THE KNIGHT, BEFORE CHRISTMAS...A POEM FROM A CONTRIBUTOR

“The knight, before Christmas, was searching his house,

the dog and the cat and even the mouse

were all missing, now where could they be.

Around a small table none of them spoke

intent on their cards, their drinks and their smoke,

coins were all stacked on the table with care,

the cat held three deuces, the dog held a pair,

then the mouse called for cards,

the cat dealt  them out quick

his dealing was fast, practiced and slick

the mouse picked them up, and perused them with glee,

“royal flush” said the mouse, “give your money to me”.

The other two folded their cards in disgust,

the cat passed the deal, his pot had gone bust.

The knight crept away grinning, and shaking his head,

had a cold beer and then went to bed.

In the morning the knight woke well before dawn

in the dark made the coffee, and stifled a yawn.

The jar on the sideboard that held the house money

was empty, he knew something was funny.

The cat was still missing, with the dog and the mouse,

Not a sound could be heard around that old house.

The knight scratched his head and looking around

heard a rattling noise, a tinkling sound.

The jar lid fell on the floor with a clang

The knight turned around, and there was the gang,

hungry and waiting for breakfast they sat,

the card playing mouse, the dog, and the cat.

They put back the money, put the lid back on tight,

They all had their breakfast the then called it a night.”

HAPPY HOLIDAYS EVERYONE!

h/t to a shy poet

    

REMEMBER OUR LOST SOLDIERS AND THE HISTORY OF OUR COUNTRY THIS MEMORIAL DAY - WHAT THEY GAVE AND WHAT IT WAS FOR

Flags

NWG 04 

Tiny flags adorn the roadway,

Snapping proudly in the breeze.

There is bunting on the houses,

Yellow ribbons in the trees.

There are smiles on all the faces,

Our troops are coming back.

They've been half the world away,

In the deserts of Iraq.

They went when duty called them,

As others have before,

To keep Old Glory flying,

And the tyrant from our shore.

Like the Minutemen and Doughboys

They've been serving Uncle Sam,

As did G. I. Joe, the Roughriders,

And the Grunts of Viet Nam.

Throughout our nation’s history,

Generations heed the call.

Stepping forward bravely,

Our finest standing tall.

There is a price for freedom,

And the toll will always be,

Paid in blood and courage,

By those who keep us free.

So play the music proudly,

Put flags along the way,

Today, our troops are coming home,
God bless the U S A.

Many thanks to Wayne Garrett, my friend, poet and storyteller -

a proud son of the south and a veteran - 

for this original poem.

DYLAN THOMAS' "DO NOT GO GENTLE INTO THAT GOOD NIGHT"

Does anyone agree with me that this has great relevance to us today, politically?





Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

A NEW YEAR'S POEM FOR YOU FROM MY FRIEND AND STORYTELLER, N. W. GARRETT. FOUND IT IN MY EMAIL THIS A.M. AND THOUGHT I'D SHARE IT WITH YOU.

Happy New Year 2011

N W Garrett

12/31/2011

A pause to reflect on family and friends,

As the clock winds down and the decade ends.

The new lives welcomed, the new friends met,

Old friends revisited, never forget.

They comprise the threads of life’s tapestry,

Sending laughter with the click of a key.

Being a part of things to do,

Sharing a dream or a task or two,

Toward a common goal or a kindly deed,

Standing by, if ever the need,

For a comforting heart, if sadness calls,

Applauding victories, cushioning falls.

Joining in remembrance of ones you miss,

Kindred souls in sweet reminisce.

Some are seen often, some rarely heard,

But always welcome whenever there’s word.

For large and small players, they’re the knits and purls,

That forms the fabric of your world.

So why not say, “Thank you for being family and friends”

As the old year leaves and the new one begins.

Because that is perzactly what I have just done,

Happy New Year, all y’all, in Two Thousand One One!

* * * * * * * * *
* *

DR. SEUSS - 2010

I do not like this Uncle Sam, I do not like his health care scam.
I do not like these dirty crooks, or how they lie and cook the books.
I do not like when Congress steals,
I do not like their secret deals.
I do not like this speaker Nan,
I do not like this 'YES WE CAN'.
I do not like this spending spree,
I'm smart, I know that nothing's free,
I do not like your smug replies, when I complain about your lies.
I do not like this kind of hope.

I do not like it. Nope, nope, nope!

THANKS, OBF

Jimmy Stewart read his poem, "A Dog Named Beau" on Johnny Carson's show

Guess I missed that one. Thanks, Bobby, for sending me that.

(Bobby loves Labs. She should get another.)

Robert Service recording of the Cremation of Sam McGee

This one's great. No video - just the audio. I love Robert Service's poems.

A very relevant poem for today by William Blake

Oh, for a voice like thunder, and a tongue
To drown the throat of war !

