Ten Years…

I logged in to share two poems that have come BACK on my radar as I work through various relationship things or try to find a way to give another a window to look into of me –

I’m informed, by WP, that I’ve been blogging here for 10 years – it’s actually been 12 or more since I first discovered blogging, but when I started, it was writing blog articles for other folks – and once I wasn’t working for their site, well….what a boon to discover in 2010 that I could have me very own blog – to say what I wanted too – not what others needed for their goals, advertisers, etc…

Now that anniversary has been acknowledged, AND I took that ‘side trip’ down memory lane….

Here’s the two poems that have been in my mind/heart for the past week, for many and varied reasons –

The Man in the Mirror

When you get all you want and you struggle for self,
and the world makes you king for a day,
then go to the mirror and look at yourself
and see what that man has to say.

For it isn't your mother, your father or wife
whose judgment upon you must pass,
but the man, whose verdict counts most in your life
is the one staring back from the glass.

He's the fellow to please,
never mind all the rest.
For he's with you right to the end,
and you've passed your most difficult test
if the man in the glass is your friend.

You may be like Jack Horner and "chisel" a plum,
And think you're a wonderful guy,
But the man in the glass says you're only a bum
If you can't look him straight in the eye.

You can fool the whole world,
down the highway of years,
and take pats on the back as you pass.

But your final reward will be heartache and tears
if you've cheated the man in the glass.

By Dale Wimbrow

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 lies,

Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,

    And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too 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 impostors 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 worn-out 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 virtue,   

    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’s in it,   

    And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!

By Rudyard Kipling

That’s it – my check in – in form of poetry shares – – I’m assessing so many things on so many levels just now – Life is just one big transition – over and over – and for now – I’m just in the process of ‘updating my stories’ but I am starting to see the path ahead – so that’s good news!

Hope this finds you and yours well.

Tamrah Jo

This Year I’m Thankful for…

Hard year of long hours, lots of unexpecteds and while I’m maintaining, I’m often too tired after work done, to do much more than sit and re-think my life choices –

However, tonight, with enough vacation time earned to take a long weekend, and steal a moment to think about Thanksgiving and what it means to me, I felt the Writing Muse strike.

I’ve mostly been too tired and grumpy for the Muse to show up and spend time with me….

But tonight, she visited, and gave voice to the many thoughts long on my mind this year, and especially, this Thanksgiving, when the holiday and my Dad’s birthday falls on the same date.

Happy Birthday, Dad

I’ve often been reminded of a poem you shared with me, long ago – and I realized, tonight, in this moment of quiet pondering time, so many have arrived in my world, each bringing the gift of a fragment of the crystal you told me of, so long ago, that I took for granted as being whole, while you were here.

Wish you were here

If you were, I now know someone who could  help you install/convert the home place to solar – and three who could help you finish the cellar and would be happy to aide in getting the home brewed beer set-up engineered/installed,  who would also be thrilled to share in the experiments of different recipes.

There are gardeners & permaculture enthusiasts who are  busy planting hops, herbs and other possible additions to try out 1,001 different blends for the brew mix or provide fresh tomatoes for you to have with mayo slathered on them.

Homesteaders who are ready to provide the hog and know how to dig the pit to do the slow roast in the ground, just like you thought was best way to cook such things – for the summer get together to take a break from the back-breaking work everyone engages in during the warm months.

There is one who makes me promise I won’t break out the chainsaw until he is here to show me how to cut the big logs, safely –  and another who is going to teach me how to cut sheetrock right (ahem) the FIRST time.

Another who has a target range and cheers me on while I try to regain my prior skills at hitting the target, while the dirt bank, behind the target,  which is bigger than the broad side of a  barn, takes multiple hits.

There are those  to study and discuss the Bible with, to ponder upon the power of  Mother Nature’s gifts to heal & converse on the possibilities of just how how much light, color, sounds, music play in healing the body?

Others who know how to care for animals when sick, harvest and spin wool from fibers gleaned and make useful daily needed products.

