In Flanders Fields


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.

Click filename below to access file

In_Flanders_Fields.mp3

http://Ladymaggic.podomatic.com

Houses and Homes


A House is a place where People live.

A Home is a place where one lives, or a place where one feels comfortable in.

The House: Rudyard Kipling

'Twixt my house and thy house the pathway is broad,
In thy house or my house is half the world's hoard;
By my house and thy house hangs all the world's fate,
On thy house and my house lies half the world's hate.

For my house and thy house no help shall we find
Save thy house and my house -- kin cleaving to kind;
If my house be taken, thine tumbleth anon.
If thy house be forfeit, mine followeth soon.

'Twixt my house and thy house what talk can there be
Of headship or lordship, or service or fee?
Since my house to thy house no greater can send
Than thy house to my house -- friend comforting friend;
And thy house to my house no meaner can bring
Than my house to thy house -- King counselling King.

Rudyard Kipling

Blues
Maggi Carstairs

Blues


I saw the tulip sitting on the table
You had not even opened it
You did not care......it did not matter
Jenny saw the tulip...


....................................................................

I sent you a blue tulip
Because I was blue
You left it on the table
As you went in and through.

The others saw it sitting there,
And laughed because they knew
That I was yearning for your love
And feeling very blue.

Then Jenny saw the Tulip
And caressed it with a smile
She put it in some water
For a long and tender while

The tulip picked its head up
And raised its beautiful head
But all I saw was jenny's smile
And tomorrow we will wed

Marguerite Carstairs 2006

I gave up on Love
Maggi Carstairs 2007


I gave up on Love when I was set free
To live alone and be mine.
I struggled to find
A home and a life
And what I found was just me.
I found I could live, if I trusted myself.
And Believed God would always care.
Somehow he provided work with a home,
And whatever else that was there.
I travelled, bought clothing,
Wore diamonds and Gold,
Went where I wanted
and always alone,
I found a controlled peace
That came at a price,
(Being alone always is not always nice).

Its strange, but the sadness came as I got older
When younger, I was prettier and much more bolder.

I hate having to buy my own drinks,
And carry my luggage
And take taxis home
Where sleepless I sit on the allnight computer
Writing and working, and then reading books.

Sometimes ,
When the moon lingers far too long,
And the spring blossoms cover the air,
I sadly remember the price I have paid
For self sufficiency, when love was there.
And wonder if ever the time will come
When I will want, need, or yearn for a touch.

The past is a memory, the futures a song
I gave up on love when the timing was wrong.

Maggi Carstairs 2007

Some come simply to wine and laugh
Some come discreetly to buy and sell
Some come loudly to clown and masquerade
Some come indifferently to sing and dance

Some come blankly to dawdle and dream
Some come softly to swindle and steal
Some come gently to tea and tea
Some come sober and leave drunk
/i//castle_on_the_Hill_Budapest.jpg
Some come with laughter and leave in tears
Some come unheard and vanish loudly
I come to make new friends, while seking a mate,
And spreading Joy, Peace, Happiness
And God's Love!

Desiderata



Go placidly amid the noise and haste,
and remember what peace there may be in silence.
As far as possible without surrender
be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly;
and listen to others,
even the dull and the ignorant;
they too have their story.


You are a child of the universe,
no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you,
no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.


With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,
it is still a beautiful world.
Be cheerful.
Strive to be happy.

Work in Progress



I've acquired the knowledge
Of someone twice my age
I speak with an urban intelligence
A sort of inspired slang
You try to look away
but my words captivate
off the rip
I may not be as deep
as you like it
but you'll damn sure feel it
because my rhetoric
is poignant
and so seductive
Word & Music
are so powerful
So how strong it must make me
to be given the gift of expressing both
Poetry
is just a manifestation of my thoughts
and I damn sure tell it like it is
Stories
filled with much drama
and plot twists
and the sex is as real as it gets
My Songs
are filled with every fiber of my being
you can't get more emotional
they articulate everything
I'm growing to be
I've acquired the ability
to strike your soul
My words'll make you lose control
So keep reading
'cuz as you can see
I'm just getting started
And you've fallen in love
with just a few lines
I gotchu cold jonesin'
So with these skills
that I naturally possess
You've just witnessed
the makings
of a true artist
Do stay tuned
Things are far from done
And it ain't over
This is just a work in progress

I Told Her she was Beautiful


I told her,
"She was so Beautiful"
She said
"What do you mean by
Beautiful"


My mind said
Like those sunsets you see on greeting cards
Overlooking the ocean of some exotic city
Sensuous looking clouds explored by birds
And the silhouettes of people unknown
/i//Redazalea.jpg But my mouth said
Beautiful, you know
She said
No I don't know



