Poetry Category Archives :: Consider This

Banjo's 'The Man From Ironbark'

This is me, Rich Wersinger, reciting The Man From Ironbark (4m21s) by A. B. Banjo Paterson, the beloved Australian poet and author.
See:
> The biography of Andrew Barton (Banjo) Paterson by the Australian Dictionary of Biography, Online Edition
> Online edition of The Man From Ironbark

How Sweet It is To Love Someone...

How right it is to care...

John Denver sings "Poems, Prayers and Promises."
How we miss you so, John.

Lyrics: Poems, Prayers and Promises

Your Wild and Precious Lfe

I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?
—Mary Oliver from her poem, The Summer Day

Source: Garrison Keillor's The Writer's Almanac for Monday, June 30, 2008.

You Tread on My Dreams

He wishes for the Cloths of Heaven

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.
—William Butler Yeats

Source: Garrison Keillor's The Writer's Almanac for Friday, June 13, 2008.
> It's the birthday of Irish poet William Butler Yeats, born 1865 in Sandymount, Ireland, a suburb of Dublin. Yeats died in 1939 at the Hôtel Idéal Séjour, in Menton, France.

Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth

A Spitfire like the one flown by John Magee

He was flying Spitfire VZ-H, serial number AD-291 on Dec. 11, 1941.

Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I’ve climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
of sun-split clouds,—and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of—wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Hov’ring there,
I’ve chased the shouting wind along, and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air….

Up, up the long, delirious, burning blue
I’ve topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace
Where never lark nor ever eagle flew—
And, while with silent lifting mind I’ve trod
The high untrespassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.
— JOHN G. MAGEE, JR., “High Flight,” September 3, 1941.

Source: Bartleby.com's Respectfully Quoted: A Dictionary of Quotations 603.John Gillespie Magee, Jr. (1922–41)
See also:
> It is the birthday of John Gillespie Magee, Jr. He was born in 1922 in Shanghai, China, of missionary parents—an American father and an English mother—and spoke Chinese before English. He joined the Royal Canadian Air Force in late 1940. In Britain he flew in a Spitfire squadron and was killed on a routine training mission on December 11, 1941. He wrote the above sonnet and sent it to his parents on a back of a letter.

Joy, Shipmate, Joy

JOY, shipmate, joy!
(Pleas'd to my soul at death I cry,)
Our life is closed, our life begins,
The long, long anchorage we leave,
The ship is clear at last, she leaps!
She swiftly courses from the shore,
Joy, shipmate, joy.
—Walt Whitman

Source: The Walt Whitman Archive, Leaves of Grass (1881–1882) JOY, Shipmate, Joy
See also:
> Walt Whitman was born on this day in 1819 in West Hills, Long Island, New York. He died on March 26, 1892 in Camden, New Jersey.
> Garrison Keillor's The Writer's Almanac for Saturday, May 31, 2008.

Happy Birthday William Shakespeare

The quality of mercy is not strain'd;
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven
Upon the place beneath. It is twice blest:
It blesseth him that gives and him that takes.
'Tis mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes
The throned monarch better than his crown;
His sceptre shows the force of temporal power,
The attribute to awe and majesty,
Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings;
But mercy is above this sceptred sway,
It is enthroned in the hearts of kings,
It is an attribute to God himself;
And earthly power doth then show likest God's
When mercy seasons justice. Therefore, Jew,
Though justice be thy plea, consider this,
That in the course of justice none of us
Should see salvation; we do pray for mercy,
And that same prayer doth teach us all to render
The deeds of mercy. I have spoke thus much
To mitigate the justice of thy plea,
Which if thou follow, this strict court of Venice
Must needs give sentence 'gainst the merchant there.
—Portia in Shakespeare's The Merchant Of Venice Act 4, scene 1, 180–187

Source: Shakespeare Quotes at enotes.com The quality of mercy is not strained.
> Also: The Merchant Of Venice Act 4, scene 1, 180–187
> It is the believed to be birthday of William Shakespeare, born in Stratford-on-Avon, England in 1564. He died on April 23, 1616.
> See: Garrison Keillor's Writer's Almanac for Wednesday, April 23, 2008

They Shall Not Grow Old

They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old;
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.
— Laurence Binyon, from his poem For the fallen

Source: Australian War Memorial page: Commemoration
See also:
> Laurence Binyon's For the Fallen.
> ANZAC Day (25 April) is the most important national day of commemoration for Australians. This poem is one poem traditionally read on ANZAC Day commemorations. See the Australian War Memorial's ANZAC Day.

WashingtonPost.com's Faces of the Fallen: By age: 59-year-olds
U.S. Service members who died in Operation Iraqi Freedom and Operation Enduring Freedom

Who, if not I?

