowers of the Resurrection blow,
Our hope and faith restore;
And through the bitterness of death
And loss and sorrow, breathe a breath
Of life forevermore!
The thought of Love Immortal blends
With fond remembrances of friends;
In you, O sacred flowers,
By human love made doubly sweet,
The heavenly and the earthly meet,
The heart of Christ and ours

May the road rise to meet you

2010-03-15T00:03:00.009-04:00

May the road rise to meet you
May the wind always be at your back
May the sun shine warm upon your face,
The rains fall soft upon your fields
and until we meet again
May God hold you in the hollow of his hand

~traditional gaelic blessing

Go n-éirí an bóthar leat
Go raibh an ghaoth go brách ag do chúl
Go lonraí an ghrian go te ar d'aghaidh
Go dtite an bháisteach go mín ar do pháirceanna
Agus go mbuailimid le chéile arís,
Go gcoinní Dia i mbos A láimhe thú.

Oh the Places You'll Go by Dr. Seuss

2010-03-01T00:01:00.002-05:00

Oh the Places You'll Go
by Dr. Seuss

Congratulations!

Today is your day.
You're off to Great Places!
You're off and away!
You have brains in your head.
You have feet in your shoes
You can steer yourself
any direction you choose.
You're on your own. And you know what you know.
And YOU are the guy who'll decide where to go.
You'll look up and down streets. Look 'em over with care.
About some you will say, "I don't choose to go there."
With your head full of brains and your shoes full of feet,
you're too smart to go down any not-so-good street.
And you may not find any
you'll want to go down.
In that case, of course,
you'll head straight out of town.
It's opener there
in the wide open air.
Out there things can happen
and frequently do
to people as brainy
and footsy as you.
And when things start to happen,
don't worry. Don't stew.
Just go right along.
You'll start happening too.
OH!
THE PLACES YOU'LL GO!
You'll be on your way up!
You'll be seeing great sights!
You'll join the high fliers
who soar to high heights.
You won't lag behind, because you'll have the speed.
You'll pass the whole gang and you'll soon take the lead.
Wherever you fly, you'll be the best of the best.
Wherever you go, you will top all the rest.
Except when you don't
Because, sometimes, you won't.
I'm sorry to say so
but, sadly, it's true
and Hang-ups
can happen to you.
You can get all hung up
in a prickle-ly perch.
And your gang will fly on.
You'll be left in a Lurch.
You'll come down from the Lurch
with an unpleasant bump.
And the chances are, then,
that you'll be in a Slump.
And when you're in a Slump,
you're not in for much fun.
Un-slumping yourself
is not easily done.
You will come to a place where the streets are not marked.
Some windows are lighted. But mostly they're darked.
A place you could sprain both your elbow and chin!
Do you dare to stay out? Do you dare to go in?
How much can you lose? How much can you win?
And IF you go in, should you turn left or right...
or right-and-three-quarters? Or, maybe, not quite?
Or go around back and sneak in from behind?
Simple it's not, I'm afraid you will find,
for a mind-maker-upper to make up his mind.
You can get so confused
that you'll start in to race
down long wiggled roads at a break-necking pace
and grind on for miles across weirdish wild space,
headed, I fear, toward a most useless place.
The Waiting Place...
...for people just waiting.
Waiting for a train to go
or a bus to come, or a plane to go
or the mail to come, or the rain to go
or the phone to ring, or the snow to snow
or waiting around for a Yes or a No
or waiting for their hair to grow.
Everyone is just waiting.
Waiting for the fish to bite
or waiting for wind to fly a kite
or waiting around for Friday night
or waiting, perhaps, for their Uncle Jake
or a pot to boil, or a Better Break
or a string of pearls, or a pair of pants
or a wig with curls, or Another Chance.
Everyone is just waiting.
NO!
That's not for you!
Somehow you'll escape
all that waiting and staying.
You'll find the bright places
where Boom Bands are playing.
With banner flip-flapping,
once more you'll ride high!
Ready for anything under the sky.
Ready because you're that kind of a guy!
Oh, the places you'll go! There is fun to be done!
There are points to be scored. there are games to be won.
And the magical things you can do with that ball
will make you the winning-est winner of all.
Fame! You'll be famous as famous can be,
with the whole wide world watching you win on TV.
Except when they don't.
Because, sometimes, they won't.
I'm afraid that some times
you'll play lonely games too.
Games you can't win
'cause you'll play against you.
All Alone!
Whether you like it or not,
Alone will be something
you'll be quite a lot.
And when you're alone, there's a very good chance
you'll meet things that scare you right out of your pants.
There are some, down the road between hither and yon,
that can scare you so much you won't want to go on.
But on you will go
though the weather be foul
On you will go
though your enemies prowl
On you will go
though the Hakken-Kraks howl
Onward up many
a frightening creek,
though your arms may get sore
and your sneakers may leak.
On and on you will hike
and I know you'll hike far
and face up to your problems
whatever they are.
You'll get mixed up, of course,
as you already know.
You'll get mixed up
with many strange birds as you go.
So be sure when you step.
Step with care and great tact
and remember that Life's
a Great Balancing Act.
Just never forget to be dexterous and deft.
And never mix up your right foot with your left.
And will you succeed?
Yes! You will, indeed!
(98 and 3/4 percent guaranteed.)
KID, YOU'LL MOVE MOUNTAINS!
So...
be your name Buxbaum or Bixby or Bray
or Mordecai Ali Van Allen O'Shea,
you're off to Great Places!
Today is your day!
Your mountain is waiting.
So...get on your way!