My mind said
Like that flower that is not a rose
It has the brightest colors seen
Trimmed with the perfect offsetting hue
Growing in the oddest place
Yet it's exactly where it should be
Noticed

But my mouth said
Beautiful, you know
She said
No, I really don't know

My mind said
Like the visions I have listening to good music
The midnight sky when stars are so numerous
The moon pushes its way through illuminating every eye
The breeze is neither too warm nor too cold
The entire world is at peace with it's self

But my mouth said
God has shown His greatness
In the whole of you
And caused me to desire your love,

Dress Me Like Poetry in Silk Stanza Stockings


Dress me like poetry in silk stanza stockings,
in pearls of metered verse on a syllabic strand.
Brush rhythm through my hair and rhyme on my lashes,
and paint me in tones of syntax and sonnet sand.

Dangle diction diamonds to adorn my face,
like cascading charms of sweet metaphoric prose.
Give me blue ballad bonnet alliteration
and assonant slippers with repetitious bows.

With sestina skirt and connotation corset,
I am the allusion and the symbol of love.
I am the onomatopoeia twilight song,
the euphonious moonlight that shimmers above.

So dress me like poetry, in pleasant pantoum
or in the cacophony of a villanelle,
in the ode of hyperbole or anapest,
in romantic Terza Rima or Terzanelle.

Dress me like poetry with the breath of your kiss,
and let your precious flower blossom in the night.
Then, move mountains for this moment and disrobe me.
My petals stroked by the gentle hands of moonlight.

Butterfly Blue


To A Butterfly
By William Wordsworth

I'VE watched you now a full half-hour,
Self-poised upon that yellow flower;
And, little Butterfly! indeed
I know not if you sleep or feed.
How motionless!---not frozen seas
More motionless! and then
What joy awaits you, when the breeze
Hath found you out among the trees,
And calls you forth again !

This plot of orchard-ground is ours;
My trees they are, my Sister's flowers;
Here rest your wing when they are weary;
Here lodge as in a sanctuary!
Come often to us, fear no wrong;
Sit near us on the bough!
We'll talk of sunshine and of song,
And summer days, when we were young;
Sweet childish days, that were as long
As twenty days are now.





Butterfly: DH Lawrence

Butterfly, the wind blows sea-ward,
strong beyond the garden-wall!
Butterfly, why do you settle on my
shoe, and sip the dirt on my shoe,
Lifting your veined wings, lifting them?
big white butterfly!

Already it is October, and the wind
blows strong to the sea
from the hills where snow must have
fallen, the wind is polished with
snow.
Here in the garden, with red
geraniums, it is warm, it is warm
but the wind blows strong to sea-ward,
white butterfly, content on my shoe!

Your Pain
Kahlil Gibram


Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses your understanding.

Even as the stone of the fruit must break, that its heart may stand in the sun, so must you know pain.

And could you keep your heart in wonder at the daily miracles of your life, your pain would not seem less wondrous than your joy;

And you would accept the seasons of your heart, even as you have always accepted the seasons that pass over your fields.

And you would watch with serenity through the winters of your grief.

Much of your pain is self-chosen.

It is the bitter potion by which the physician within you heals your sick self.

trust the physician, and drink his remedy in silence and tranquillity:

For his hand, though heavy and hard, is guided by the tender hand of the Unseen,

And the cup he brings, though it burn your lips, has been fashioned of the clay which the Potter has moistened with His own sacred tears.

MAN LOOKING INTO THE SEA



It is such a large thing, shoreline like a tense muscle,
that he cannot concentrate on this small bit here.
He knows how steadily it moves, curled and splayed
into milky flats beyond this surf, its dizzy swell
offensive. He trusts rigid things better: walls, cars, structures
that do not reach out in random longing.

No one behind him sees what is here: driftwood and water
shrugging away, a relentless much of nothing.
He knows here in the shallows
riptides scoop the shore clean, but out there
solidity gyres down into a forgotten black.

He hates the sea not because it collects but because it never suffers.
What has the ocean given up?
It eats up coastline, steals away delta silt
and only offers up those bits we don't want back:
whale bones and shells, cold remnants of living.

He knows a hand
reached out for him,
but he cannot remember what his boy was wearing.



© by Nathan S. Jones



http://www.valpo.edu/english/vpr/jonesman.html

To Laugh Often and Much
Ralph Waldo Emerson


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 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 social condition:
to know even one life has
breathed easier because
you have lived.

This is to have succeeded.

