Author Unknown

Have you ever heard of Author Unknown? Do you know anyone who has ever met him or her? Have you ever thought about how many centuries this individual has lived? (You think I jest!)

It is somewhat astounding to consider the number of truly profound and mostly inspiring poems written by this Unknown "character."

Here are just 3 Unknown thought provokers that I particularly enjoy -- especially at this time of year when our kindness and consideration barometers might be pushed to their limits.
  

Charity

There is so much good in the worst of us,
And so much bad in the best of us,
That it ill behooves any of us
To find fault with the rest of us.

Pray Don't Find Fault

Pray don't find fault with the man who limps
or stumbles along the road,
unless you have worn the shoes he wears
or struggled beneath his load.
There may be tacks in his shoes that hurt,
though hidden away from view,
or the burden he bears, placed on your back
might cause you to stumble too.

Don't sneer at the man who's down today
unless you have felt the blow
that caused his fall or felt the shame
that only the fallen know.
You may be strong, but still the blows
that were his, if dealt to you
in the selfsame way, at the selfsame time,
might cause you to stagger too.

Don't be too harsh with the man who sins
or pelt him with word or stone,
unless you are sure, yea, doubly sure,
that you have no sins of your own.
For you know perhaps if the tempter's voice
should whisper as softly to you
as it did to him when he went astray,
it might cause you to stumble too.

High Resolve

I'll hold my candle high, and then
Perhaps I'll see the hearts of men
Above the sordidness of life,
Beyond misunderstandings, strife.
Though many deeds that others do
Seem foolish, rash and sinful too,
Just who am I to criticize
What I perceive with my dull eyes?
I'll hold my candle high, and then,
                                 Perhaps I'll see the hearts of men.

Birth Order Funk

Birth order isn't important
To a juggernaut,
An umlaut,
To sauerkraut,
Or even an argonaut.

But it's important to me.

And, the order of birth doesn't matter
To a patter,
A shatter,
To splatter,
Or even a cake batter.

But it matters to me.

The order of one's birth brings revelry
To a rivalry,
And chivalry
To devilry,
Or even a call for the cavalry.

So should it be -- to me!
(Inspired by Lisa Cihlar, poet and friend.)

"S" is for Sanctuary

Wooded Refuge

 ~ Safe
        Asylum
             Not 
                  Contained 
                       Taunts 
                            Until
                                 A   
                                     Refuge 
                                          Yields  ~

"P" is for Punky's Dilemma

Click here for more lyrics from Bookends

Ever since I first heard this song, I liked it. Especially the part about the toaster...ease myself down, comin' up brown. I mean, how cool is that! I pictured myself getting a scrumptious tan -- for just once in my life. I was about 18. That seemed to be a big deal at the time.

Well, here are the lyrics, taken right off the original Bookends album by Simon and Garfunkle.

Punky's Dilemma (2:17)
P. Simon, 1968 

Wish I was a Kellogg's Cornflake
Floatin' in my bowl takin' movies
Relaxin' a while, livin' in style
Talkin' to a raisin who 'casionally plays L.A.
Casually glancing at his toupee 

Wish I was an English muffin
'Bout to make the most out of a toaster
I'd ease myself down
Comin' up brown
I prefer boysenberry
More than any ordinary jam
I'm a "Citizens for Boysenberry Jam" fan 

Ah, South California 

If I become a first lieutenant
Would you put my photo on your piano?
"To Maryjane-
Best wishes, Martin"
(Old Roger draft-dodger
Leavin' by the basement door)
Everybody knows what he's
Tippy-toeing down there for 

In comments, leave the title to one of your favorite nostalgic songs and a link to the lyrics for myself and others to check out :~)

"B" is for...The Bittersweet Backfire of Itsy Bitsy

Kindergarten has very Bittersweet memories for me. With a heartfelt smile, I can still recall my first at-school friend, Sheila. I even remember where she lived, although I was never at her house. Sheila and I really liked doing one particular song together, especially with the cute little hand gestures:

   The Itsy Bitsy spider went up the water spout.
   Down came the rain, and washed the spider out.
   Up came the sun, and dried up all the rain,
   And the Itsy Bitsy spider went up the spout again.

When all of us had finished our task for the day from our workbooks, Sheila and I would often be the first ones to grab the crayons and coloring books, pull up our chairs to one of the tables in the main room, and work at showing off our artistic abilities.

In the free-play room next door, there was a vast array of toys to pick from for indoor physical play. Because I much preferred the outdoor playground, I spent very little time there. Besides, the most dreaded of all kindergarten activities happened in that second room -- nap time.