I am the wind on the sea.
I am the ocean wave.
I am the sound of the billows.
I am the seven-horned stag.
I am the hawk on the cliff.
I am the dewdrop in sunlight.
I am the fairest of flowers.
I am the raging boar.
I am the salmon in the deep pool.
I am the lake on the plain.
I am the meaning of the poem.
I am the point of the spear.
I am the god that makes fire in the head.
Who levels the mountain?
Who speaks the age of the moon?
Who has been where the sun sleeps?
Who, if not I?
—The Song of Amergin

Source: Speaking of Faith Public Radio show of Feb. 28, 2008 (and repeated on Sunday, Mar. 2, 2008) The Inner Landscape of Beauty | Program Particulars, a program interviewing the late Celtic poet John O'Donohue.
See also:
> Amergin, Amirgin, Amairgen by Dedanaan: Myth Is What We Call Other People's Religion.
> Short biographical sketch of John O'Donohue.

Happy Birthday, Banjo Paterson

I had written him a letter which I had, for want of better
Knowledge, sent to where I met him down the Lachlan, years ago,
He was shearing when I knew him, so I sent the letter to him,
Just on spec, addressed as follows, "Clancy, of The Overflow"

And an answer came directed in a writing unexpected,
(And I think the same was written with a thumb-nail dipped in tar)
Twas his shearing mate who wrote it, and verbatim I will quote it:
"Clancy's gone to Queensland droving, and we don't know where he are."

* * * * * * * * *

In my wild erratic fancy visions come to me of Clancy
Gone a-droving "down the Cooper" where the Western drovers go;
As the stock are slowly stringing, Clancy rides behind them singing,
For the drover's life has pleasures that the townsfolk never know.

And the bush hath friends to meet him, and their kindly voices greet him
In the murmur of the breezes and the river on its bars,
And he sees the vision splendid of the sunlit plains extended,
And at night the wond'rous glory of the everlasting stars.

* * * * * * * * *

I am sitting in my dingy little office, where a stingy
Ray of sunlight struggles feebly down between the houses tall,
And the foetid air and gritty of the dusty, dirty city
Through the open window floating, spreads its foulness over all

And in place of lowing cattle, I can hear the fiendish rattle
Of the tramways and the buses making hurry down the street,
And the language uninviting of the gutter children fighting,
Comes fitfully and faintly through the ceaseless tramp of feet.

And the hurrying people daunt me, and their pallid faces haunt me
As they shoulder one another in their rush and nervous haste,
With their eager eyes and greedy, and their stunted forms and weedy,
For townsfolk have no time to grow, they have no time to waste.

And I somehow rather fancy that I'd like to change with Clancy,
Like to take a turn at droving where the seasons come and go,
While he faced the round eternal of the cash-book and the journal
--But I doubt he'd suit the office, Clancy, of The Overflow.
—A. B. (Andrew Barton) "Banjo" Paterson

Source: A.B. Paterson: Selected Poems published 1992 by Angus & Robertson Book ISBN 0-207-1726-4
> Today, Sunday, February, 17, 2008, I recited this poem to my Mom, Minna, whilst on a visit with her (and my sister, Sue and Dave) in Houston, Texas. She was filled with emotion and was well pleased. I also recited Paterson's The Man From Ironbark and Mulga Bill's Bicycle
> Today, February 17^th, is "Banjo" Paterson's birthday. He was born Andrew Barton Paterson in Narrambla, New South Wales, Australia in 1864. He died in Sydney, New South Wales Australia on February 5, 1941.
See also:
> Garrison Keillor's The Wrtier's Almanac for Sunday, February 17, 2008
> University of Queensland, Australia "Banjo" Paterson's Cancy of the Overflow First published in the The Bulletin in 1889.

Who is What and What is Who

On Wednesday, when the sky is blue,
And I have nothing else to do,
I sometimes wonder if it's true
That who is what and what is who.
—Pooh (from Winnie-the-Pooh)

Source: books and writers bio of A(lan) A(lexander) Milne (1882-1956
It is the birthday of A.A. Milne born London, England on this day in 1882. He died in Hartfield, Sussex, on January 31, 1956.
See also:
> Garrison Keillor's The Wrtier's Almanac for Friday, January 18, 2008

Happy Birthday, Robert W. Service, 2008 Anniversary

There are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
But the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
I cremated Sam McGee.
—Robert W. Service

Source: Extract from The Cremation of Sam McGee by Robert W. Service in his collection poems The Spell of the Yukon and Other Verses published 1907
Today is the birthday of Robert W. Service, born in Preston, England in 1874 and died in Lancieux, C�tes-d'Armor, in Brittany, France on September 11, 1958.
It has been a tradition and an honor of mine to recite this poem (from the heart) at the campfire during our Annual Men's Gatherings, for the last 15 years at Buffalo Gap Camp, Capon Bridge, West Virgina.

In The Yukon Wild

You know what it's like in the Yukon wild
When it's sixty-nine below;
When the ice-worms wriggle their purple heads
Through the crust of the pale blue snow;
When the pine-trees crack like little guns In the silence of the wood,
And the icicles hang down like tusks Under the parka hood;
When the stove-pipe smoke breaks sudden off,
And the sky is weirdly lit,
And the careless feel of a bit of steel Burns like a red-hot spit;
When the mercury is a frozen ball,
And the frost-fiend stalks to kill --
Well, it was just like that that day when I Set out to look for Bill.
—Robert W. Service in The Ballad of Blasphemous Bill

Source: Online copy of The Ballad of Blasphemous Bill by Robert W. Service

Gather Rosebuds While You May

Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,
Old Time is still a-flying,
And this same flower that smiles to-day
To-morrow will be dying.
—Robert Herrick

Source: Garrison Keillor's The Writer's Almanac for Friday, August 24, 2007
⇒ Today is the birthday of Robert Herrick, born in London in 1591. He was buried at Devon on October 15, 1674.