--Ralph Waldo Emerson

The Pusher


The mystery man came over and he said I'm outa site.

He said for a nominal sevice charge you can reach nirvana tonight.

I was ready and willing and able to pay him his regular fee.

Then he'd drop all the rest of his present affairs and devote his attention to me.

I said. Look here brother who you jammin with that cosmic debris.

Now who you jammin with that cosmic debris.

Is that a real poncho ,or is that a Sears poncho.

Don't you know you can make better money as a butcher.

So don't you waste your time on me.



Words from a song by Frank Zappa

Butterflies are Free to Fly



And someone saved my life tonight sugar bear
You almost had your hooks in me didn't you dear
You nearly had me roped and tied
Altar-bound, hypnotized
Sweet freedom whispered in my ear
You're a butterfly
And butterflies are free to fly
Fly away, high away, bye bye...

Elton John, Bernie Taupin

Unending Love
Rabindranath Tagore



Unending Love

I seem to have loved you in numberless forms, numberless times...
In life after life, in age after age, forever.
My spellbound heart has made and remade the necklace of songs,
That you take as a gift, wear round your neck in your many forms,
In life after life, in age after age, forever.

Whenever I hear old chronicles of love, it's age old pain,
It's ancient tale of being apart or together.
As I stare on and on into the past, in the end you emerge,
Clad in the light of a pole-star, piercing the darkness of time.
You become an image of what is remembered forever.

You and I have floated here on the stream that brings from the fount.
At the heart of time, love of one for another.
We have played along side millions of lovers,
Shared in the same shy sweetness of meeting,
the distressful tears of farewell,
Old love but in shapes that renew and renew forever.

Rabindranath Tagore

Owls
Charles Baudelaire



Under black yews that protect them

The owls perch in a row

Like alien gods whose red eyes

Glitter. They meditate.

Petrified, they will perch there till

The melancholy hour

When the slanting sun is ousted,

And darkness settles down.

From their posture, the wise

Learn to shun, in this world at least,

Motion and commotion.

Impassioned by passing shadows

Man will always be scourged

For trying to change his place.

Ghost House
Robert Frost



I dwell in a lonely house I know
That vanished many a summer ago,
And left no trace but the cellar walls,
And a cellar in which the daylight falls,
And the purple-stemmed wild raspberries grow.

O'er ruined fences the grape-vines shield
The woods come back to the mowing field;
The orchard tree has grown one copse
Of new wood and old where the woodpecker chops;
The footpath down to the well is healed.

I dwell with a strangely aching heart
In that vanished abode there far apart
On that disused and forgotten road
That has no dust-bath now for the toad.
Night comes; the black bats tumble and dart;

The whippoorwill is coming to shout
And hush and cluck and flutter about:
I hear him begin far enough away
Full many a time to say his say
Before he arrives to say it out.

It is under the small, dim, summer star.
I know not who these mute folk are
Who share the unlit place with me--
Those stones out under the low-limbed tree
Doubtless bear names that the mosses mar.

They are tireless folk, but slow and sad,
Though two, close-keeping, are lass and lad,--
With none among them that ever sings,
And yet, in view of how many things,
As sweet companions as might be had.

Remember Me
To the Living I'm Gone



Remember Me
to the living
i'm gone
to the sorrowful
i will never return
to the angry
i was cheated
but to the happy
i am at peace
and to the faithful
i have never left
i cannot be seen
but i can be heard
so as you stand
upon a shore
gazing at a beautiful sea
remember me
as you look in awe
at a mighty forests
and its grand majesty
remember me
as you look upon a flower
and admire its simplicity
remember me
remember me
in your heart
your thoughts
and your memories
of the times we loved
the times we cried
the times we thought
the times we laughed
for if you always
think of me
i will have
never gone...

.....remember me as a memory
forget me as a breath....

When Tomorrow Starts without Me



When tomorrow starts without me,
and I'm not there to see;
If the sun should rise and find your eyes,
all filled with tears for me;
I wish so much you wouldn't cry,
the way you did today,
while thinking of the many things,
we didn't get to say.

I know how much you love me,
as much as I love you,
and each time that you think of me,
I know you'll miss me too;
But when tomorrow starts without me,
please try to understand,
that an angel came and called my name,
and took me by the hand,
and said my place was ready,
in heaven far above,
and that I'd have to leave behind,
all those I dearly love.

Darkness
Sara


The darkness comes for me once again....

It calls my name,

it taunts me.

It mocks my existence.

Who am I to think the Light sees one as me?

If it did, would it care?

The darkness surrounds me in it's embrace;

Telling me to go with it,

Forget this world,

For this world

Has

Forgotten Me.



