3 AUDIOBOOK COLLECTIONS 6 BOOK COLLECTIONS
Poems by People 1.A Happy Child My house is red - a little house A happy child am I. I laugh and play the whole day long, I hardly ever cry. I have a tree, a green, green tree, To shade me from the sun; And under it I often sit, When all my play is done. 2.A Light Exists 2.A Light Exists
A Light exists in Spring Not present on the Year At any other period — When March is scarcely here A Color stands abroad On Solitary Fields That Science cannot overtake But Human Nature feels. It waits upon the Lawn, It shows the furthest Tree Upon the furthest Slope you know It almost speaks to you. Then as Horizons step Or Noons report away Without the Formula of sound It passes and we stay — A quality of loss Affecting our Content As Trade had suddenly encroached Upon a Sacrament. 3.A Prayer For My Daughter
Once more the storm is howling, and half hid Under this cradle-hood and coverlid My child sleeps on. There is no obstacle But Gregory's Wood and one bare hill Whereby the haystack and roof-levelling wind, Bred on the Atlantic, can be stayed; And for an hour I have walked and prayed Because of the great gloom that is in my mind. I have walked and prayed for this young child an hour, And heard the sea-wind scream upon the tower, And under the arches of the bridge, and scream In the elms above the flooded stream; Imagining in excited reverie That the future years had come Dancing to a frenzied drum Out of the murderous innocence of the sea. May she be granted beauty, and yet not Beauty to make a stranger's eye distraught, Or hers before a looking-glass; for such, Being made beautiful overmuch, Consider beauty a sufficient end, Lose natural kindness, and maybe The heart-revealing intimacy That chooses right, and never find a friend. Helen, being chosen, found life flat and dull, And later had much trouble from a fool; While that great Queen that rose out of the spray,
Being fatherless, could have her way, Yet chose a bandy-leggèd smith for man. It's certain that fine women eat A crazy salad with their meat Whereby the Horn of Plenty is undone. In courtesy I'd have her chiefly learned; Hearts are not had as a gift, but hearts are earned By those that are not entirely beautiful. Yet many, that have played the fool For beauty's very self, has charm made wise; And many a poor man that has roved, Loved and thought himself beloved, From a glad kindness cannot take his eyes. May she become a flourishing hidden tree, That all her thoughts may like the linnet be, And have no business but dispensing round Their magnanimities of sound; Nor but in merriment begin a chase, Nor but in merriment a quarrel. Oh, may she live like some green laurel Rooted in one dear perpetual place. My mind, because the minds that I have loved, The sort of beauty that I have approved, Prosper but little, has dried up of late, Yet knows that to be choked with hate May well be of all evil chances chief. If there's no hatred in a mind Assault and battery of the wind Can never tear the linnet from the leaf.
An intellectual hatred is the worst, So let her think opinions are accursed. Have I not seen the loveliest woman born Out of the mouth of Plenty's horn, Because of her opinionated mind Barter that horn and every good By quiet natures understood For an old bellows full of angry wind? Considering that, all hatred driven hence, The soul recovers radical innocence And learns at last that it is self-delighting, Self-appeasing, self-affrighting, And that its own sweet will is heaven's will, She can, though every face should scowl And every windy quarter howl Or every bellows burst, be happy still. And may her bridegroom bring her to a house Where all's accustomed, ceremonious; For arrogance and hatred are the wares Peddled in the thoroughfares. How but in custom and in ceremony Are innocence and beauty born? Ceremony's a name for the rich horn, And custom for the spreading laurel tree. 4.Adventures Of Isabel
Isabel met an enormous bear, Isabel, Isabel, didn't care; The bear was hungry, the bear was ravenous, The bear's big mouth was cruel and cavernous. The bear said, Isabel, glad to meet you, How do, Isabel, now I'll eat you! Isabel, Isabel, didn't worry. Isabel didn't scream or scurry. She washed her hands and she straightened her hair up, Then Isabel quietly ate the bear up. Once in a night as black as pitch Isabel met a wicked old witch. the witch's face was cross and wrinkled, The witch's gums with teeth were sprinkled. Ho, ho, Isabel! the old witch crowed, I'll turn you into an ugly toad! Isabel, Isabel, didn't worry, Isabel didn't scream or scurry, She showed no rage and she showed no rancor, But she turned the witch into milk and drank her. Isabel met a hideous giant, Isabel continued self reliant. The giant was hairy, the giant was horrid, He had one eye in the middle of his forhead. Good morning, Isabel, the giant said, I'll grind your bones to make my bread. Isabel, Isabel, didn't worry, Isabel didn't scream or scurry. She nibled the zwieback that she always fed off, And when it was gone, she cut the giant's head off. Isabel met a troublesome doctor,