Serve and Thou Shall Be Served

It is one of the most beautiful compensations of life that no man can sincerely try to help another without helping himself ... Serve and thou shall be served.
—Ralph Waldo Emerson

Source: The Power of Intention: Learning to Co–create Your World Your Way by Dr. Wayne W. Dyer. Hay House 2004 ISBN 13: 978-1-4019-0216-2 (tradepaper)

WashingtonPost.com's Faces of the Fallen: By age: 37-year-olds
U.S. Service members who died in Operation Iraqi Freedom and Operation Enduring Freedom.

To Attempt Tetrameter

Why, asks a friend, attempt tetrameter?
Because it once was noble, yet
Capers before the proud pentameter,
Tyrant of English. I regret
To see this marvelous swift meter
Deamean its heritage, and peter
Into mere Hudibrastic tricks,
Unapostolic knacks and knicks.
But why take all this quite so badly?
I would not, had I world and time
To wait for reason, rhythm, rhyme,
To reassert themselves, but sadly,
The time is not remote when I
Will not be here to wait. That's why.
—Vikram Seth in his The Golden Gate: A Novel in Verse

Source: Rice University's Minstrels Why, Asks a Friend, Attempt Tetrameter?
⇒ British Council: Arts, ComtemporaryWriters Vikram Seth Biography
⇒ Garrison Keillor's The Writer's Almanac for Wednesday, June 20, 2007

Smoke Rings of My Mind

Then take me disappearin' through the smoke rings of my mind,
Down the foggy ruins of time, far past the frozen leaves,
The haunted, frightened trees, out to the windy beach,
Far from the twisted reach of crazy sorrow.
Yes, to dance beneath the diamond sky with one hand waving free,
Silhouetted by the sea, circled by the circus sands,
With all memory and fate driven deep beneath the waves,
Let me forget about today until tomorrow.

Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me,
I'm not sleepy and there is no place I'm going to.
Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me,
In the jingle jangle morning I'll come followin' you.
—Bob Dylan in Mr. Tambourine Man

Source: Bob Dylan: Mr. Tambourine Man lyrics.
See also: It is the birthday of Bob Dylan, born Robert Zimmerman in Duluth, Minnesota (1941).
⇒ Wikipedia's bob Dylan.
⇒ Sony Record's BOBDYLAN.COM

Letters We Should Have Burned

'Lives' of great men oft remind us as we o'er their pages turn,
That we too many leave behind us –
Letters that we ought to burn.
—Thomas Hood

Garrison Keillor's The Writer's Almanac for Wednesday, May 23, 2007.
See also:
⇒ Wikipedia's Thomas Hood who was born on this day in London in 1799. He died on May 3, 1845 in Camberwell, England.
⇒ Consider This March 10, 2004 entry Lives Sublime quote by Longfellow.

WashingtonPost.com's Faces of the Fallen: By Age / 23-year-olds
U.S. Service members who died in Operation Iraqi Freedom and Operation Enduring Freedom

ANZAC Day, 2007

In Flanders Fields

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place: and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
—John McCrae

Source: Australian War Memorial's Commemoration customs of ANZAC Day, April 25^th.
⇒ ANZAC Day - 25 April - is probably Australia's most important national occasion. It marks the anniversary of the first major military action fought by Australian and New Zealand forces during the First World War. ANZAC stands for Australian and New Zealand Army Corps. The soldiers in those forces quickly became known as ANZACs, and the pride they soon took in that name endures to this day.

When war broke out in 1914 Australia had been a federal commonwealth for only fourteen years. The new national government was eager to establish its reputation among the nations of the world. In 1915 Australian and New Zealand soldiers formed part of the allied expedition that set out to capture the Gallipoli peninsula to open the way to the Black Sea for the allied navies. The plan was to capture Constantinople (now Istanbul), capital of the Ottoman Empire and an ally of Germany. They landed at Gallipoli on 25 April, meeting fierce resistance from the Turkish defenders.
See: Australian War Memorial The Anzac Day Tradition [Australian War Memorial]

⇒ On this Anzac Day, April 25, 2007, I honor the memory of my Uncle Fred, my Mom's brother, who served in the RAAF during World War II and his service to Australia. Years later on a visit to the states, Uncle Fred and my Dad (who served in the US Army in the Pacific Theater) comparing notes discovered that they had been in the same place in New Guinea at the same time during the War. A small world indeed!
⇒ I also honor the service of all the men and women who served in the defence of Australia, particularly the RAN naval officers and RAN public servants I had the privilege of serving with in the late 1980's at Naval Sea Systems Command, Washington, DC.

