Gettin’ together to smile an’ rejoice, An’ eatin’ an’ laughin’ with folks of your choice; An’ kissin’ the girls an’ declarin’ that they Are growin’ more beautiful day after day; Chattin’ an’ braggin’ a bit with the men, Buildin’ the old family circle again; Livin’ the wholesome an’ old-fashioned cheer, Just for awhileat theend of the year.
Greetings fly fast as we crowd through the door And under the old roof we gather once more Just as we did when the youngsters were small; Mother’s a little bit grayer, that’s all. Father’s a little bit older, but still Ready to romp an’ to laugh with a will. Here we are back at the table again Tellin’ our stories as women an’ men.
Bowed are our heads for a moment in prayer; Oh, but we’re grateful an’ glad to be there. Home from the east land an’ home from the west, Home with the folks that are dearest an’ best. Out of the sham of the cities afar We’ve come for a time to be just what we are. Here we can talk of ourselves an’ be frank, Forgettin’ position an’ station an’ rank.
Give me the end of the year an’ its fun When most of the plannin’ an’ toilin’ is done; Bring all the wanderers home to the nest, Let me sit down with the ones I love best, Hear the old voices still ringin’ with song, See the old faces unblemished by wrong, See the old table with all of its chairs An’ I’ll put soul in my Thanksgivin’ prayers.
Sketch for “MOON” – Oct. 18, 2021 – VN A recent sketch I did, inspired by the October 18 Inktober prompt MOON, reminds me of a favourite poem I memorized when I was a youngster. Maybe it’s a favourite of yours too. SILVER Slowly, silently, now the moonWalks the night in her silver shoon;This way, […]
Double, double toil and trouble; Fire burn and caldron bubble. Fillet of a fenny snake, In the caldron boil and bake; Eye of newt and toe of frog, Wool of bat and tongue of dog, Adder’s fork and blind-worm’s sting, Lizard’s leg and howlet’s wing, For a charm of powerful trouble, Like a hell-broth boil and bubble.
Double, double toil and trouble; Fire burn and caldron bubble. Cool it with a baboon’s blood, Then the charm is firm and good.
This is for the moments that formed into seasons, the days of grief that spilled into months This is for the days when you forgetthat darkness holds no water in your souland the deep end will not swallow you whole When your heart hangs by a threadAnd agony stands ten-feet tall, whisper: In this sea […]
Have you ever heard the wind go “Yooooo”? ’Tis a pitiful sound to hear! It seems to chill you through and through With a strange and speechless fear. ’Tis the voice of the night that broods outside When folks should be asleep, And many and many’s the time I’ve cried To the darkness brooding far and wide Over the land and the deep: “Whom do you want, O lonely night, That you wail the long hours through?” And the night would say in its ghostly way, “Yoooooooo! Yoooooooo! Yoooooooo!”
My mother told me long ago (When I was a little lad) That when the night went wailing so, Somebody had been bad; And then, when I was snug in bed, Whither I had been sent, With the blankets pulled up round my head, I’d think of what my mother’d said, And wonder what boy she meant! And, “Who’s been bad today?” I’d ask Of the wind that hoarsely blew, And the voice would say in its meaningful way, “Yoooooooo! Yoooooooo! Yoooooooo!”
That this was true I must allow — You’ll not believe it, though! Yes, though I’m quite a model now, I was not always so. And if you doubt what things I say, Suppose you make the test; Suppose, when you’ve been bad some day And up to bed are sent away From mother and the rest — Suppose you ask, “Who has been bad?” And then you’ll hear what’s true, For the wind will moan in its ruefulest tone: “Yoooooooo! Yoooooooo! Yoooooooo!”
every day that passesleaves a stainthat just won’t rub offthe sky overcastbad weather creeping inand my oh mythis livinggets harderevery day that comesthat goesand here we arestanding eighton chosen ground
You made me laugh, Summer, you’re my dreamI slept with you, with you I wake. My insides are soooo big, the worldfits in, next to you.O my spikeless, cornerless, lingering lovemy self as withered as a summer leaf. translated by George Messo
It was at a wine party— I lay in a drowse, knowing it not. The blown flowers fell and filled my lap. When I arose, still drunken, The birds had all gone to their nests, And there remained but few of my comrades. I went along the river—alone in the moonlight.