Poem of the Week

Landscape

By Carl Sandburg

See the trees lean to the wind’s way of leaning
See the dirt of the hills shape to the water’s
way of learning
See the lift of it all go the way the biggest
wind and the strongest water want it.

Poem of the Week

For 9/11, Jack Buck’s poem

Since this nation was founded … under God
More than 200 years ago
We have been the bastion of freedom
The light that keeps the free world aglow
We do not covet the possessions of others
We are blessed with the bounty we share.

We have rushed to help other nations
… anything … anytime … anywhere.

War is just not our nature
We won’t start … but we will end the fight
If we are involved we shall be resolved
To protect what we know is right.

We have been challenged by a cowardly foe
Who strikes and then hides from our view.

With one voice we say, “There is no choice today,
There is only one thing to do.

Everyone is saying — the same thing — and praying
That we end these senseless moments we are living.

As our fathers did before … we shall win this unwanted war
And our children … will enjoy the future … we’ll be giving.

Poem of the Week

Doors

By Carl Sandburg
An open door says, “Come in.”
A shut door says, “Who are you?”
Shadows and ghosts go through shut doors.
If a door is shut and you want it shut,
     why open it?
If a door is open and you want it open,
     why shut it?
Doors forget but only doors know what it is
     doors forget.

Poem of the Week

Evening Primrose

by John Clare

When once the sun sinks in the west,
And dewdrops pearl the evening’s breast;
Almost as pale as moonbeams are,
Or its companionable star,
The evening primrose opes anew
Its delicate blossoms to the dew;
And, hermit-like, shunning the light,
Wastes its fair bloom upon the night,
Who, blindfold to its fond caresses,
Knows not the beauty it possesses;
Thus it blooms on while night is by;
When day looks out with open eye,
Bashed at the gaze it cannot shun,
It faints and withers and is gone.

Poem of the Week

We Remember Them

In the rising of the sun and its going down,
We Remember Them.
In the blowing of the wind and in the chill of winter,
We Remember Them.

In the opening of the buds and in the rebirth of spring.
We Remember Them.

In the blueness of the skies and in the warmth of summer,
We Remember Them.

In the rustling of the leaves and in the beauty of autumn.
We Remember Them.

In the beginning of the year and when it ends,
We Remember Them.

When we are weary and in need of strength,
We Remember Them.

When we are lost and sick of heart,
We Remember Them.

When we have joys and special celebrations we yearn to share,
We Remember Them.

So long as we live, they too shall live, for they are part of us.
We Remember Them.

By Rabbi Sylvan Kamens

Sepia Saturday

Sepia Saturday Theme Image 470 : 18 May 2019

I admit the last two Sepia Saturday prompts stumped me, but this one I’ve got. I had no problems finding photos of glorious ships from the past.

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Library of Congress, circa 1915

I’d love to take a voyage in one of these.

Västra Götaland, Göteborg, Göteborg, Västergötland, Övrigt-Sjöfart

Swedish National Heritage Board, 1933

O Captain! My Captain!

O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done,
The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won,
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills,
For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding,
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head!
It is some dream that on the deck,
You’ve fallen cold and dead.

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still,
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will,
The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done,
From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won;
Exult O shores, and ring O bells!
But I with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

Walt Whitman

Photograph

Australian Maritime Museum, 1915

Poem of the Week

wine-1788256_1280

Hence Burgundy, Claret, and Port

by John Keats

Hence burgundy, claret, and port,
Away with old hock and madeira!
Too earthly ye are for my sport;
There’s a beverage brighter and clearer!
Instead of a pitiful rummer,
My wine overbrims a whole summer;
My bowl is the sky,
And I drink at my eye,
Till I feel in the brain
A Delphian pain –
Then follow, my Caius, then follow!
On the green of the hill,
We will drink our fill
Of golden sunshine,
Till our brains intertwine
With the glory and grace of Apollo!