He punched and he poked till he really shocked her. The doctor's talk was of coughs and chills And the doctor's satchel bulged with pills. The doctor said unto Isabel, Swallow this, it will make you well. Isabel, Isabel, didn't worry, Isabel didn't scream or scurry. She took those pills from the pill concocter, And Isabel calmly cured the doctor. 5.Allie
Allie, call the birds in, The birds from the sky. Allie calls, Allie sings, Down they all fly. First there came Two white doves Then a sparrow from his nest, Then a clucking bantam hen, Then a robin red-breast. Allie, call the beasts in, The beasts, every one. Allie calls, Allie sings, In they all run. First there came Two black lambs, Then a grunting Berkshire sow, Then a dog without a tail, Then a red and white cow. Allie, call the fish up, The fish from the stream. Allie calls, Allie sings, Up they all swim. First there came Two gold fish, A minnow and a miller's thumb, Then a pair of loving trout, Then the twisted eels come. Allie, call the children, Children from the green. Allie calls, Allie sings,
Soon they run in. First there came Tom and Madge, Kate and I who'll not forget How we played by the water's edge Till the April sun set. 6.Prairea Dog town
Old Peter Prairie-dog Builds him a house In Prairie-Dog Town, With a door that goes down And down and down, And a hall that goes under And under and under, Where you can't see the lightning, You can't hear the thunder, For they don't like thunder In Prairie-Dog Town. Old Peter Prairie-Dog Digs him a cellar In Prairie-Dog Town, With a ceiling that is arched And a wall that is round, And the earth he takes out he makes into a mound. And the hall and the cellar Are dark as dark, And you can't see a spark, Not a single spark; And the way to them cannot be found. Old Peter Prairie-Dog Knows a very clever trick Of behaving like a stick When he hears a sudden sound, Like an old dead stick; And when you turn your head He'll jump quick, quick, And be another stick When you look around.
It is a clever trick, And it keeps him safe and sound In the cellar and the halls That are under the mound In Prairie-Dog Town. 7.Won`t you
Barbara's eyes are blue as azure, But she is in love with Freddy. Karen's sweet, but Harry has her. Gentle Jane is going steady. Carol hates me. So does May. Abigail will not be mine. Nancy lives too far away... Won't you be my Valentine? 8.The Fisherman
The fisherman goes out at dawn When every one's abed, And from the bottom of the sea Draws up his daily bread. His life is strange; half on the shore And half upon the sea -- Not quite a fish, and yet not quite The same as you and me. The fisherman has curious eyes; They make you feel so queer, As if they had seen many things Of wonder and of fear. They're like the sea on foggy days, -- Not gray, nor yet quite blue; They 're like the wondrous tales he tells Not quite -- yet maybe -- true. He knows so much of boats and tides, Of winds and clouds and sky! But when I tell of city things, He sniffs and shuts one eye! 9.Rathers
I know very well what I'd rather be If I didn't always have to be me! I'd rather be an owl, A downy feathered owl, A wink-ity, blink-ity, yellow-eyed owl In a hole in a hollow tree. I'd take my dinner in chipmunk town, And wouldn't I gobble the field mice down, If I were a wink-ity, blink-ity owl, And didn't always have to be me! I know very well what I'd like to do If I didn't have to do what I do! I'd go and be a woodpecker, A rap-ity, tap-ity, red-headed woodpecker In the top of a tall old tree. And I'd never take a look At a lesson or a book, And I'd scold like a pirate on the sea, If I only had to do what I like to do, And didn't always have to be me! Or else I'd be an antelope, A pronghorned antelope, With lots of other antelope Skimming like a cloud on a wire-grass plian. A bounding, bouncing antelope, You'd never get me back to my desk again! Or I might be a puma, A singe-colored puma, A slinking, sly-foot puma As fierce as fierce could be!