Sara 2006


Friends Within The Darkness
Charles Bukowski

I can remember starving in a
small room in a strange city
shades pulled down, listening to
classical music
I was young I was so young it hurt like a knife
inside
because there was no alternative except to hide as long
as possible--
not in self-pity but with dismay at my limited chance:
trying to connect.

the old composers -- Mozart, Bach, Beethoven,
Brahms were the only ones who spoke to me and
they were dead.

finally, starved and beaten, I had to go into
the streets to be interviewed for low-paying and
monotonous
jobs
by strange men behind desks
men without eyes men without faces
who would take away my hours
break them
piss on them.

now I work for the editors the readers the
critics

but still hang around and drink with
Mozart, Bach, Brahms and the
Bee
some buddies
some men
sometimes all we need to be able to continue alone
are the dead
rattling the walls
that close us in.

I often Sometimes Think of You




I often sometimes think has you

In my silence I hear your steps

How much times.. I do not know?

Should I turn over a new leaf?

Say to me that you will not even be of passage?

I do not know...

I do not know any more..

Without you I am lost..

Perhaps a hushed up day will check me off of a pure love

Will Make cast my tears on my cheeks

It will be mad, believe me

Because...

I already love you

--------------------------------------------

MY FRIEND, My friend, my love You which so much loved me As never nobody will make it Because I know it, There is not two as you there...

You are there, always with me It is with such potency as I smell your name...

Even if you left towards another future, I could never forget you Because for you, my heart is to erode till the end of time I would love you Whom imports the price to be paid Some people will why tell waste A life so definitely to begin...

These persons I shall answer That my life If I use it to love you Even if it is for eternity !

-------------------------------------------

In French



Penser !

Il m'arrive souvent de penser a toi
Dans mon silence j'entends tes pas

Combien de fois..
Je ne sais pas..?

Devrais-je tourner la page?
Me dire que tu ne seras même pas de passage?

Je ne sais pas...Je ne sais plus..
Sans toi je suis perdue..
Peut-être un jour tu me pointera d'un amour pur
Feras couler mes larmes sur mes joues

Ce sera fou , crois-moi
Parce que moi...
Je t'aime déjà...

--------------------------------------------------------

MON AMI

Mon ami, mon amour
Toi qui m'a tant aimé
Comme jamais personne ne le fera
Car je le sais,
Il n'en existe pas deux comme toi...

Tu es là, toujours avec moi
C'est avec une telle puissance que je sens ton nom...
Même si tu es parti vers un autre avenir,
Je ne pourrais jamais t'oublier
Car pour toi, mon coeur est éroder...

Jusqu'à la fin des temps je t'aimerais
Qu'importe le prix à payer
Certains diront pourquoi gaspiller
Une vie si bien commencer...

A ces personnes je répondrai
Que ma vie ne sera pas gâcher
Si je l'emploie à t'aimer
Même si c'est pour l'éternité

.....................................................Found on a very Romantic Blog

Artist Quotes


Quotes
Artists :Dali: Cezanne

Salvador Dali Quotes:

*
The problem with the youth of today' is that one is no longer part of it.
* Drawing is the honesty of the art. There is no possibility of cheating. It is either good or bad.
* When the creations of a genius collide with the mind of a layman, and produce an empty sound, there is little doubt as to which is at fault.
* You have to systematically create confusion, it sets creativity free. Everything that is contradictory creates life.
* People love mystery, and that is why they love my paintings.
* When I paint, the sea roars. The others splash about in the bath.
* One day it will have to be officially admitted that what we have christened reality is an even greater illusion than the world of dreams.
* The desire to survive and the fear of death are artistic sentiments.
* At the age of six I wanted to be a cook. At seven I wanted to be Napoleon. And my ambition has been growing steadily ever since.
* Have no fear of perfection, you'll never reach it.
* You know the worst thing is freedom. Freedom of any kind is the worst for creativity.
* Those who do not want to imitate anything, produce nothing.

Paul Cezanne Quotes:

The Louvre is the book in which we learn to read.

+ It took me 40 years to find out that painting is not sculpture.

+ Don't be an art critic, but paint, there lies salvation.

+ What is one to think of those fools who tell one that the artist is always subordinate to nature? Art is in harmony parallel with nature.

+ A work of art which did not begin in emotion is not art.

+ All my life I have worked to be able to earn my living, but I thought that one could do good painting without attracting attention to one's private life. Certainly, an artist wishes to raise himself intellectually as much as possible, but the man must remain obscure. The pleasure must be found in the work.