When the senses
Are shaken, and the soul is driven to madness,
Who can stand ?
When the souls of the oppressed
Fight in the troubled air that rages, who can stand ?

When the whirlwind of fury comes from the
Throne of God, when the frowns of his countenance
Drive the nations together, who can stand ?

When sin claps his broad wings over the battle,
And sails rejoicing in the flood of death;
When souls are torn to everlasting fire,
And fiends of hell rejoice upon the slain,

Oh, who can stand? Oh, who hath caused this ?
Oh, who can answer at the throne of God ?

The kings and nobles of the land have done it !
Hear it not, Heaven, thy ministers have done it !

National Book Awards

To any writer, getting a book recognized by the National Book Awards is cause to celebrate.

So I am celebrating because "She wore emerald then..." by prize-winning poets Carolyn Howard-Johnson and Magdalena Ball and illustrated with photography BY ME(!) is a finalist.

It makes a wonderful gift - for mothers, for sisters, aunts, cousins who are mothers or whose mother or grandmother has recently departed.

It's a thoughtful and sensitive book. I promise, the woman who gets it will love it.

And it's pretty, too. We went through a lot of photos before we made the choice, which was interesting because Maggie's in Australia, I'm here and Carolyn is in California.

Think Thanksgiving for a thank you for dinner gift; think Christmas and New Year's.

Here are the links:

http://www.usabooknews.com/2009bestbooksawards.html

http://www.amazon.com/She-Wore-Emerald-Then-Reflections/dp/1438263791/

Poem: The Blind Men and the Elephant by John Godfrey Saxe

The Blind Men and the Elephant
John Godfrey Saxe (1816-1887)

It was six men of Indostan To learning much inclined, Who went to see the Elephant (Though all of them were blind), That each by observation Might satisfy his mind.

The First approached the Elephant, And happening to fall Against his broad and sturdy side, At once began to bawl: "God bless me! but the Elephant Is very like a WALL!"

The Second, feeling of the tusk, Cried, "Ho, what have we here, So very round and smooth and sharp? To me 'tis mighty clear This wonder of an Elephant Is very like a SPEAR!"

The Third approached the animal, And happening to take The squirming trunk within his hands, Thus boldly up and spake: "I see," quoth he, "the Elephant Is very like a SNAKE!"

The Fourth reached out an eager hand, And felt about the knee "What most this wondrous beast is like Is mighty plain," quoth he: "'Tis clear enough the Elephant Is very like a TREE!"

The Fifth, who chanced to touch the ear, Said: "E'en the blindest man Can tell what this resembles most; Deny the fact who can, This marvel of an Elephant Is very like a FAN!"

The Sixth no sooner had begun About the beast to grope, Than seizing on the swinging tail That fell within his scope, "I see," quoth he, "the Elephant Is very like a ROPE!"

And so these men of Indostan Disputed loud and long, Each in his own opinion Exceeding stiff and strong, Though each was partly in the right, And all were in the wrong!

Poem for Blind Dogs by Sherrill Wardrip

I cannot see you Mommy, when you cuddle me so near.
And yet I know you love me, it's in the words I hear.
I cannot see you Daddy, when you hold me by your side
But still I know you love me when you tell me so with pride.
I cannot see to run and play out in the sun so bright
For here inside my tiny head it's always dark as night.
I cannot see the treats you give when I am extra good
But I can wag my tail in Thanks just like a good dog should.
"She cannot see. The dogs no good" is what some folks might say
"She can't be trained, she'll never learn She must be put away."
But not you, Mom and Daddy You know that it's alright
Because I love you just as much as any dog with sight.
You took me in, you gave me love and we will never part
Because I'm blind with just my eyes, I see you in my heart.

Sherrill Wardrip (Blind Dogs List member)

Meet Baxter Black - An American icon - the Cowboy Poet

http://www.youtube.com/user/therealbaxterblack

Writers Digest Call for Entries

For poetry and short stories, writers and poets, please go here. Entry fees are very reasonable.

http://writersdigest.com/competitions

Poets, BEWARE

Here is a warning from my friend's blog (she is Carolyn Howard-Johnson, poet, author, blogger,educator) to all those poets who are tantalized by the prospect of winning prizes. Just submit, we are told...it's free. You will win a gazillion dollars (plus or minus) and a free copy of our collection in which your poem will be published.

Someone just sent me an email that they had entered a poem in one of these contests.

Look. Poetry is a difficult genre to write because you're dealing with the moment and emotion. Your words are precious to you and you hope they will become precious to your reader. It is perhaps, the most honest form of literature. You can fudge emotion when you write prose, but I believe poetry comes from the gut. So don't be fooled.

Here's the link: http://sharingwithwriters.blogspot.com/2008/09/norma-sundbert-tells-poets-to-beware.html

Fooled you, didn't I? You were expecting a snootful of political ranting? JUST WAIT till the next entry to see what happened in Minneapolis to an AP reporter. Journalists, beward. The men dressed in black, with the helmets, bulletproof vests and automatic weapons, tasers and REALLY big clubs are coming for you and your cameras.