And I'd wait by the waterholes where antelope drink In the cool of the morning And I do not think That ever any antelope could get away from me. But if I were a hunter, A red Indian hunter - I'd like to be a hunter, - I'd have a bow made of juniper wood From a lightning-blasted tree, And I'd creep and I'd creep on that puma asleep A flint tipped arrow, An eagle feathered arrow, For a puma kills calves and a puma kills sheep, And he'd never eat any more antelope If he once met up with me! 10.I`d love to be a fairy`s child
Children born of fairy stock Never need for shirt or frock, Never want for food or fire, Always get their heart's desire: Jingle pockets full of gold, Marry when they're seven years old. Every fairy child may keep Two strong ponies and ten sheep; All have houses, each his own, Built of brick or granite stone; They live on cherries, they run wild-- I'd love to be a Fairy's child. 11.Puppy and i
I met a Man as I went walking: We got talking, Man and I. \"Where are you going to, Man?\" I said (I said to the Man as he went by). \"Down to the village, to get some bread. Will you come with me?\" \"No, not I.\" I met a horse as I went walking; We got talking, Horse and I. \"Where are you going to, Horse, today?\" (I said to the Horse as he went by). \"Down to the village to get some hay. Will you come with me?\" \"No, not I.\" I met a Woman as I went walking; We got talking, Woman and I. \"Where are you going to, Woman, so early?\" (I said to the Woman as she went by). \"Down to the village to get some barley. Will you come with me?\" \"No, not I.\" I met some Rabbits as I went walking; We got talking, Rabbits and I. \"Where are you going in your brown fur coats?\" (I said to the Rabbits as they went by). \"Down to the village to get some oats. Will you come with us?\" \"No, not I.\"
I met a Puppy as I went walking; We got talking, Puppy and I. \"Where are you going this nice fine day?\" (I said to the Puppy as he went by). \"Up to the hills to roll and play.\" \"I'll come with you, Puppy,\" said I. 12.Paul Revere`s Drive
LISTEN, my children, and you shall hear Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere, On the eighteenth of April, in Seventy-five; Hardly a man is now alive Who remembers that famous day and year. He said to his friend, ‘If the British march By land or sea from the town to-night, Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry arch Of the North Church tower as a signal light One, if by land, and two, if by sea; And I on the opposite shore will be, Ready to ride and spread the alarm Through every Middlesex village and farm, For the country folk to be up and to arm.’ Then he said, ‘Good-night!’ and with muffled oar Silently rowed to the Charlestown shore, Just as the moon rose over the bay, Where swinging wide at her moorings lay The Somerset, British man-of-war; A phantom ship, with each mast and spar Across the moon like a prison bar, And a huge black hulk, that was magnified By its own reflection in the tide. Meanwhile, his friend, through alley and street, Wanders and watches with eager ears, Till in the silence around him he hears The muster of men at the barrack door, The sound of arms, and the tramp of feet, And the measured tread of the grenadiers, Marching down to their boats on the shore.