Oh, Such Sorrows

All sorrows can be borne, if you put them into a story.
—Isak Dinesen

It's all I have to bring today (26)

It's all I have to bring today—
This, and my heart beside—
This, and my heart, and all the fields—
And all the meadows wide—
Be sure you count—should I forget—
Some one the sum could tell—
This, and my heart, and all the Bees
Which in the Clover dwell.
—Emily Dickinson

Source: Garrison Keillor's The Writer's Almanac for Tuesday, April 17, 2007.
See also:
⇒ Online biography of Isak Dinesen/Karen Blixen.
⇒ Poets.org's Emily Dickinson.

WashingtonPost.com's Faces of the Fallen: Navy Reserves
U.S. Service members who died in Operation Iraqi Freedom and Operation Enduring Freedom

Toot a Flute

A tutor who tooted the flute,
Tried to teach two tooters to toot;
Said the two to the tutor:
“Is it harder to toot, or
To tutor two tooters to toot?”
—Anonymous

Source: Unknown
⇒ This is, however, one of my favorite limericks.

Nothing Constant

There's nothing constant in the world,
All ebb and flow, and every shape that's born
Bears in its womb the seeds of change.
—Ovid

Source: Garrison Keillor's The Writer's Almanac for Tuesday, March 19, 2007.
⇒ Ovid was born on this dayin 43 B.C. in the village of Sulmo, just east of Rome. He died in Tomis, now Constanţa AD 17.
See also:
⇒ Ovid's Metamorphosis.
⇒ On WikiPedia: Ovid's biography.

Let Us, Then, Be Up and Doing

A Psalm of Life

What The Heart Of The Young Man Said To The Psalmist.

Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
    Life is but an empty dream!
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
    And things are not what they seem.

Life is real! Life is earnest!
    And the grave is not its goal;
Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
    Was not spoken of the soul.

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
    Is our destined end or way;
But to act, that each to-morrow
    Find us farther than to-day.

Art is long, and Time is fleeting,
    And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums, are beating
    Funeral marches to the grave.

In the world's broad field of battle,
    In the bivouac of Life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle!
    Be a hero in the strife!

Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant!
    Let the dead Past bury its dead!
Act, act in the living Present!
    Heart within, and God o'erhead!

Lives of great men all remind us
    We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
    Footprints on the sands of time;

Footprints, that perhaps another,
    Sailing o'er life's solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
    Seeing, shall take heart again.

Let us, then, be up and doing,
    With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
    Learn to labor and to wait.
—Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

This is my tribute to the great American poet, Henry Wadsworth Lonfellow. Today is the 200^th anniversary of his birth, having been born on February 27, 1807, in Portland, Maine. Longfellow died in Cambridge on March 24, 1882. In London his marble image is seen in Westminster Abbey, in the Poet's Corner.
⇒ See: Books & Writers short biography of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 1807–1882
⇒ Also: PoetryFoundation.org's Henry Wadsworth Longfellow that includes links to many of his works, including the above, A Psalm of Life.
⇒ It is also the birthday of my sweet Mother-in-Law, Ruth, who was born in Sweetwater, Oregon in 1918. Happy Birthday, Mom. I am honored to be your son-in-law.

The Ultimate Happiness

To find a person who will love you for no reason, and to shower that person with reasons, that is the ultimate happiness.
—Robert Brault

Source: On Valentine's Day, 2007 on the counter at:
Java House
210 W Evergreen Blvd # 400
Vancouver, WA 98660
(360) 737-2925
See also:
⇒ Bob Brault, American Poet
⇒ Dedicated to my soulmate, love of my life, and Bride; Carol: my Consider This entry When My Hair is Gray? of August 12, 2005

Happy Valentine's Day to my Sweetheart, Carol, and to all my family and friends (living and dead), and to all my enemies, too! I pray you find in your life the meaning of real, true LOVE.
—Rich Wersinger, Niganit/Golden Retriever

Twas Brillig

`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
  Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
  And the mome raths outgrabe.

"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
  The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
  The frumious Bandersnatch!"

He took his vorpal sword in hand:
  Long time the manxome foe he sought --
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
  And stood awhile in thought.

And, as in uffish thought he stood,
  The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
  And burbled as it came!

One, two! One, two! And through and through
  The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
  He went galumphing back.

"And, has thou slain the Jabberwock?
  Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!'
  He chortled in his joy.

`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
  Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
  And the mome raths outgrabe.
—Lewis Carroll JABBERWOCKY (from Through the Looking-Glass and What Alice Found There, 1872)

Source: David Shaw's Jabberwocky.com, and specifically his quoting of Carroll's poem The Jabberwocky.
See also: on Wikipedia, Jabberwocky

mark lewis doing his rendition of the CS lewis poem on YouTube.com.

