The Quarrel

It's spring! A great time to get rid of clutter in our homes.  I've got a pile of stuff waiting to be taken away. It feels so good to clear up space. I'm finding that some of it is still useful for others to use and other things, well, they are not. It's time to let them go. Which makes me think of something even more important than the junk that's in our house. I'm speaking of the junk in our hearts and our inner beings. I'm speaking of De-cluttering our hearts of things we need to let go of.

I'm posting two poems that will rock your socks off.  Literally. I'm serious.Though these poems were written for children, adults can relate to them too.

Today's poems talk about the secret to keeping good relationships, good.  To keep our relationships healthy most of need to use seven small words from time to time. "I'm sorry." "I was wrong." "Please forgive me.

If you think about it these seven small words hold a lot of power. By power I mean the power to heal. Anger, strife and pride hurt us more than we realize. They stop us from having rich and rewarding relationships all because we are too proud to turn back and apologize.

When we experience conflicts with someone and feel we are right, it's hard for us to see things any other way. Our emotions get the better of us and we can't see any way out of it but to become angry.

Take a moment and think about someone that you've had a conflict with. Could you use the power of these seven little words to fix it.

It's worth a try.  

The Quarrel

by Eleanor Farjeon

I quarrelled with my brother

I don't know what about,

One thing led to another

And somehow we fell out.

The start of it was slight,

The end of it was strong,

He said he was right,

I knew he was wrong!

We hated one another.

The afternoon turned black.

Then suddenly my brother

Thumped me on the back,

And said, "Oh, come along!

We can't go on all night-

I was in the wrong.'

So he was in the right.

  

The Silence

by John Mole

It wasn't your fault,

It was just the way

That things turned out

And I don't know why.

Nobody meant it

Whatever it was

That started the silence

All over the house.

Please don't go

But if you must

Then think of us sometimes.

You're the best.

Send me a postcard

(wish you were here)

And I'll believe you

Wherever you are.

Perhaps before long

The silence will break.

Every one's waiting

For you to speak.

Bee! I'm Expecting You!

It looks like spring and it feels like spring. Yet technically it's still winter. The weather is so warm we almost don't need a coat. The birds such as the robins are also back and busy collecting straw and building nests. I love it.
To greet the spring I found a poem by Emily Dickinson an American poet. She wrote a lot of poetry but it wasn't until her death in 1866 that the scope of her work was realized, when her sister Lavinia found her poems in her dresser drawer. Only 10 of her 1,700 poems were published during her lifetime. I guess good things come from the most unassuming people.

Bee! I'm Expecting You!

Bee! I'm expecting you!
Was saying yesterday
to somebody you know
that you were due-

The frogs got home last week-
are settled, and at work-
birds, mostly black-
the clover warm and thick-

You'll get my letter by
the seventeenth; Reply
Or better, be with me-
Yours, Fly.

Stork Story

If you're feeling old have I got a poem for you. I've recently become a great aunt. My brother had the honor of becoming a grandfather. I chose this poem because I enjoy Shel Silverstein. He's too funny. And kids really love his books. I have several. They make me laugh out loud and have an element of whimsy knit through it that borders on brilliance. Though Shel Silverstein died a few years ago, his words will live on for a long time, I suspect. 
I hope you enjoy this poem.

Stork Story

You know the stork brings babies,
But did you also know
He comes and gets the older folks
When it's their time to go?

Zooms right down and scoops them up,
Then flaps back out the door
And flies them to the factory where
They all were made before.

And there their skin is tightened up,
Their muscles all are toned,
Their wrinkles all are ironed out,
They're given brand-new bones.

Ol' bent backs are straghtened up,
New teeth are added too,
Tired hearts are all repaired
And made to work like new.

Their memeories are all removed
And they're shrunk down, and then
The stork flies them back down to earth
As newborn babes again.

Change!

Life keeps changing and change is part of life. Just look at the seasons that come and go. Lately the weather has been so unpredictable that I never know what I will see out my window in the morning. Snow, rain, fog, or sunshine! 

It's interesting when people fight change. Such as small towns that want to continue operating as they have always done and resist change when a taxpayer has a better idea on how to do things. Or, in an old established organization a new leader sees ways to make things more efficient. Often they are met with the established group resisting change.
But, whether we like it or not people need change. A healthy marriage needs change if it wants to stay healthy. A good teacher needs to find better ways to teach. Science discoveries are being made every day which can improve the lives of many people. Business won't survive if it doesn't change. And government policies constantly need an overhaul because society is changing.

Off course, change is not always the best. Today, I want to give you two poems that talk about change. Good and bad change. I'll let you decide what is good or bad change.

Written by Carl Sandburg, born in 1878, in Illinois, USA, son of a Swedish blacksmith. Studied journalism in Milwaukee and Chicago. He travelled about the country earning a living by singing and reciting poetry. I wonder how he would have been received if he had lived in today's world.

BUFFALO DUSK

The buffaloes are gone.
And those who saw the buffaloes are gone.
Those who saw the buffaloes by thousands and how they
pawed the prairie sod into dust with their hoofs, their
great heads down pawing on in a great pageant of dusk,
Those who saw the buffaloes are gone.
And the buffaloes are gone.