Then he climbed the tower of the Old North Church, By the wooden stairs, with stealthy tread, To the belfry-chamber overhead, And startled the pigeons from their perch On the sombre rafters, that round him made Masses and moving shapes of shade,— By the trembling ladder, steep and tall, To the highest window in the wall, Where he paused to listen and look down A moment on the roofs of the town, And the moonlight flowing over all. Beneath, in the churchyard, lay the dead, In their night-encampment on the hill, Wrapped in silence so deep and still That he could hear, like a sentinel’s tread, The watchful night-wind, as it went Creeping along from tent to tent, And seeming to whisper, ‘All is well!’ A moment only he feels the spell Of the place and the hour, and the secret dread Of the lonely belfry and the dead; For suddenly all his thoughts are bent On a shadowy something far away, Where the river widens to meet the bay,— A line of black that bends and floats On the rising tide, like a bridge of boats. Meanwhile, impatient to mount and ride, Booted and spurred, with a heavy stride On the opposite shore walked Paul Revere. Now he patted his horse’s side, Now gazed at the landscape far and near,
Then, impetuous, stamped the earth, And turned and tightened his saddle-girth; But mostly he watched with eager search The belfry-tower of the Old North Church, As it rose above the graves on the hill, Lonely and spectral and sombre and still. And lo! as he looks, on the belfry’s height A glimmer, and then a gleam of light! He springs to the saddle, the bridle he turns, But lingers and gazes, till full on his sight A second lamp in the belfry burns! A hurry of hoofs in a village street, A shape in the moonlight, a bulk in the dark, And beneath, from the pebbles, in passing, a spark Struck out by a steed flying fearless and fleet; That was all! And yet, through the gloom and the light, The fate of a nation was riding that night; And the spark struck out by that steed, in his flight, Kindled the land into flame with its heat. He has left the village and mounted the steep, And beneath him, tranquil and broad and deep, Is the Mystic, meeting the ocean tides; And under the alders that skirt its edge, Now soft on the sand, now loud on the ledge, Is heard the tramp of his steed as he rides. It was twelve by the village clock, When he crossed the bridge into Medford town. He heard the crowing of the cock, And the barking of the farmer’s dog,
And felt the damp of the river fog, That rises after the sun goes down. It was one by the village clock, When he galloped into Lexington. He saw the gilded weathercock Swim in the moonlight as he passed, And the meeting-house windows, blank and bare, Gaze at him with a spectral glare, As if they already stood aghast At the bloody work they would look upon. It was two by the village clock, When he came to the bridge in Concord town. He heard the bleating of the flock, And the twitter of birds among the trees, And felt the breath of the morning breeze Blowing over the meadows brown. And one was safe and asleep in his bed. Who at the bridge would be first to fall, Who that day would be lying dead, Pierced by a British musket-ball. You know the rest. In the books you have read, How the British Regulars fired and fled,— How the farmers gave them ball for ball, From behind each fence and farm-yard wall, Chasing the red-coats down the lane, Then crossing the fields to emerge again Under the trees at the turn of the road, And only pausing to fire and load.
So through the night rode Paul Revere; And so through the night went his cry of alarm To every Middlesex village and farm,— A cry of defiance and not of fear, A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door And a word that shall echo forevermore! For, borne on the night-wind of the Past, Through all our history, to the last, In the hour of darkness and peril and need, The people will waken and listen to hear The hurrying hoof-beats of that steed, And the midnight message of Paul Revere. FAMOUS POETS
The Mountain and the Squirrel by Ralph Waldo Emerson The mountain and the squirrel Had a quarrel, And the former called the latter \"Little prig.\" Bun replied, You are doubtless very big; But all sorts of things and weather Must be taken in together To make up a year And a sphere. And I think it no disgrace To occupy my place. If I'm not so large as you, You are not so small as I, And not half so spry: I'll not deny you make A very pretty squirrel track. Talents differ; all is well and wisely put; If I cannot carry forests on my back, Neither can you crack a nut.