Success: A Definition

To laugh often and much, to win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children, to earn the appreciation of honest critics and to endure the betrayal of false friends, to appreciate beauty, to find the best in others, to leave the world a bit better, whether by a healthy child, a garden patch, or a redeemed social condition, to know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived. This is to have succeeded.
—Ralph Waldo Emerson

Source: The Best Liberal Quotes Ever: Why the Left is Right by Wlliam Martin. Sourcebooks, Inc. 2004 ISBN: 1-4022-0309-8
See also: The Works of Ralph Waldo Emerson

Advice

Folks, I'm telling you,
Birthing is hard
And Dying is mean
So get yourself
Some loving in between.
—Langston Hughes &ndash Advice

Source: February 1^st is the birthday of poet and novelist Langston Hughes, born in Joplin, Missouri in 1902. He died of cancer on May 22, 1967.
⇒ See: FamousPoetsandPoems.com's Langston Hughes Biography

Happy Birthday, Robert W. Service (1874-1958)

And there sat Sam, looking cool and calm, in the heart of the furnace roar
And he wore a smile you could see a mile,
and he said: "Please close that door.
It's fine in here, but I greatly fear you'll let in the cold and storm --
Since I left Plumtree, down in Tennessee,
it's the first time I've been warm."
—Robert W. Service

Source: Extract from The Cremation of Sam McGee by Robert W. Service in his collection poems The Spell of the Yukon and Other Verses published 1907
Today is the birthday of Robert W. Service, born in Preston, England in 1874 and died in Lancieux, C�tes-d'Armor, in Brittany, France on September 11, 1958.
It has been a tradition and an honor of mine to recite this poem (from the heart) at the campfire during our Annual Men's Gatherings, for the last 14 years at Buffalo Gap Camp, Capon Bridge, West Virgina.

Gotta Move

Music should be something that makes you gotta move, inside or outside.
—Elvis Presley

Source: Elvis Presley Quotes on ThinkExist.com.
Elvis was born on this day in 1935 in Tupelo, Mississippi. He died in Memphis, Tennessee on August, 16, 1977.
It is also the birthday of physicist, Stephen Hawking, born in 1942 in Oxford, England.

Christmas Eve, Bandung, Indonesia

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.
—Clement Clarke Moore [or, perhaps, Major Henry Livingston, Jr.] The Night Before Christmas

Source: Garrison Keillor's The Writer's Almanac for Sunday, December 24, 2006
The original title of the poem, published anonymously in a New York City paper in 1823, was Account of a Visit from St. Nicholas.
See also:
The Definitive Bibliography of the Night Before Christmas
Children world-wide track Santa Claus [English language version]as he makes his journey across the globe.
Mama and I are spending Christmas with our two Grandsons, Alex and Asher, in Bandung, Indonesia.

After Great Pain

After great pain, a formal feeling comes �
The Nerves sit ceremonious, like Tombs �
The stiff Heart questions was it He, that bore,
And Yesterday, or Centuries before?

The Feet, mechanical, go round �
Of Ground, or Air, or Ought �
A Wooden way
Regardless grown,
A Quartz contentment, like a stone �

This is the hour of Lead �
Remembered, if outlived
As Freezing persons, recollect the Snow �
First � Chill � then Stupor � then the letting go �
—Emily Dickinson in her poem After great pain, a formal feeling comes

Source: Garrison Keillor's The Writer's Almanac for Sunday, Dec. 10, 2006
Note: Emily Dickinson was born on this date in Amherst, Massachusetts in 1830 and died there on May 15, 1886. See Modern American Poetry's Emily Dickinson's Life

Our daughter, Mary, sings Cecak, an Indonesian lullaby

powered by ODEO and STUDIO ODEO

Rhythmical Words

The longer I live, the more I see there's something about reciting rhythmical words aloud�it's almost biological�that comforts and enlivens human beings.
—Robert Pinsky

Source: Garrison Keillor's The Writer's Almanac for Friday, October 20, 2006

The Old Australian Ways

US Navy photo by PH1 Bruce McVicar

PREBLE and JOHN PAUL JONES visit Portland, Oregon (Jun 10, 2006)

AEGIS Arleigh Burke class Guided missile destroyers USS John Paul Jones (DG 53) and USS Preble (DDG 88) moored in Portland for the 99th Rose Festival.

I am proud to say thatI helped build these ships when I worked at the AEGIS Program Office in the 1990's.

The London lights are far abeam
Behind a bank of cloud,
Along the shore the gaslights gleam,
The gale is piping loud;
And down the Channel, groping blind,
We drive her through the haze
Towards the land we left behind --
The good old land of `never mind',
And old Australian ways.

The narrow ways of English folk
Are not for such as we;
They bear the long-accustomed yoke
Of staid conservancy:
But all our roads are new and strange,
And through our blood there runs
The vagabonding love of change
That drove us westward of the range
And westward of the suns.
 .......
So throw the weary pen aside
And let the papers rest,
For we must saddle up and ride
Towards the blue hill's breast;
And we must travel far and fast
Across their rugged maze,
To find the Spring of Youth at last,
And call back from the buried past
The old Australian ways.

When Clancy took the drover's track
In years of long ago,
He drifted to the outer back
Beyond the Overflow;
By rolling plain and rocky shelf,
With stockwhip in his hand,
He reached at last, oh lucky elf,
The Town of Come-and-help-yourself
In Rough-and-ready Land.