Freedom and Love by Thomas Campbell

2010-02-15T00:01:00.006-05:00

Freedom And Love

by Thomas Campbell

How delicious is the winning
Of a kiss at love's beginning,
When two mutual hearts are sighing
For the knot there's no untying!
Yet remember, 'Midst our wooing,
Love has bliss, but Love has ruing;
Other smiles may make you fickle,
Tears for other charms may trickle.
Love he comes, and Love he tarries,
Just as fate or fancy carries;
Longest stays, when sorest chidden;
Laughs and flies, when press'd and bidden.
Bind the sea to slumber stilly,
Bind its odour to the lily,
Bind the aspen ne'er to quiver,
Then bind Love to last for ever.
Love's a fire that needs renewal
Of fresh beauty for its fuel:
Love's wing moults when caged and captured,
Only free, he soars enraptured.
Can you keep the bee from ranging
Or the ringdove's neck from changing?
No! nor fetter'd Love from dying
In the knot there's no untying.

Ah, Yes! Love

2010-02-01T03:01:00.001-05:00

Ah, Yes! Love
by Clarence B. Campbell

Ah, yes! Love
Is peaches and honey, and figs, and cream,
And wild grapes dripping beside the stream,
Humming birds,
And a young man's dream!
Ah, yes! Love
Is bubbles and beauty and lantern light,
Music and madness and dizzy height,
Tender words,
And a star-filled night!

Ah, yes! Love
Is oceans and azure, and infinite skies,
Rubies and ivory, and fathomless eyes,
Where the bluebird springs
And sings as he flies!
Ah, yes! Love
Is whispers, and flickers, and candleshine,
Glances and trances, and deep, red wine,
And the moon-dust that clings
To the gossamer vine!

Ah, yes! Love
Is kisses, caresses, and sweet desire,
Prickles and shivers, and flashing fire,
And melodies
From a throbbing lyre!
Ah, yes! Love
Is silver, and roses, and gay champagne,
And the soft reprise of the April rain,
And memories
That will long remain!

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

2010-01-15T03:01:00.000-05:00

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
by Robert Frost

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here,
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer,
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

Hope

2010-01-01T03:01:00.000-05:00

Hope
by Emily Dickenson

Hope is the thing with feathers
that perches in the soul,
and sings the tune - without the words,
and never stops at all,
and sweetest in the gale is heard;
and sore must be the storm
that could abash the little bird
that kept so many warm.
I've heard it in the chillest land,
and on the strangest sea;
Yet, never in extremity,
it asked a crumb of me.

Twas the Night Before Christmas

2009-12-15T03:01:00.000-05:00

Twas the Night Before Christmas
AKA: A Visit from St. Nicholas
by: Clement Clarke Moore