Love Gives naught but Itself
Love: Kahlil Gibram: The Prophet

Love gives naught but itself and takes naught but from itself.

Love possesses not nor would it be possessed;

For love is sufficient unto love.

When you love you should not say, "God is in my heart," but rather, I am in the heart of God."

And think not you can direct the course of love, for love, if it finds you worthy, directs your course.

Love has no other desire but to fulfil itself.

But if you love and must needs have desires, let these be your desires:

To melt and be like a running brook that sings its melody to the night.

To know the pain of too much tenderness.

To be wounded by your own understanding of love;

And to bleed willingly and joyfully.

To wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of loving;

To rest at the noon hour and meditate love's ecstasy;

To return home at eventide with gratitude;

And then to sleep with a prayer for the beloved in your heart and a song of praise upon your lips.

Whispers
Dinest Vora



Whispers
Dinesh Vora

The man whispered, "God, speak to me"
and a meadowlark sang.

But, the man did not hear.

So the man yelled, "God, speak to me"
and the thunder rolled across the sky.

But, the man did not listen.

The man looked around and said,
"God let me see you."
And a star shined brightly.

But the man did not see.

And, the man shouted,
"God show me a miracle."
And, a life was born.

But, the man did not notice.

So, the man cried out in despair,
"Touch me God, and let me know you are here."
Whereupon, God reached down and touched the man.

But, the man brushed the butterfly away ...
and walked on.

Cobwebs




http://www.chinapage.com/poem2e.html

I built my cottage among the habitations of men,
And yet there is no clamor of carriages and horses.
You ask: "Sir, how can this be done?"
"A heart that is distant creates its own solitude."
I pluck chrysanthemums under the eastern hedge,
Then gaze afar towards the southern hills.
The mountain air is fresh at the dusk of day;
The flying birds in flocks return.
In these things there lies a deep meaning;
I want to tell it, but have forgotten the words.

Tr. Tony Barnstone and Chou Ping

More Tao YuanMing in Chinese

Farewell to the Loved
Kahlil Gibram: The Prophet



The year is ended, and it only adds to my age;
Spring has come, but I must take leave of my home.
Alas, that the trees in this eastern garden,
Without me, will still bear flowers.
Su Ting (670-727)



..........................................the wind bids me leave you.

Less hasty am I than the wind, yet I must go.

We wanderers, ever seeking the lonelier way, begin no day where we have ended another day; and no sunrise finds us where sunset left us.

Even while the earth sleeps we travel.

We are the seeds of the tenacious plant, and it is in our ripeness and our fullness of heart that we are given to the wind and are scattered.

Brief were my days among you, and briefer still the words I have spoken.

But should my voice fade in your ears, and my love vanish in your memory, then I will come again,

And with a richer heart and lips more yielding to the spirit will I speak.

Yea, I shall return with the tide,

And though death may hide me, and the greater silence enfold me, yet again will I seek your understanding.

And not in vain will I seek.

If aught I have said is truth, that truth shall reveal itself in a clearer voice, and in words more kin to your thoughts.

I go with the wind,...........but not down into emptiness;

Freedom
Kahlil Gibram: The Prophet




for you can only be free when even the desire of seeking freedom becomes a harness to you, and when you cease to speak of freedom as a goal and a fulfillment.

You shall be free indeed when your days are not without a care nor your nights without a want and a grief,

But rather when these things girdle your life and yet you rise above them naked and unbound.

And how shall you rise beyond your days and nights unless you break the chains which you at the dawn of your understanding have fastened around your noon hour?

In truth that which you call freedom is the strongest of these chains, though its links glitter in the sun and dazzle the eyes.

And what is it but fragments of your own self you would discard that you may become free?

.......................

And if it is a care you would cast off, that care has been chosen by you rather than imposed upon you.

And if it is a fear you would dispel, the seat of that fear is in your heart and not in the hand of the feared.

Verily all things move within your being in constant half embrace, the desired and the dreaded, the repugnant and the cherished, the pursued and that which you would escape.

These things move within you as lights and shadows in pairs that cling.

And when the shadow fades and is no more, the light that lingers becomes a shadow to another light.

And thus your freedom when it loses its fetters becomes itself the fetter of a greater freedom.

Lily Pad


The breeze and the dew make tranquil the clear dawn;
Behind the curtain there is one who alone is up betimes.
The orioles sing and the flowers smile -
Whose then, after all, is the Spring?