And if it be that you would know
The tracks he used to ride,
Then you must saddle up and go
Beyond the Queensland side --
Beyond the reach of rule or law,
To ride the long day through,
In Nature's homestead -- filled with awe
You then might see what Clancy saw
And know what Clancy knew.
—A.B. "Banjo" Paterson, excerpted from THE OLD AUSTRALIAN WAYS

Source: A.B. Paterson: Selected Poems published 1992 by Angus & Robertson Book ISBN 0-207-1726-4
See the online version at THE OLD AUSTRALIAN WAYS

Hear a Little Song, Every Day

One ought, every day at least, to hear a little song, read a good poem, see a fine picture, and if it were possible, to speak a few reasonable words.
—Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Source: Garrison Keillor's The Writer's Almanac for Monday, August 28, 2006
It is the birthday of Goethe, born this day in Frankfurt am Main, Germany, in 1749. Goethe died in Weimar on March 22, 1832.
Read a short biographical sketch of Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Give Me A Kiss

Give me a kiss, and to that kiss a score;
Then to that twenty, add a hundred more:
A thousand to that hundred: so kiss on,
To make that thousand up a million.
Treble that million, and when that is done,
Let's kiss afresh, as when we first begun.
—Robert Herrick, English Poet (1591–1674)

Source: Garrison Keillor's The Writer's Almanac for Thursday, August 24, 2006
See also: Luminarium.org's Life of Robert Herrick

Sad Words

For all sad words of tongue and pen, the saddest are these, 'It might have been.'
—John Greenleaf Whittier

Source: My wonderful bride, Carol, shared this one with me today!
See also: Selected Poetry of John Greenleaf Whittier (1807-1892) on the University of Toronto's Representative Poetry Online (RPO).
Wikipedia's article, John Greenleaf Whittier.

I Have a Friend

Around the corner I have a friend
In this great city that has no end
Yet the days go by and the weeks rush on,
And before I know it a year has gone.

And I never see my old friend's face
For life is a swift and terrible race.
He knows I like him just as well
As in the days when I rang his bell and he rang mine.
We were younger then.

And now we are busy, tired men.
Tired of playing a foolish game;
Tired of trying to make a name.

"Tomorrow, "I say, I will call on Jim,
Just to show that I'm thinking of him."
But tomorrow comes, and tomorrow goes;
And the distance between us grows and grows.

Around the corner—yet miles away—
"Here's a telegram, Sir, Jim died today."
And that's what we get and deserve in the end;
Around the corner, a vanished friend.
—Henson Towne

This poem usually appears on the Web with the following sage advice:

Remember to always say what you mean. If you love someone, tell them. Don't be afraid to express yourself. Reach out and tell someone what they mean to you. Because when you decide that it is the right time, it might be too late. Seize the day. Never have regrets. And most importantly, stay close to your friends and family, for they have helped make you the person that you are today.
—Unknown

Source: The Men's Council of Greater Washington, sponsors of the Annual Men's Gathering in 2006, at Buffalo Gap Camp in Capon Bridge, West Virginia Friday, Sep. 29—Sunday, Oct. 1.
Through the mid-1990's The Men's Council met every month (except October) in the Washington Ethical Society hall. We distributed cards with the above poem at those wonderful programs. Each meeting included a profound greeting tradition, drumming, as well as a moving and challenging program. I do so miss those endearing experiences that helped me discover the courage to find myself and reach out to men.
See also: Lori MacBlogger: Around the Corner

Do You Prefer Fire or Ice?

Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those that favor fire.
But if I had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.
—Robert Frost in his poem Fire and Ice

Source: The Road Not Taken: A selection of Robert Frost's Poems with an Introduction and Commentary by Louis Untermeyer Owl Books 1985 ISBN 0-8050-0528-5 (An Owl Book: pbk.)
See also: Rice University's [minstrels] Fire and Ice -----Robert Frost with comments.

Among Substantial Things

Could we but give us wholly to the dreams,
And get into their world that to the sense
Is shadow, and not linger wretchedly
Among substantial things.
—William Butler Yeats, from his poem The Shadowy Waters, written in 1900

Source: W. B. Yeats Dead; Famous Irish Poet NY Times obituary January 30, 1939. Yeats was born in Dublin, Ireland on this date, June 13, in 1865.
See also: Garrison Keillor's Writer's Almanac for Tuesday, June 13, 2006

Memorial Day, May 2006

Source: Wersinger Family Archives

DIck Wersinger: 1944 World War II in the Pacific

My Dad, Dick Wersinger, sent this photo from somewhere in the Pacific Theater to his then fiancee, Minna, in Sydney, Australia. Dad survived the war and Minna emigrated to the US in 1946. They were happily married from November 1946 until February 1992 when he passed on.

IN FLANDERS FIELDS the poppies blow
Between the crosses row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
—Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae, MD (1872-1918) Canadian Army

Source: From his poem In Flanders Field on a Web site (unofficial) devoted to Arlington Cemetery
See also the official Arlington National Cemetery Web site.

SNIPES A Poem and Tribute

Joseph Rachel Destroyer Photo Archive

USS STRIBLING (DD-867) Enters Monaco, June 1972

I served in USS STRIBLING (DD-867) from August 1970 through July 1972 as Main Propulsion Assistant. I was aboard STRIB when this picture was taken. View another photo of STRIB, with "bone in her teeth."

---

US DoD

USS Capodanno (FF-1093) Underway during a MED deployment, 1988

I served in USS CAPODANNO (FF-1093) from July 1975 through July 1977 as Engineer Officer.

