Monthly Archives: May, 2013

I Heard A Bird Sing

May 31st and only 214 days until the end of the year. I’m not counting – just another useless piece of information…

I heard a bird sing
In the dark of December
A magical thing
And sweet to remember.

“We are nearer to Spring
Than we are to September,”
I heard a bird sing
In the dark of December.
~Oliver Herford~

bird_song

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Corpus Christi

Today is Corpus Christi, a Feast Day of Observation of the Holy Eucharist…

HolyCom

A First Communion Celebration
I am the bread of life.
He who comes to me will never be hungry;
He who believes in me will never thirst.
~John 6:35~


What can I give Him,
Poor as I am?
If I were a shepherd
I would bring Him a lamb,
If I were a wise man,
I would do my part –
Yet what can I give Him?
Give Him my heart.
~Christine G. Rossetti~ from the poem In the Bleak Mid Winter


I Remember, I Remember

Today’s selection…

I remember, I remember,
The house where I was born,
The little window where the sun
Came peeping in at morn;
He never came a wink too soon,
Nor brought too long a day,
But now, I often wish the night
Had borne my breath away.

I remember, I remember,
The roses, red and white;
The violets, and the lily-cups,
Those flowers made of light!
The lilacs where the robin built,
And where my brother set
The laburnum on his birthday –
The tree is living yet!

I remember, I remember,
Where I was used to swing;
And thought the air must rush as fresh
To swallows on the wing:
My spirit flew in feathers then,
That is so heavy now,
And summer pools could hardly cool
The fever on my brow!

I remember, I remember,
The fir trees dark and high;
I used to think their slender tops
Were close against the sky:
It was a childish ignorance,
But now ’tis little joy
To know I’m farther off from Heav’n
Than when I was a boy.

~Thomas Hood~ 1799 – 1845

Wind And Window Flower

Robert Frost at his best…

Purple-Vases

Lovers, forget your love,
And listen to the love of these,
She a window flower,
And he a winter breeze.

When the frosty window veil
Was melted down at noon,
And the caged yellow bird
Hung over her in tune,

He marked her through the pane,
He could not help but mark,
And only passed her by
To come again at dark.

He was a winter wind,
Concerned with ice and snow,
Dead weeds and unmated birds,
And little of love could know.

But he sighed upon the sill,
He gave the sash a shake,
As witness all within
Who lay that night awake.

Per chance he half prevailed
To win her for the flight
From the firelit looking-glass
And warm stove-window light.

But the flower leaned aside
And thought of naught to say,
And morning found the breeze
A hundred miles away.

~Robert Frost~

Remember

Memorial Day is celebrated in many countries around the world…

Mankind must put an end to war or war will put an end to mankind.  ~John F. Kennedy~

The picture of the world’s greatest superpower …trying to pound a tiny backward nation into submission on an issue whose merits are hotly disputed, is not a pretty one.  ~Robert McNamara~ Defense Secretary 1967 commenting on the Vietnam Conflict.

Remember me when I am gone away,
Gone far away into the silent land;
When you can no more hold me by the hand,
Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay.
Remember me when no more day by day
You tell me of our future that you planned:
Only remember me; you understand
It will be late to counsel then or pray.
Yet if you should forget me for a while
And afterwards remember, do not grieve;
For if the darkness and corruption leave
A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,
Better by far you should forget and smile
Than that you should remember and be sad.
~Christina Georgina Rossetti~

Aedh Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven

Aedh is the Celtic God of Death. This poem has been used in several movies, quoted in books and set to music…

Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly, because you tread on my dreams.

~Williams Butler Yeats~

I Grieve

Today is International Missing Children Day. I can’t think of anything more emotionally painful to suffer than the disappearance of an innocent child. This is a well known song that sums up what every parent must feel…
Running away
It was only one hour ago
It was all so different then.
Nothing yet has really sunk in
Looks like it always did.
This flesh and bone
It’s just the way that we are tied in
But there’s no one home.
I grieve…
For you.
So hard to move on
Still loving what’s gone
Still life carries on
Carries on and on…and on.

~ Peter Gabriel~

The Day is Done

It’s Queen Victoria’s birthday today – she would be shocked at the religious murderous acts of terror in London this week.  Longfellow was a poet during the Victorian era…

THE DAY is done, and the darkness
Falls from the wings of Night,
As a feather is wafted downward
From an eagle in his flight.

I see the lights of the village
Gleam through the rain and the mist,
And a feeling of sadness comes o’er me
That my soul cannot resist:

A feeling of sadness and longing,
That is not akin to pain,
And resembles sorrow only
As the mist resembles the rain.

Come, read to me some poem,
Some simple and heartfelt lay,
That shall soothe this restless feeling,
And banish the thoughts of day.

Not from the grand old masters,
Not from the bards sublime,
Whose distant footsteps echo
Through the corridors of Time.

For, like strains of martial music,
Their mighty thoughts suggest
Life’s endless toil and endeavor;
And to-night I long for rest.

Read from some humbler poet,
Whose songs gushed from his heart,
As showers from the clouds of summer,
Or tears from the eyelids start;

Who, through long days of labor,
And nights devoid of ease,
Still heard in his soul the music
Of wonderful melodies.

Such songs have power to quiet
The restless pulse of care,
And come like the benediction
That follows after prayer.

Then read from the treasured volume
The poem of thy choice,
And lend to the rhyme of the poet
The beauty of thy voice.

And the night shall be filled with music,
And the cares, that infest the day,
Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs,
And as silently steal away.

~Henry Wadsworth Longfellow~

We Are Many

Pablo Neruda was a Chilean poet. His poems are often long and filled with emotion…
pablo neruda

Of the many men who I am, who we are,
I can’t find a single one;
they disappear among my clothes,
they’ve left for another city.

When everything seems to be set
to show me off as intelligent,
the fool I always keep hidden
takes over all that I say.

At other times, I’m asleep
among distinguished people,
and when I look for my brave self,
a coward unknown to me
rushes to cover my skeleton
with a thousand fine excuses.

When a decent house catches fire,
instead of the fireman I summon,
an arsonist bursts on the scene,
and that’s me. What can I do?
What can I do to distinguish myself?
How can I pull myself together?

All the books I read
are full of dazzling heroes,
always sure of themselves.
I die with envy of them;
and in films full of wind and bullets,
I goggle at the cowboys,
I even admire the horses.

But when I call for a hero,
out comes my lazy old self;
so I never know who I am,
nor how many I am or will be.
I’d love to be able to touch a bell
and summon the real me,
because if I really need myself,
I mustn’t disappear.

While I am writing, I’m far away;
and when I come back, I’ve gone.
I would like to know if others
go through the same things that I do,
have as many selves as I have,
and see themselves similarly;
and when I’ve exhausted this problem,
I’m going to study so hard
that when I explain myself,
I’ll be talking geography.
~Pablo Neruda~

When We Two Parted

sullen

When we two parted in silence and tears,
Half broken-hearted to sever for years,
Pale grew thy cheek and cold, colder thy kiss;
Truly that hour foretold sorrow to this.

The dew of the morning sunk chill on my brow –
It felt like the warning of what I feel now.
Thy vows are all broken, and light is thy fame;
I hear thy name spoken, and share in its shame.

They name thee before me, a knoll to mine ear;
A shudder comes o’er me – why wert thou so dear?
They know not I knew thee, who knew thee too well:
Long, long shall I rue thee, too deeply to tell.

In secret we met – in silence I grieve
That my heart could forget, thy spirit deceive.
If I should meet thee after long years.
How should I greet thee?  With silence and tears.
~Lord Byron~

http://www.byronmania.com/

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