Wynken, Blynken, and Nod by Eugene Field Wynken, Blynken, and Nod one night Sailed off in a wooden shoe,-- Sailed on a river of crystal light Into a sea of dew. \"Where are you going, and what do you wish?\" The old moon asked the three. \"We have come to fish for the herring-fish That live in this beautiful sea; Nets of silver and gold have we,\" Said Wynken, Blynken, And Nod. The old moon laughed and sang a song, As they rocked in the wooden shoe; And the wind that sped them all night long Ruffled the waves of dew; The little stars were the herring-fish That lived in the beautiful sea. \"Now cast your nets wherever you wish,-- Never afraid are we!\" So cried the stars to the fishermen three, Wynken, Blynken, And Nod. All night long their nets they threw To the stars in the twinkling foam,--
Then down from the skies came the wooden shoe, Bringing the fishermen home: 'Twas all so pretty a sail, it seemed As if it could not be; And some folk thought 'twas a dream they'd dreamed Of sailing that beautiful sea; But I shall name you the fishermen three: Wynken, Blynken, And Nod. Wynken and Blynken are two little eyes, And Nod is a little head, And the wooden shoe that sailed the skies Is a wee one's trundle-bed; So shut your eyes while Mother sings Of wonderful sights that be, And you shall see the beautiful things As you rock in the misty sea Where the old shoe rocked the fishermen three:-- Wynken, Blynken, And Nod.
The Walrus and The Carpenter by Lewis Carroll The sun was shining on the sea, Shining with all his might: He did his very best to make The billows smooth and bright— And this was odd, because it was The middle of the night. The moon was shining sulkily, Because she thought the sun Had got no business to be there After the day was done— \"It's very rude of him,\" she said, \"To come and spoil the fun!\" The sea was wet as wet could be, The sands were dry as dry. You could not see a cloud, because No cloud was in the sky: No birds were flying overhead— There were no birds to fly. The Walrus and the Carpenter Were walking close at hand; They wept like anything to see Such quantities of sand: \"If this were only cleared away,\" They said, \"it would be grand!\"
\"If seven maids with seven mops Swept it for half a year. Do you suppose,\" the Walrus said, \"That they could get it clear?\" \"I doubt it,\" said the Carpenter, And shed a bitter tear. \"O Oysters, come and walk with us!\" The Walrus did beseech. \"A pleasant walk, a pleasant talk, Along the briny beach: We cannot do with more than four, To give a hand to each.\" The eldest Oyster looked at him, But never a word he said: The eldest Oyster winked his eye, And shook his heavy head— Meaning to say he did not choose To leave the oyster-bed. But four young Oysters hurried up, All eager for the treat: Their coats were brushed, their faces washed, Their shoes were clean and neat— And this was odd, because, you know, They hadn't any feet. Four other Oysters followed them, And yet another four; And thick and fast they came at last, And more, and more, and more—
All hopping through the frothy waves, And scrambling to the shore. The Walrus and the Carpenter Walked on a mile or so, And then they rested on a rock Conveniently low: And all the little Oysters stood And waited in a row. \"The time has come,\" the Walrus said, \"To talk of many things: Of shoes—and ships—and sealing-wax— Of cabbages—and kings— And why the sea is boiling hot— And whether pigs have wings.\" \"But wait a bit,\" the Oysters cried, \"Before we have our chat; For some of us are out of breath, And all of us are fat!\" \"No hurry!\" said the Carpenter. They thanked him much for that. \"A loaf of bread,\" the Walrus said, \"Is what we chiefly need: Pepper and vinegar besides Are very good indeed— Now if you're ready, Oysters dear, We can begin to feed.\" \"But not on us!\" the Oysters cried, Turning a little blue.
\"After such kindness, that would be A dismal thing to do!\" \"The night is fine,\" the Walrus said. \"Do you admire the view? \"It was so kind of you to come! And you are very nice!\" The Carpenter said nothing but \"Cut us another slice: I wish you were not quite so deaf— I've had to ask you twice!\" \"It seems a shame,\" the Walrus said, \"To play them such a trick, After we've brought them out so far, And made them trot so quick!\" The Carpenter said nothing but \"The butter's spread too thick!\" \"I weep for you,\" the Walrus said: \"I deeply sympathize.\" With sobs and tears he sorted out Those of the largest size, Holding his pocket-handkerchief Before his streaming eyes. \"O Oysters,\" said the Carpenter, \"You've had a pleasant run! Shall we be trotting home again?' But answer came there none— And this was scarcely odd, because They'd eaten every one.