---

Destroyers Online

USS BAGLEY (FF-1069) Underway departing San Diego harbor, circa mid-1979

I served in USS BAGLEY (FF-1069) from July 1977 through January 1979 as Engineer Officer.

Many a poet have written sailor tales
About South Sea Isles and furious gales
So, I'll not waste your time with a tale of this type
Rather, I'll write of the sweaty, greasy snipe.

He works in his hole when the temperature is right
When the thermometer reads one twenty Fahrenheit.
There's no salt water in his blood,
Just stinking fuel oil and slimey bilge crud.

He goes to sea with visions of bright sun, and wind swept spray
But there are no hours of this in his working day.
Four hours on and eight hours off, and between, turn to and watch relief
No matter whether a boot FA or a salty Chief.

He works all hours and never tires.
And he can fix anything wih permatex and bailing wire.
When the ship pulls into port with the crew all in whites
There's a standing order for him to stay out of sight.

No bronze skin for this oily stud,
He's only time for a soggy butt and a cup of mud.
He's got a leak to fix, and a pump to pack
Before he can hit his long empty rack.

When the ship's inport and the crew's ashore
He's still in his hole sweating from very pore.
While deckapes and radiogirls are filled with glee
He must again get his engines ready for sea.

But, he's not mad, and he don't cry
He's just glad that cows don't fly.
For the fact is known both far and near
That this is the life of an engineer.
—Author Unknown

Source: I can't remember who shared this poem with me so very long ago. To this day the sweet smell of diesel engine exhaust is comforting, as it signals that the Emergency Diesel Generator has started and will soon be on the line. It means we'll have a fighting chance to recovery from yet another "drop the load" and bring the main plant back on the line and the ship underway again.
This entry is in honor of all the "Snipes" [marine engineers] who ever served at sea in a US Navy ship.
See also: USS CAPODANNO.org

Busy About?

It is not enough to be busy—
So are the ants.
The question is:
What are we busy about?
—Henry David Thoreau

Flowing Beards Are All the Go

And now while round the shearing floor the list�ning shearers gape,
He tells the story o�er and o�er, and brags of his escape.
�Them barber chaps what keeps a tote, By George, I�ve had enough,
One tried to cut my bloomin� throat, but thank the Lord it�s tough.�
And whether he�s believed or no, there�s one thing to remark,
That flowing beards are all the go way up in Ironbark.
—A.B. "Banjo" Paterson from The Man From Ironbark

Source: THE MAN FROM SNOWY RIVER AND OTHER VERSES e-text online by OzLit@Vicnet
The poem was first published in The Bulletin (a weekly published in Sydney, Australia) on Dec. 17, 1892.

Nevermore Said the Raven!

"Be that word our sign in parting, bird or fiend," I shrieked, upstarting-
"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken!- quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted- nevermore!
—Edgar Allan Poe The Raven

Source: Selected Works, The Raven at the Poemuseum.org
It is the birthday of Edgar Allan Poe, born January 19, 1809 in Boston, MA, and died on October 7, 1849 in Baltimore, MD.

When My Hair is Grey?

Wilt thou love me, sweet, when my hair is grey
And my cheeks shall have lost their hue?
When the charms of youth shall have passed away,
Will your love as of old prove true?

For the looks may change, and the heart may range,
And the love be no longer fond;
Wilt thou love with truth in the years of youth
And away to the years beyond?

Oh, I love you, sweet, for your locks of brown
And the blush on your cheek that lies --
But I love you most for the kindly heart
That I see in your sweet blue eyes.

For the eyes are signs of the soul within,
Of the heart that is real and true,
And mine own sweetheart, I shall love you still,
Just as long as your eyes are blue.

For the locks may bleach, and the cheeks of peach
May be reft of their golden hue;
But mine own sweetheart, I shall love you still,
Just as long as your eyes are blue.

—As Long as your Eyes are Blue by A.B. (Banjo) Paterson

Source: Saltbush Bill, J.P. and Other Verses on WorldWideSchool.org by A.B. (Banjo) Paterson
This poem, As Long as your Eyes are Blue, was first published in the Sydney Australia newspaper, "The Bulletin," 7 Nov 1891.

The Earth is Full of Breathless Whisperings

Only of thee and me the nightwind sings;
        Only of us the lovers speak at sea;
The earth is full of breathless whisperings
        Only of thee and me.

Only of thee and me the forests chant;
        Only of us the stir in bush and tree;
The rain and sun inform the blossoming plant
        Only of thee and me.

Only of thee and me till all shall fade;
        Only of us the world's first thought can be
For we are love, and heaven itself is made
        Only of thee and me.
—Louis Untermeyer

Source: Love Lyrics selected and edited by Louis Untermeyer Second Printing 1967 The Odyssey Press

This entry dedicated to Emily and Tim who were married this day in the Hood River valley in the shadow of Oregon's Mt. Hood. Your family and friends witnessed and affirm your love and your future.
With all our love, Rich

In The Mutilation Mill

Oh, it isn't cheerful to see a man, the marvelous work of God,
Crushed in the mutilation mill, crushed to a smeary clod;
Oh, it isn't cheerful to hear him moan; but it isn't that I mind,
It isn't the anguish that goes with him, it's the anguish he leaves behind.
For his going opens a tragic door that gives on a world of pain,
And the death he dies, those who live and love, will die again and again.
—Robert W. Service

Source: Only A Boche poem by Robert W. Service included in Rhymes of a Red Cross Man by Robert W. Service 1916 published by Barse & Hopkins
Service is writing about World War I from the Allies point of view.