There are engineers, math geeks and scientists who save me from myself when I forget the right formula to use, and who  try to explain to me new concepts and don’t treat me like the village idiot when I ask,  “Is that along the same concept as (insert era/culture that died out 1,000 years ago) ?”

That reply, “Yes, but with improvements” or “No…different concept, let me explain it to you….” and proceed to do so in way I can understand – and remind me when I forget the finer points of numbers, physics, etc.

There are ones who tell me to put on my poker face, don’t wear my heart on my sleeve, over and over, just like you did, who, none the less,  still show up to cover my six from the vipers and sharks of the world, even on the days, when I, once more,  fail to follow the advice they have given me.

Those who discuss what a fair and just system would look like to them, who discuss my hypothetical questions on philosophy, law and history…

Just like you spent your parenting time of me, doing, while you were here –

There are those strong enough to listen without taking it personally when my temper blows – those that understand just because my tone sounds hard, doesn’t mean my heart is – those who hold the safe space for me to cry and work through yet another disappointment, without letting me slide into despair.

This year has been one of navigating so many new versions of old challenges, I sometimes get worn out, disheartened, cynical and often wonder, what is it all for, really?

In the end, I realize, so much of what you once provided for me, has shown up, in so many forms, since you left.  And those same folks support me in doing what you said was important, so long ago:

“Courage often means getting up, for one more day, and doing what needs to be done, best as you can.”

Miss you Dad.

“Happiness”

Happiness is like a crystal,
Fair and exquisite and clear,
Broken in a million pieces,
Shattered, scattered far and near.
Now and then along life’s pathway,
Lo! some shining fragments fall;
But there are so many pieces
No one ever finds them all.

You may find a bit of beauty,
Or an honest share of wealth,
While another just beside you
Gathers honor, love or health.
Vain to choose or grasp unduly,
Broken is the perfect ball;
And there are so many pieces
No one ever finds them all.

Yet the wise as on they journey
Treasure every fragment clear,
Fit them as they may together,
Imaging the shattered sphere,
Learning ever to be thankful,
Though their share of it is small;
For it has so many pieces
No one ever finds them all.

~ Priscilla Leonard

24 hours and counting…

I cannot let this one go…

 

Two Lines

…is apparently all it takes to keep me distracted and pondering for a day or more – perhaps the rest of my life…

“Though my soul may set in darkness, it will rise in perfect light;

I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night.”

Courtesy a Documentary

…on the Allegheny Observatory. 🙂

Well, um, yeah – how else do you think any message reaches me?

I looked up the full poem – which, according to Wikisource, is in public domain, as it was published in 1923 and the author died at least 100 years ago..

And so, I am going to copy/paste it in – instead of linking, only – 🙂

(But here’s the link, too, if you wish…

https://en.wikisource.org/wiki/The_Old_Astronomer)

The Old Astronomer

by Sarah Williams

Reach me down my Tycho Brahé, – I would know him when we meet,
When I share my later science, sitting humbly at his feet;
He may know the law of all things, yet be ignorant of how
We are working to completion, working on from then to now.

Pray remember that I leave you all my theory complete,
Lacking only certain data for your adding, as is meet,
And remember men will scorn it, ’tis original and true,
And the obloquy of newness may fall bitterly on you.

But, my pupil, as my pupil you have learned the worth of scorn,
You have laughed with me at pity, we have joyed to be forlorn,
What for us are all distractions of men’s fellowship and wiles;
What for us the Goddess Pleasure with her meretricious smiles.

You may tell that German College that their honor comes too late,
But they must not waste repentance on the grizzly savant’s fate.
Though my soul may set in darkness, it will rise in perfect light;
I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night.

What, my boy, you are not weeping? You should save your eyes for sight;
You will need them, mine observer, yet for many another night.
I leave none but you, my pupil, unto whom my plans are known.
You “have none but me,” you murmur, and I “leave you quite alone”?