Teddy Bear by A.A. Milne A bear, however hard he tries, Grows tubby without exercise. Our Teddy Bear is short and fat, Which is not to be wondered at; He gets what exercise he can By falling off the ottoman, But generally seems to lack The energy to clamber back. Now tubbiness is just the thing Which gets a fellow wondering; And Teddy worried lots about The fact that he was rather stout. He thought: \"If only I were thin! But how does anyone begin?\" He thought: \"It really isn't fair To grudge me exercise and air.\" For many weeks he pressed in vain His nose against the window-pane, And envied those who walked about Reducing their unwanted stout. None of the people he could see \"Is quite\" (he said) \"as fat as me!\" Then with a still more moving sigh, \"I mean\" (he said) \"as fat as I!\"
Now Teddy, as was only right, Slept in the ottoman at night, And with him crowded in as well More animals than I can tell; Not only these, but books and things, Such as a kind relation brings - Old tales of \"Once upon a time\", And history retold in rhyme. One night it happened that he took A peep at an old picture-book, Wherein he came across by chance The picture of a King of France (A stoutish man) and, down below, These words: \"King Louis So and So, Nicknamed 'The Handsome!' \" There he sat, And (think of it) the man was fat! Our bear rejoiced like anything To read about this famous King, Nicknamed the \"Handsome.\" Not a doubt The man was definitely stout. Why then, a bear (for all his tub) Might yet be named \"The Handsome Cub!\" \"Might yet be named.\" Or did he mean That years ago he \"might have been\"? For now he felt a slight misgiving: \"Is Louis So and So still living? Fashions in beauty have a way Of altering from day to day. Is 'Handsome Louis' with us yet? Unfortunately I forget.\"
Next morning (nose to window-pane) The doubt occurred to him again. One question hammered in his head: \"Is he alive or is he dead?\" Thus, nose to pane, he pondered; but The lattice window, loosely shut, Swung open. With one startled \"Oh!\" Our Teddy disappeared below. There happened to be passing by A plump man with a twinkling eye, Who, seeing Teddy in the street, Raised him politely on his feet, And murmured kindly in his ear Soft words of comfort and of cheer: \"Well, well!\" \"Allow me!\" \"Not at all.\" \"Tut-tut!\" A very nasty fall.\" Our Teddy answered not a word; It's doubtful if he even heard. Our bear could only look and look: The stout man in the picture-book! That \"handsome\" King - could this be he, This man of adiposity? \"Impossible,\" he thought. \"But still, No harm in asking. Yes, I will!\" \"Are you,\" he said, \"by any chance His Majesty the King of France?\" The other answered, \"I am that,\" Bowed stiffly, and removed his hat; Then said, \"Excuse me,\" with an air \"But is it Mr. Edward Bear?\"
And Teddy, bending very low, Replied politely, \"Even so!\" They stood beneath the window there, The King and Mr. Edward Bear, And, handsome, if a trifle fat, Talked carelessly of this and that ... Then said His Majesty, \"Well, well, I must get on,\" and rang the bell. \"Your bear, I think,\" he smiled. \"Good-day!\" And turned, and went upon his way. A bear, however hard he tries, Grows tubby without exercise. Our Teddy Bear is short and fat, Which is not to be wondered at. But do you think it worries him To know that he is far from slim? No, just the other way about - He's proud of being short and stout.
Friends by Abbie Farwell Brown How good to lie a little while And look up through the tree! The Sky is like a kind big smile Bent sweetly over me. The Sunshine flickers through the lace Of leaves above my head, And kisses me upon the face Like Mother, before bed. The Wind comes stealing o'er the grass To whisper pretty things; And though I cannot see him pass, I feel his careful wings. So many gentle Friends are near Whom one can scarcely see, A child should never feel a fear, Wherever he may be.