THE HARBOUR

Passing through huddled and ugly walls
By doorways where women
Looked from their hunger-deep eyes,
Haunted with shadows of hunger-hands,
Out from the huddled and ugly walls,
I came sudden, at the city's edge,
On a blue burst of lake,
Long lake waves breaking under the sun
On a spray-flung curve of shore;
And a fluttering storm of gulls,
Masses of great grey wings
And flying white bellies
Veering and wheeling free in the open.

Lost-Missing a sense of humor

How are your bones feeling today? Do they need to be tickled?

I once believed that happiness was an elusive emotion that only lucky people, who had never experienced any type of pain, were able to enjoy. Of course, that was when I was young and ignorant of real life. Now that I've had to endure a few maturity molding experiences, I realize that everyone can feel happiness, if they desire. 

A sense of humor can help to make a bad situation turn around for good. It's really is all about how we look at things. In Proverbs 17:22, King Solomon states that "A merry heart does good, like medicine, but a broken spirit dries the bones."

It's really up to each of us to cultivate joy in our souls, hearts, and minds, and to pass it along to others. Happiness needs to be shared. I don't mean that one should brag of their successes or, to boast of their material possessions but, rather to share the joys of what we have in common. The things that make us smile and laugh.

I want to leave you with a poem that Julie Andrews, (from the Sound of Music) a singer and actress wrote. She wrote a lot of neat poems and I'd like to share this one with you. I hope it makes you smile.

Missing

I've lost my sense of humor,
It fell into a well.
That's full of dark self-pity,
As far as I can tell.

I'm glared at by the children.
I'm yelled at by the boss
And every little word I say
Makes everybody cross.

I'd run away and not come back
It it would do some good.
But nobody would notice
So I don't think I should.

I miss my sense of humor
And if, by chance, you see
It peeking round a corner
Please send it back to me.

A sleepless night

This poem comes from a book entitled Julie Andrew's collection of Poems, Songs, and Lullabies.

Little did I know that I would use the advice in this poem when my son came to me in the middle of the night telling me he couldn't sleep. He was worrying about our truck breaking down this weekend and thought he was responsible. I knew he wasn't. I suggested he think of an episode we had recently watched together called Man in a hurry from an Andy Griffith's DVD collection. (I love the old sitcoms.) He said okay and went to back to bed.

In Man in a hurry a stranger drives by the town of Mayberry on a Sunday when his car suddenly breaks down. He desperately tries to get his car fixed but everybody he meets in Mayberry is enjoying the day. No one understands this city man's hurry. You could feel the stranger's tension by his movements and the words he says when he becomes frustrated with the sheriff Andy Taylor, Aunt Bea and Barney while they peel apples, eat ice cream and sing on the porch. The man in a hurry angrily tells them that their town is behind the times.

When his car is finally fixed, to his amazement there is no charge for the car repairs. It was a pleasure for Gomer and Goober to fix it and they even took liberty to take a picture of themselves standing next to it. Andy tells the man he can stay the night if he likes and leave in the morning.

The man declines and eagerly starts his car. Aunt Bea rushes inside and comes out again with a lunch bag of chicken for him to eat on the way. Opie gives him his special penny for good luck. Andy then tells him to drop by anytime when he comes through again. As the man looks at everyone waving and smiling at him he suddenly realizes what a lovely place Mayberry is and he wants to stay for the night. He makes up an excuse why he can't leave. Andy catches on to man's excuss. Soon after they resume listening to Andy play the guitar and the man falls asleep on the porch with a peeled apple in his hand. 

Now wouldn't that put you to sleep.

The Trick

One night, when I couldn't sleep,
My dad said
Think of the tomatoes in the greenhouse

and I did.
It wasn't the same as counting sheep
Or anything like that.

It was just not being in my room forever
On a hot bed
Restless, turning and turning,

But out there, with the patient gaze of moonlight
Blessing each ripe skin
and our old zinc watering-can with its sprinkler,

Shining through a clear glass pane
Which slowly clouded over into
Drowsy, comfortable darkness

Till I woke and came downstairs to breakfast
Saying Thank you, Dad,
I thought of them. It did the trick.

by John Mole 

Any Little Old Song

After experiencing feelings of waning interest, I've decided I would keep working on this blog. But to make it interesting and easier for me, I'm going to do it differently. Instead of interjecting my own ramblings about life, I'm going to post a poem someone else wrote. I hope it will lift people's hearts and provide intellectual stimulation. If I have information about the author I will add that. So here is the first poem to start things off.

Written by Thomas Hardy (1840-1928) born in Dorset, England. He wrote about 1,000 poems and earned several honorary degrees. Hardy never received the recognition due him for his poetic form and is considered one of the great influences on modern English poetry.

Any Little Old Song

Any little old song
will do for me,
Tell it of joys gone long,
or joys to be,
or friendly faces best
loved to see.

Newest themes I want not
On subtle strings,
and for thrillings pant not
that new song brings:
I only need the homeliest
of heart-stirrings.

Thomas Hardy