More Li ShangYin in Chinese in English

Waterlily
Japanese Haiku



Delving in the Book of Change, I rose through hardship great,
And desperately fought the foe for four long years;
Like willow catkin, the war-torn land looks desolate,
I sink or swim as duckweed in the rain appears.
For perils on Perilious Beach, I heaved and sighed,
On Lonely Sea now, I feel dreary and lonely;
Since olden days, which man has lived and not died?
I'll leave a loyalist name in history!

tr.Xu YuanZhong

More Wen TianXiang in Chinese

Waterlily



You ask me why I dwell in the green mountain;
I smile and make no reply for my heart is free of care.
As the peach-blossom flows down stream and is gone into the unknown,
I have a world apart that is not among men.

Li Bai in Chinese in English
Li Bai

Loving and Liking
William Wordsworth



Long may you love your pensioner mouse,
Though one of a tribe that torment the house:
Nor dislike for her cruel sport the cat,
Deadly foe both of mouse and rat;
Remember she follows the law of her kind,
And Instinct is neither wayward nor blind.
Then think of her beautiful gliding form,
Her tread that would scarcely crush a worm,
And her soothing song by the winter fire,
Soft as the dying throb of the lyre.

William Wordsworth

Crime and Punishment
Kahlil Gibram: The Prophet



It is when your spirit goes wandering upon the wind,

That you, alone and unguarded, commit a wrong unto others and therefore unto yourself.

And for that wrong committed must you knock and wait a while unheeded at the gate of the blessed.

Like the ocean is your god-self;

It remains for ever undefiled.

And like the ether it lifts but the winged.

Even like the sun is your god-self;

It knows not the ways of the mole nor seeks it the holes of the serpent.

............

Oftentimes have I heard you speak of one who commits a wrong as though he were not one of you, but a stranger unto you and an intruder upon your world.

But I say that even as the holy and the righteous cannot rise beyond the highest which is in each one of you,

So the wicked and the weak cannot fall lower than the lowest which is in you also.

And as a single leaf turns not yellow but with the silent knowledge of the whole tree,

So the wrong-doer cannot do wrong without the hidden will of you all.

Like a procession you walk together towards your god-self.

You are the way and the wayfarers.

Wardogs
Vietnam Veteran Writing



Families could not understand why they were not the same.
Some wouldn't even listen, when he would try to explain.
No Welcome Home parades, for the town's people turned away.
For him there was not to be a real Homecoming Day.

They went in all directions, and coped the best they could.
Carrying more guilt and shame than any Veteran should.
They built walls and bunkers inside so they could be touched no more.
And each night they dreamed and cried and fought a raging war.

For thirty some odd years have passed and wonder where they are?
Some are walking the homeless streets, some in VA mental wards.
Many have died from illness contracted in the Nam.
Some just quit fighting, some picked up a gun.

But by the Grace of God, some found the courage to step out.
"I am a Vietnam Veteran, I got the right to be proud"
Turn away if you must or listen if you will.
I've bore all you threw at me and I am standing still.

Although my steps are weary and my soul is oh so sore,
You can take your blame and guilt, I won't carry it no more.
I'll reach out to my brothers that are still standing all alone
And by God you can't stop us.. One by One We're Coming home.

http://www.wardogs.com/doc1.html

The Healing Buddha



'Compassion and love are not mere luxuries.
As the source both of inner and external peace,
they are fundamental to the continued survival of our species.'
His Holiness the XIV Dalai Lama



The Buddha taught the following to his son Rahula (from "Old path white clouds" by Thich Nhat Hahn):

"Rahula, practice loving kindness to overcome anger. Loving kindness has the capacity to bring happiness to others without demanding anything in return.
Practice compassion to overcome cruelty. Compassion has the capacity to remove the suffering of others without expecting anything in return.
Practice sympathetic joy to overcome hatred. Sympathetic joy arises when one rejoices over the happiness of others and wishes others well-being and success.
Practice non-attachment to overcome prejudice. Non-attachment is the way of looking at all things openly and equally. This is because that is. Myself and others are not separate. Do not reject one thing only to chase after another.
I call these the four immeasurables. Practice them and you will become a refreshing source of vitality and happiness for others."

FORGIVING OTHERS (From Sogyal Rinpoche)

- Visualise all Buddhas and enlightened beings above and around you
- They shine their compassionate, blessing upon you
- Imagine in front the person you want to forgive
- In the presence of the enlightened beings, say what you have to say
- Tell them what you really feel and why you want to forgive him/her
- Imagine this person looking at you with compassion and understanding
- While telling him/her about your anger and regret, radiate out all your love and compassion to this person
- Know the person understands you and answers with love shining from the heart
- Open your heart, accept their love

The Hand in The Sea
Maggi Carstairs



The hand calls "Unification"...