'Twas the night before Christmas,
when all through the house
not a creature was stirring,
not even a mouse:
the stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
in hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there.
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
while visions of sugarplums danced in their heads;
and mamma in her kerchief, and I in my cap,
had just settled our brains for a long winter nap;
when out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
The moon, on the breast of the new fallen snow,
gave luster of midday to objects below,
when, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
but a miniature sleigh and eight tiny reindeer,
with a little old driver so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
and he whistled and shouted and called them by name:
"Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen!
On Comet! On Cupid! on Donner and Blitzen!
To the top of the porch, to the top of the wall,
now dash away! dash away! dash away all!"
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
when they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,
so up to the housetop the coursers they flew, with the sleigh full of toys,
and St. Nicholas, too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof the prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.
He was dressed all in fur from his head to his foot,
and his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;
a bundle of toys he had flung on his back, and he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.
His eyes- how they twinkled! his dimples- how merry!
His cheeks were like rose, his nose like a cherry.
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
and the beard on his chin was as white as the snow.
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
and the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.
He had a broad face and a little round belly
that shook when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly.
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
and I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself.
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head
soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
and filled all the stockings; then turned with a jer,
and laying his finger aside of his nose, and giving a nod,
up the chimney he rose.
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
and away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
"Happy Christmas to all and to all a good night!"

The Road Not Taken

2009-12-01T03:02:00.000-05:00

The Road Not Taken
by Rober Frost

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
and sorry I could not travel both
and be one traveler, long I stood
and looked down one as far as I could
to where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
and having perhaps the better claim,
because it was grassy and wanted wear;
though as for that the passing there
had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
in leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Sojmewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-
I took the one less traveled by,
and that has made all the difference.

When You Thought I Wasn't Looking

2009-11-15T03:01:00.000-05:00

When You Thought I Wasn't Looking
by Mary Schilke Korzan

When you thought I wasn't looking, you displayed my first report, and I wanted to do another.

When you thought I wasn't looking, you fed a stray cat, and I thought it was good to be kind to animals.

When you thought I wasn't looking, you gave me a sticker, and I knew the little things were special things.

When you thought I wasn't looking, you put your arm around me and I felt loved.

When you thought I wasn't looking I saw tears come from your eyes, and I learned that sometimes things hurt- but that it's alright to cry.

When you thought I wasn't looking, you smiled, and it made me want to look that pretty too.

When you thought I wasn't looking, you cared, and I wanted to be everything I could be.

When you thought I wasn't looking, I looked... and wanted to say thanks for all those things you did when you thought I wasn't looking.

Where the Sidewalk Ends

2009-11-01T02:01:00.000-05:00

Where the Sidewalk Ends by Shel Silverstein

There is a place where the sidewalk ends
and before the street begins,
and there the grass grows soft and white,
and there the sun burns crimson bright,
and there the moon-bird rests from his flight
to cool in the peppermind wind.

Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
and the dark street winds and bends.
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow.
And watch where the chalk-white arrows go
to the place where the sidewalk ends.

Yes we'll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
and we'll go where the chalk-white arrows go.
For the children, they mark, and the children, they know
the place where the sidewakl ends.

2009-10-15T03:00:00.000-04:00

Phenomenal Woman

by Maya Angelou

Pretty woman wonder where my secret lies,

I'm not cute or built to fit a fashion model's size

But when I start to tell them,

They think I'm telling lies,

I say,

It's in the reach of my arms

The span of my hips

The stride of my step,

The curl of my lips,

I'm a woman

Phenomenally

Phenomenal woman,

That's me.

I walk into a room

Just as cool as you please,

and to a man,

The fellows stand or

Fall down on their knees.

They swarm around me,

A hive of honey bees,

I say,

Its the fire in my eyes,

And the flash of my teeth,

The swing in my waist,

And the joy in my feet.

I'm a woman

Phenomenally,

Phenomenal woman,

That's me.

Men themselves have wondered

What they see in me.

They try to show them,

But they can't touch

My inner mystery,

When I try to show them,

They say they still can't see,

I say,

It's the arch of my back

The sun in my smile,

The ride of my breasts,

The grace of my style,

I'm a woman

Phenomenally,

Phenomenal woman,

That's me.

Now you understand

Just why my head's not bowed.

I don't shout or jump about

Or have to talk real loud.

When you see me passing,

I ought to make you proud

I say,

It's the click of my heals,

The bend of my hair,

The need for my care.

'Cause I'm a woman

Phenomenally,

Phenomenal woman,

That's me.

If by Rudyard Kipling

2009-10-01T03:00:00.000-04:00

IF

If you can keep your head when all about you
are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you;
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting;
Or, being lied about, don't deal in the lies,
Or, being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look to good, nor talk to wise;

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think- and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with triumph and disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools;
Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,
And stoop and build'em up with wornout tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings;
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on"

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virture,
Or walk with Kings - nor lose the common touch;
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run-
Yours is the Earth and everything that is in it,
And- which is more- you'll be a Man my son!