Why Do Human Beings Kill and Injure?

Imagine there's no heaven,
It's easy if you try,
No hell below us,
Above us only sky,
Imagine all the people
living for today...

Imagine there's no countries,
It isnt hard to do,
Nothing to kill or die for,
No religion too,
Imagine all the people
living life in peace...

Imagine no possesions,
I wonder if you can,
No need for greed or hunger,
A brotherhood of man,
Imagine all the people
Sharing all the world...

You may say Im a dreamer,
but Im not the only one,
I hope some day you'll join us,
And the world will live as one.
—John Lennon

Source: Merseyworld.com's Imagine : LyricsWritten by: John Lennon � Bag productions inc

Somebody Cares

Somebody cares! What a world of woe
Lifts from our hearts when we really know
That somebody really and truly cares,
That we're in somebody's thoughts and prayers.
I want you to know, and I feel you do,
That somebody always is caring for you.
—Unknown

Source: My wonderful, caring Bride, Carol, shared this with me on Thursday, June 23, 2005, ILYWAMHAS, IAYLADHASRich

Poetry: A Definition

If I read a book [and] it makes my whole body so cold no fire ever can warm me, I know that is poetry. If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry.
—Emily Dickinson to Thomas Wentworth Higginson

Source: Writer's Almanac: Wednesday, June 8, 2005 by Garrison Keillor
It was on this day in 1862 that Emily Dickinson wrote to Thomas Wentworth Higginson asking him to be her friend and her advisor.

Ants in the Lunchroom

Appearing this morning at quarter past nine
they entered our lunchroom and mustered a line.
They seemed to be dancing, or whistling a tune,
then ran out the door with a fork and a spoon.

They quickly came back for a knife and a plate,
not bothered at all by the size or the weight.
They grabbed all the glasses and cups they could find.
They bagged every bowl, leaving nothing behind.

They worked through the morning, 'til mid-afternoon,
and carried off every last saucer and spoon.
They searched every shelf and they emptied each drawer,
then pilfered the platters and dashed out the door.

They put on a truly impressive display
until they were finished and wandered away.
Although we were puzzled, we had to conclude
those ants were no dummies; they left all the food.

Source: Kiddie Thoughts: Thoughtful Poems Ants in the Lunchroom

This entry is dedicated to my friend and fellow poetry lovers Tucker and Hannah.
Tucker's Mom, Krista, shared with me the other day about how Tucker memorized this poem, and recited the entire poem at his school's poetry workshop, parents and schoolmates all. His Mom told me how splendidly he did, and that he got tremendous laughs and applause.
Hannah's Mom told me about Hannah's original poem and that she confidently and proudly recited her poem at the poetry program.
I am inspired by these two wonderful children's deep love of poetry.
Aho, Tucker and Hannah

A Visit From Saint Nicholas

Source: NORAD's Santa Tracking 2004

Santa seen Christmas 1959

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 bed,
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's nap...
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the 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 the lustre of mid-day 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, Donder 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 house-top 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 roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of 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 bowl full 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 jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose.
He sprang to his sleigh, to his teams 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!"

---Clement C. Moore A Visit From Saint Nicholas

Source: A Visit From St. Nick on the New York Institue for Special Education Web site.
Clement Clarke Moore (1779-1863) was the only son of Benjamin Moore, president of Columbia College and bishop of the Protestant Episcopal Church in New York. He was a graduate of Columbia College and got a Masters Degree from there in 1801.
Moore married Catherine Elizabeth Taylor in 1813, and they settled at Chelsea, in what was then a country estate outside New York City. "A Visit From Saint Nicholas" (1822) was written as a Christmas gift for his children.
From 1840 to 1850, he was a member of the board of managers of The New York Institution for the Blind. The school was then know as The New York Institution for the Blind. The school was located on 34th Street and 9th Avenue during that era. The school moved to Pelham Parkway in the Bronx in 1922 and it is known as The New York Institute for Special Education.

An Instrument of Your Peace

Lord, make me an instrument of Your peace.
Where there is hatred, let me sow love;
where there is injury, pardon;
where there is doubt, faith;
where there is despair, hope;
where there is darkness, light;
where there is sadness, joy.

O, Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console; to be understood as to understand; to be loved as to love; For it is in giving that we receive; it is in pardoning that we are pardoned; it is in dying that we are born again to eternal life.
---St Francis of Assisi

Source: CatholicWomen.com's Kitchen Catechism St. Francis' Prayer

In Flanders Fields

USS HOWARD (DDG-83) in heavy sea way
29 Aug 04, South China Sea, RAS approach
US Navy photo

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved, and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields
---by LTC John McCrae, M.D. May 1915

Source: Sheryl's Holiday Site: Veterans Day
For an explanation of the poem and the significance of the poppies

This entry, made on November 11^th, 2004 is to honor of all my brothers and sisters who