Have you visited Spirited Woman yet?

As it sounds, it's a website for women who are blessed with sense of self, spunk, creativity and, well, "spirit". Naila Francis visited Peru, and it became a life changing experience. She wrote a poem that transported me to Cusco with her, and here is the link. You can backtrack to the home page from there if you want to browse the site. Naila's poem is called "Abuelita", or Little Grandmother. I loved it.

http://www.thespiritedwoman.com/go_blog_blog_blog/2008/08/abuelita-little.html

A poem for the rescuers...

There are seven dogs in residence and three cats.
Blade's owner beat him severely when he was a puppy and I got him through another
rescuer when he was not quite a year old. He is now past middle age and he weighs 145 pounds.
Buffy, a Wheaten Terrier mix was found by trying to place two Anatolian Shepherds from here, though they were in a high kill Los Angeles shelter. I got them adopted, but on the same page was this winsome face with sad eyes. Through contacts on the internet, she was sprung from the shelter, spayed, made her recovery with a new friend in CA and flown here. Delta Dash was the carrier. She made the trip fine.
Australian Shepherd, Holly, was another internet find. Her owners didn't understand Aussies, especially from herding lines, needed room. The fluffy puppy (a Christmas gift) was fitted with a prong collar, which they didn't know how to use, and it accompanied her in the bag of belongings when we picked her up in Georgia. Kept in various crates all day long until she came here, Holly is a stunning blue merle with blue eyes. (I'm a sucker for dogs with blue eyes.)
Bernie was a street urchin, probably part Shih-tzu. A fuzzy wanderer he, (do you believe there is an acre here and he has to be walked on a retractable leash?) and I eventually had to catch him in a live trap on a bitter March night baited with Limburger cheese.
Roxy was a giveaway Boston, and the eldest of the crew at 11. She is in her Mardi Gras costume that was taken off and put away forever. She hated it.
Maggie was a giveaway Boston, a brindle sable, and she is a sweetheart. This is her third home from which she'll never leave.
Sophie, a Boston, was purchased, and she is nearly six months old. There was no alternative - couldn't find a rescue.
Vern is a red tabby who was left behind when the renters across the street vacated. I took him home and he is content to lie on my desk on a folded towel under the lamp, all nice and cozy. Sweet Pea is an ancient Siamese, an older adult when rescued under the same circumstances as Vern. She potters around, deaf, lame, and maybe slightly vision-impaired. But she's not ready to leave any time soon. Dottie was dumped here twice at the gate. I found her a home, and the people dumped her back here. Sophie thinks Dottie's a Boston, too. All are wonderful with the dogs and Sophie and Pea often keep each other warm, cuddled in a basket.
To all the rescuers of dogs, cats, exotic birds, farm animals, we save and rehome on our journey through life - and I've been all of the above - this poem is for you with my heartfelt thanks for easing their pain and suffering and healing the unseen scars.

Here in this house...

I will never know the loneliness I hear in the barks of the other dogs
'out there'.
I can sleep soundly, assured that when I wake my world will not have
changed.
I will never know hunger, or the fear of not knowing if I'll eat.
I will not shiver in the cold, or grow weary from the heat.
I will feel the sun's heat, and the rain's coolness,
and be allowed to smell all that can reach my nose.
My fur will shine, and never be dirty or matted.

Here in this house...
There will be an effort to communicate with me on my level.
I will be talked to and, even if I don't understand,
I can enjoy the warmth of the words.
I will be given a name so that I may know who I am among many.
My name will be used in joy, and I will love the sound of it!

Here in this house...
I will never be a substitute for anything I am not.
I will never be used to improve peoples' images of themselves.
I will be loved because I am who I am, not someone’s idea of who I should
be.
I will never suffer for someone’s anger, impatience, or stupidity.
I will be taught all the things I need to know to be loved by all.
If I do not learn my lessons well, they will look to my teacher for blame.

Here in this house...
I can trust arms that hold, hands that touch...
knowing that, no matter what they do, they do it for the good of me.
If I am ill, I will be doctored.
If scared, I will be calmed.
If sad, I will be cheered.
No matter what I look like, I will be considered beautiful and known to be
of value.
I will never be cast out because I am too old, too ill, too unruly, or not
cute enough.
My life is a responsibility, and not an afterthought.
I will learn that humans can almost, sometimes, be as kind and as fair as
dogs.

Here in this house...
I will belong.
I will be home.

(author unknown)
Please visit your local shelter, browse through the lists at www.petfinder.com, or look up specific breed rescues in your state. I promise you...these animals know somehow that you have rescued them, and they will repay you every day for the rest of your life, with love, good humor, and companionship.