Well then, kiss me, – since my mother left her blessing on my brow,
There has been a something wanting in my nature until now;
I can dimly comprehend it, – that I might have been more kind,
Might have cherished you more wisely, as the one I leave behind.

I “have never failed in kindness”? No, we lived too high for strife,–
Calmest coldness was the error which has crept into our life;
But your spirit is untainted, I can dedicate you still
To the service of our science: you will further it? you will!

There are certain calculations I should like to make with you,
To be sure that your deductions will be logical and true;
And remember, “Patience, Patience,” is the watchword of a sage,
Not to-day nor yet to-morrow can complete a perfect age.

I have sown, like Tycho Brahé, that a greater man may reap;
But if none should do my reaping, ’twill disturb me in my sleep
So be careful and be faithful, though, like me, you leave no name;
See, my boy, that nothing turn you to the mere pursuit of fame.

I must say Good-bye, my pupil, for I cannot longer speak;
Draw the curtain back for Venus, ere my vision grows too weak:
It is strange the pearly planet should look red as fiery Mars, –
God will mercifully guide me on my way amongst the stars.

stars

 

Comes the Dawn

I’d like to tell you the following is share of a poem, correctly bearing it’s official title, full copy of and proper spelling of author name –

A poem shared with me when I was 17 years of age – that I’m often reminded of as I walk through Life – via a newspaper clipping from Dear Abby column, lost during one of my hurried flights from the terror of a reality I thought was just the place for me to be, and discovered, wasn’t so –

Alas, I cannot promise or vow the below is really true, complete or correct – –

Too many versions, mutations, memories of, spellings of author name exist online and, really,  how much time does one life have to dedicate themselves to proving, once and for all, they really did attempt to share remembered reality and are not just making stuff up?

🙂

***********

Comes the Dawn

by Veronica Shoffstall

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 mean security,

And you begin to understand that kisses aren’t contracts
And presents aren’t promises.

You begin to accept your defeats
With your head held high and your eyes open,

With the grace of a woman,
Not the grief of a child.

You learn to build your roads
On today because tomorrow’s ground
Is too uncertain for plans,
And futures have a way of falling down in midflight.

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 can really endure,
That you really are strong
And you really do have worth

And you learn and learn … and you learn

With every goodbye you learn.

Calling all Bloggers

In a previous post, I asked for help in tracking down a poem my father often referred to by various lines, but I had never located – – It’s Been Found!

(I couldn’t find it because I mis-remembered the actual lines…sigh)

I’ll share in just a moment, but FIRST…..

Pat over at New Bloggy Cat is who found it for me.   I’ve had the pleasure of being a New Bloggy Cat follower for quite some time now, as well as having a wonderful snail & email pen pal in her.   She never fails to brighten my day with her quips, quotes, cartoons and jokes.

Since I don’t have a “Prize Warehouse” stocked and waiting, I’d like to reward her in another way – –

I’m asking all my blogger friends to visit New Bloggy Cat and shower her with some WordPress Community Love!

(It’s really a reward for you, too, because her posts are always good – for a GOL (Guffaw Out Loud) or Fantabulous! )

Thank you so much, New Bloggy Cat – You’re the Cat’s Pajamas!  🙂

And now I present you with….. (drum roll)

The Pessimist

by Ben King (1857-1899)

Nothing to do but work,
Nothing to eat but food,
Nothing to wear but clothes
To keep one from going nude.

Nothing to breathe but air,
Quick as a flash ‘t is gone;
Nowhere to fall but off,
Nowhere to stand but on.

Nothing to comb but hair,
Nowhere to sleep but bed,
Nothing to weep but tears,
Nothing to bury but dead.

Nothing to sing but songs,
Ah, well, alas! alack!
Nowhere to go but out,
Nowhere to come but back.

Nothing to see but sights,
Nothing to quench but thirst,
Nothing to have but what we’ve got;
Thus thro’ life we are cursed.

Nothing to strike but a gait;
Everything moves that goes.
Nothing at all but common sense
Can ever withstand these woes.