To You My Best Friend by Pablo Naroda The very first time the two of us met, We were caught in a friendship's net. You are I, together gelled so damn well, Every time I was in a fix I would ring your door bell, As time passed and we grew closer and closer, To the world outside, you gave me an easier exposure, You made me understand what is right and wrong, I have depended on your advice all my life along, I will always be thankful for moments we shared, They brought us closer to each other like butter and bread, And those crazy things we did together, Coz' they turned us into best friends forever!
My Best Friend ! by Jana C. Souder I can't give solutions to all of life's problems, doubts, or fears. But I can listen to you, and together we will search for answers. I can't change your past with all it's heartache and pain, nor the future with its untold stories. But I can be there now when you need me to care. I can't keep your feet from stumbling. I can only offer my hand that you may grasp it and not fall. Your joys, triumphs, successes, and happiness are not mine; Yet I can share in your laughter. Your decisions in life are not mine to make, nor to judge; I can only support you, encourage you, and help you when you ask. I can't prevent you from falling away from friendship, from your values, from me. I can only pray for you, talk to you and wait for you.
I can't give you boundaries which I have determined for you, But I can give you the room to change, room to grow, room to be yourself. I can't keep your heart from breaking and hurting, But I can cry with you and help you pick up the pieces and put them back in place. I can't tell you who you are. I can only love you and be your friend.
Short Poems Dreams By Langston Hughes Hold fast to dreams For if dreams die Life is a broken-winged bird That cannot fly. Hold fast to dreams For when dreams go Life is a barren field Frozen with snow
Hug O' War By Shel Silverstein I will not play at tug o' war. I'd rather play at hug o' war, Where everyone hugs Instead of tugs, Where everyone giggles And rolls on the rug, Where everyone kisses, And everyone grins, And everyone cuddles, And everyone wins STORY POEMS
NEEDLES IN THE STAND Sometimes it’s the first one we pick up…sometimes it’s the fourth or fifth…but when we find it…we mutually agree…for we always know when we have found our perfect Christmas tree. And though we know it is a symbol of what this season is meant to be…for us it is also a once a year representation of what has become…our family tree. In the bottom of our tree stand…over the years we have amassed…needles from old Christmas trees that will link this one with the past. As we string the lights and hang the ornaments we dance this beautiful ballet…and when our dance is over…we see our family on display. The story of our life…a wonderful life the two of us agree…told in all the ornaments hanging on our tree. We love to re-read the stories of the family we hold dear…as we add yet another chapter to our Christmas tree each year. And when this Christmas season is over and the new year’s about to dawn…we’ll smile as we pack away our ornaments…knowing our family story will go on. We will toast this years tree as we always do…with a celebratory quaff…knowing next year’s tree will pick up…where this year’s tree left off. And we’ll wonder what new stories we will add
to next year’s tree by hand… Perhaps that’s why we always leave some needles in the bottom of our stand. Old Gold Poet's Notes (Hide) I had for long been impoverished, as is often the case with writers, Though I worked most diligently, at times even pulling all-nighters. Rosy dreams kept me going, although times were frequently rough, As black night fuels its moonlight, lending reveries that turn to fluff. My friends and family tried to help, by permitting me frequent loans, As steady waves forever assist, to make hued pebbles out of stones. Each day I grew steadily older, however my life was going nowhere, Like smoke that rises toward heaven, then disappears into misty air! However, happy being creative, although bills were a constant worry, I endlessly wrote dramatic fiction, as cool snowflakes fall in a flurry. But rejection slips still piled up, despite a couple of minor successes. Whereas my dreams were unrealized, to me they were yet precious. As the