For brother to brother

Sister to Sister

To hold out hands and join in Peace.

Solid and silent

The message stands out loud and clear

But you

Just do not hear and see....

You marvel at the water and the waves

And smile

The White Magnolia Tree
Poetry by Helen Deutsch


The White Magnolia Tree
The year when I was twenty-one,
(John that year was twenty-three)
That was the year, that was the spring,
We planted the white magnolia tree.

"This tree," said John, "shall grow with us,
And every year it will bloom anew.
This is our life. This is our love."
And the white magnolia tree grew and grew...

Oh, youth' a thing of fire and ice,
And currents that run hot and white,
And its world is as bright as the sun... White_magnolia_framed

I was twenty-one...
And I wore a plume in my hat.
And we went to the movies and wept over" Stella Dallas",
And John sang "Moonlight and Roses"
(a little off-key, but very nicely really),

And we hurried through our crowded days
With beautiful plans, boundless ambitions, and golden decisions.
There is so much the young heart clamours for,
That it must have, and that it cannot live without,
And it must be all or nothing,
For aren't we the masters of creation?

Taken from "Artists Life"... http://360.yahoo.com/ladymaggic

They dance around the Dying
Blake:Romantic Poetry


They dance around the dying & they drink the howl & groan;
They catch the shrieks in cups of gold; they hand them to one another.
These are the sports of love & these the sweet delights of amorous play:
Tears of the grape, the death sweat of the Cluster, the last sigh
Of the mild youth who listens to the luring songs of Luvah.

Vala, Night the Ninth, 767-71 (FZ9-137.1; E405)

My Body May Die Again and Again
Sijo - Korean Style of Poetry


My Body May Die Again and Again



My body may die, again and again

One hundred times again, and

May turn into but a pile of bones and dust,

My soul may or may not live on, but

My loyalty to my country shall remain unchanged for ever.




Jung Mong Ju, 1337-1392, a Koryo scholar



The life of a man is like a candle, that shines but a moment brief
If I must die for my country to live
I shall depart joyous, with the morning dew silent
A Korean War ballad

In a flower garden of a castle, pines a millennium old filter in the moon light
I hear death cries, drum beats of a battle, fought here eons ago
Silence returns supreme, where are the heroes of the battle now?

Anonymous

http://www.kimsoft.com/kr-sijo.htm

Spare Me the Glitter


Oh, spare me the glitter
of your dreams, those
pallid rocks pulled
from the lake, losing
all magnificence
after a moment's sun.
They are merely mineral,
no more profound
than your so-precious bones
that time will unlock,
burning away all else
to reveal their muteness.

© by David Graham

http://www.valpo.edu/english/vpr/grahamselfportrait.html

To an Old Mate
Henry Lawson


OLD MATE!


In the gusty old weather,
When our hopes and our troubles were new,
In the years spent in wearing out leather,
I found you unselfish and true —
I have gathered these verses together
For the sake of our friendship and you.

You may think for awhile, and with reason,
Though still with a kindly regret,
That I’ve left it full late in the season
To prove I remember you yet;
But you’ll never judge me by their treason
Who profit by friends—and forget.

I remember, Old Man, I remember —
The tracks that we followed are clear —
The jovial last nights of December,
The solemn first days of the year,
Long tramps through the clearings and timber,
Short partings on platform and pier.

I can still feel the spirit that bore us,
And often the old stars will shine —
I remember the last spree in chorus
For the sake of that other Lang Syne,
When the tracks lay divided before us,
Your path through the future and mine.

Through the frost-wind that cut like whip-lashes,
Through the ever-blind haze of the drought —
And in fancy at times by the flashes
Of light in the darkness of doubt —
I have followed the tent poles and ashes
Of camps that we moved further out.

You will find in these pages a trace of
That side of our past which was bright,
And recognise sometimes the face of
A friend who has dropped out of sight —
I send them along in the place of
The letters I promised to write.

Henry Lawson 'to J.F.Archibald"



http://whitewolf.newcastle.edu.au/words/authors/L/LawsonHenry/verse/world_wide/oldmate.html

And Did Those Feet in Ancient Time
Romantic Poetry: Milton


And did those feet in ancient time,
Walk upon Englands mountains green:
And was the holy Lamb of God,
On Englands pleasant pastures seen!

And did the Countenance Divine,
Shine forth upon our clouded hills?
And was Jerusalem builded here,
Among these dark Satanic Mills?

Bring me my Bow of burning gold:
Bring me my Arrows of desire:
Bring me my Spear: O clouds unfold!
Bring me my Chariot of fire!