sun peeks over the horizon, just when aurora colors are flush, I knew beyond the shadow of all doubt, one day I would be famous! As moon never squanders night doubting, in her pearly moonbeams, But sends them roaming darkness, in silvery hours of sweet dreams. Yet one day the dark clouds came, as I abruptly lost a part time job; And pondered how to make ends meet, as blue skies turning apricot! But whenever times get tough, you absolutely keep moving forward, Exactly the same as time itself, and the forever it is moving toward. So, I determined to seek another job, following some spring cleaning. After mowing both the lawns, in bright flower beds I started weeding. I encountered a stubborn weed, and with the spade I vigorously dug, Until glinting sun revealed an object, dully shining, so I gave it a tug! In my hands I soon held a coin, about the size of a modern half dollar, It gleamed in afternoon's sun, embossed with a figure of great honor! It had a special amber look of gold, so that I was immensely intrigued, But the coin as I soon found out, was more valuable than I'd believed! It really was of the purest gold, and was created around the year 6 BC. And it easily sold for several million, and as finder, half belonged to me. As gray skies sometimes wait for days, for glad appearance of
the sun, Because a gloomy lack of brilliance, puts a cool damper on all the fun. My unusual story went around the world, then people knew my face, As shy moon ever hides in the dark, yet still is familiar in every place. Hooray! I could now devote time to writing, and I was already famous, Like blooms long famed for beauty, are ever feeling humanity's crush! Everyone was very thrilled for me, and I promptly paid back each loan, I helped loved ones in other ways, then remodeled my office at home. Like stars that rearrange themselves, over many dreamless millennia, 'Til after countless diamond ages, they find themselves in a new area. Although hard times often appear, there is no reason to give up hope, Good fortune once spanned long ages, as I neared the end of my rope!
Writing Unwraps My Soul Poet's Notes (Hide) Poetry is my soul, Poetry is my life! Writing is... what keeps me alive! An aquamarine waterfall of feelings descend from the innermost corner of my heart… unfolding the deepest thoughts, the loving thoughts, the glorious thoughts, the gloomiest thoughts… childhood memories float in tiny rainbow paper boats, dance on the softest petals of petite flowers emanating perfumes of arabia, serenade me away to the forest of dreams in a playful swing of my coral passions, weaving the tapestry of mysterious stories depicting eternal melody of love and loss. I am a Nightingale… singing a song of lavender dreams and hopes, under an ultramarine canvas blending turquoise sky and sapphire ocean, twilight moon flickering ribbons of love, my audience - the pearlescent clouds, gleaming stars, souls with a poetic heart! I write for myself, I write for you, I write for the future generations to come. My story is their story, my life is their life… The vermilion sky at dawn kindle an inspiration in me,
So do the gossamer rays of crimson twilight. humming river, cadence of ocean-waves, snow- capped mountain-peaks. Twittering birds, twinkling stars … History of human race …struggles and victories… Writing unwraps layers of my soul The Happy Snowman
Famous Poems Alzheimer's Journey by Ruth Murphy There are no more happy birthdays or happy anniversaries They are in the past now, just fading memories. This journey changes everything, nothing is the same The person you shared your life with no longer knows your name. Some friends who have known you no longer do you see What is the point, they say, he doesn't remember me. Don't ask him to remember, just reminisce stories of the past He will enjoy your company while that moment lasts. He sits alone in his room with no one else around I wonder what is on his mind, what memory has he found? He stands at the mirror conversing with a friend. He doesn't know the reflection speaking back is him. He whiles away the hours standing or sitting there Does he ever wonder why he is left alone right here? There are strangers who approach him wanting him
to go He is reluctant, they're people he doesn't know. They want him to shave & shower. He doesn't understand. Give him patience & comfort, try to hold his hand. Speak slowly & speak clearly, do not try to hurry Rushing this process will only cause him worry. Assure him he can do it himself, if he needs your help you're here. Let him have his dignity. It will alleviate his fear. Warm the water, close the curtain. Give him privacy Pass him soap & shampoo. He'll do a good job, you'll see. He spent his life with people, likes to interact pleasantly. When he's left alone in his room, there's no one there to see. His eyes light up with joy when little children come around He doesn't have to know them. It's happiness he's found. Come out to visit him, while away an hour. To provide company & happiness: it is your power. He is robbed of the future, can't remember the past Give him pleasure in the moment, is that too much to ask?
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