I will not cease from Mental Fight,
Nor shall my Sword sleep in my hand:
Till we have built Jerusalem,
In Englands green & pleasant Land.



Would to God that all the Lords people were Prophets.
Numbers XI. ch 29 v.

Milton, a Poem in 2 Books (1804),

Before the White Chysanthemum
Japanese Poetry


Before the white chrysanthemum
the scissors hesitate
a moment.


Translated by Robert Hass



Anonymous: In the autumn fields

From the early section of the love poems of the Kokinoshu.

In the autumn fields
mingled with the pampas grass
flowers are blooming
should my love too, spring forth
or shall we never meet?

Listen




Sugawara Michizane (845-903): The autumn breeze rises

Japanese poets often delight in exploring ambiguities. One of their favorite themes is the difficulty of discerning one white object from another: a white spider on a white flower, or here, white flowers and the foam of waves beating against the shore. Nature in the Heian period (794-1186) was never an untamed wilderness but most typically represented by the carefully tended garden or a painting on a folding screen. This poem was attached to a chrysanthemum during a courtly competition where the flower was placed in a miniature representation of the beach at Fukiage done in a tray. The author is best known as a scholar and poet of Chinese verse.

The autumn breeze rises
on the shore at Fukiage--
and those white chrysanthemums
are they flowers? or not?
or only breakers on the beach?

http://www.wsu.edu:8080/~wldciv/world_civ_reader/world_civ_reader_1/japanese_poetry.html



Chrysanthemums are said to have first come from China although they are more often associated with Japan. According to an ancient Chinese legend, about 3,000 years ago an emperor was told that the Dragonfly Island in the Sunrise Sea (Japan) had a magic herb that would restore his youth. But since only youth could collect it, he sent a dozen young men and a dozen girls to the island.

They arrived at the islands after surviving perilous storms and attacks by sea serpents, and finding neither magic herb nor inhabitants on the island, they decided to stay. The prized possession they brought for trading, and now nurtured as a tie with their homeland, was the golden chrysanthemum.
Japan's imperial emblem for ten centuries featured a golden chrysanthemum with sixteen petals. In the War of Dynasties, which began in 1357 and lasted for 55 years, each warrior of the South wore a yellow chrysanthemum as a golden badge of courage.

The Naked and The Nude
Poem By Robert Graves: 1895-1985


For me, the naked and the nude
(By lexicographers construed
As synonyms that should express
The same deficiency of dress
Or shelter) stand as wide apart
As love from lies, or truth from art.

Lovers without reproach will gaze
On bodies naked and ablaze;
The Hippocratic eye will see
In nakedness, anatomy;
And naked shines the Goddess when
She mounts her lion among men.

The nude are bold, the nude are sly
To hold each treasonable eye.
While draping by a showman's trick
Their dishabille in rhetoric,
They grin a mock-religious grin
Of scorn at those of naked skin.

The naked, therefore, who compete
Against the nude may know defeat;
Yet when they both together tread
The briary pastures of the dead,
By Gorgons with long whips pursued,
How naked go the sometime nude!

When love beckons to you follow him,

Though his ways are hard and steep.

And when his wings enfold you yield to him,

Though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you.

And when he speaks to you believe in him,

Though his voice may shatter your dreams as the north wind lays waste the garden.

For even as love crowns you so shall he crucify you. Even as he is for your growth so is he for your pruning.

Even as he ascends to your height and caresses your tenderest branches that quiver in the sun,

So shall he descend to your roots and shake them in their clinging to the earth.

Like sheaves of corn he gathers you unto himself.

He threshes you to make you naked.

He sifts you to free you from your husks.

He grinds you to whiteness.

He kneads you until you are pliant;

And then he assigns you to his sacred fire, that you may become sacred bread for God's sacred feast.

All these things shall love do unto you that you may know the secrets of your heart, and in that knowledge become a fragment of Life's heart.

Morning Midday And Evening Sacrifice

Gerard Manley Hopkins 1918

The dappled die-away
Cheek and wimpled lip,
The gold-wisp, the airy-grey
Eye, all in fellowship—
This, all this beauty blooming,
This, all this freshness fuming,
Give God while worth consuming.

Both thought and thew now bolder
And told by Nature: Tower;
Head, heart, hand, heel, and shoulder
That beat and breathe in power—
This pride of prime’s enjoyment
Take as for tool, not toy meant
And hold at Christ’s employment.

The vault and scope and schooling
And mastery in the mind,
In silk-ash kept from cooling,
And ripest under rind—
What life half lifts the latch of,
What hell stalks towards the snatch of,
Your offering, with despatch, of!