We each had a fringed rag rug, rolled up and tucked away in its own little niche along one wall of that playroom. When nap time was announced, we soon learned it meant to quietly put all toys away and take our rugs out of their cubbies. Then we were to carry the drooping fringed mass over to our predetermined napping spot and roll it out. I always placed mine next to Sheila's.

First, we'd have storytime while sitting cross-legged on our colorful rugs. Then, when the book closed, we were to lie down and close our eyes -- and keep them closed until the teacher came back into the room. She usually went through our workbooks at her desk in the other room while we napped. For assurance, she would always appoint one child as monitor of the sleepy-time room.

Oh...to be Monitor! When you were the monitor, you got to sit on the storybook chair and watch to see if anyone opened their eyes or moved off their mat. When the teacher came back, she would always ask you for a report. Then you had to decide whether to tattle or not.

Finally it was my turn -- I was picked to sit on the honored chair. I got up from my soft rug next to Sheila, and even moved the chair slightly towards her. There she lay -- quietly, eyes closed, on her own little red, blue and gray rag rug. Wasn't she going to peek at me? I always peek at her when she monitors, I thought. But she didn't open her eyes.

Now, this was a true dilemma. Monitors were not allowed to touch any classmate -- no matter what. But I wanted to poke her so she'd look at me. So, I got to thinking...if I was just innocently swinging my feet, because they don't reach the floor, and one foot accidentally brushed her arm...

Yep. You guessed it. I did just that -- but I bumped my Itsy Bitsy partner just a little too hard. Sheila let out a ye-ouch! causing the teacher to come flying into the room, and then...I couldn't believe it! Sheila tattled! And...she dared to say that I kicked her! Can you believe it!? I felt betrayed.

My wonderfully crafted plan to get my new at-school friend to just look at me, went terribly awry -- just like the spider's plan in the song. Of course, I denied it all. Claimed I was just swinging my feet, and hadn't even realized I had touched her until she yelled out. What a Backfire! And to think it even ended our Itsy Bitsy partnership! This was definitely...

                         The Bittersweet Backfire of Itsy Bitsy.

It's in the Rewrites

To All who commented on "A Guy Named Nes" ~

The votes are persuading me...along with all the laughter.

And besides, the first one isn't even a true limerick...I just got attached to it because it was my first one in nearly 50 years. Sort of like a first draft manuscript (sigh).

And, I've always said that what makes a *good* writer -- *GREAT* -- is/are...

...the RE-WRITES!!

So...I'm conceding after strong, detached consideration:

And...(drum roll)..............................................#2 gets it!

(whatever "it" is. lol)

A Guy Named Nes

Once again I was given a writing prompt on Facebook from my dear friend and published poet, Lisa Cihlar. She asked her friends to "write a poem about Wednesday" (today). Of course, I couldn't resist, so I decided on limerick style:

A Guy Named Nes - 

There once was a guy named Nes,

Who thought it his only biz,

To wed him a lay

Whose name was Day

And that's how we got Wed-Nes-Day.

As my manner is, I had to look up limericks to see if I did it right. Well, those of you who know this sort of thing probably already saw that my last line doesn't rhyme with the first two. Okay. So it's tweaked. But what I think rather interesting is that I haven't written a limerick for nearly 50 years, yet I somehow remembered the cadence.

The mind is a very intriguing part of our soul. Trivia - like a limerick's cadence - can surprisingly appear, when much more important matters seem to elude us. At times we're able to push for answers to what seems to be the most difficult of problems, while the simplest of issues remains without understanding. 

With our powerful thinker we can choose to stir up trouble or resolve differences, feel defeat or scale mountains, zone out or imagineer, remember our hurts or forgive and forget. And it is with the innermost part of that same mind - the heart - that we decide to care and to give and to love. Yes. What a very intriguing part of our soul the mind is! 

A Guy Named Nes

There once was a gal named Day,

Who wanted a really good lay,

To wed was the best

A guy named Nes --

And that's how we got Wed-Nes-Day!

(There...it's done...but I still think the first one's better :~) LOL)

(Wedding pictures courtesy of www.weddingcollectibles.com)

Make Your Day

Today is simply one of those days when reading from The Book of Psalms early this morning did my soul good, like Psalm 103, and remembering not to give up - ever - is a good decision.

You Mustn't Quit
                            ~ Author Unknown 

When things go wrong, as they sometimes will,
When the road you're trudging seems all uphill,
When the funds are low and the debts are high
And you want to smile, but you have to sigh,
When care is pressing you down a bit,
Rest! if you must--but never quit.

Life is queer, with its twists and turns,
As every one of us sometimes learns,
And many a failure turns about
When he might have won if he'd stuck it out;
Stick to your task, though the pace seems slow--
You may succeed with one more blow.

Success is failure turned inside out--
The silver tint of the clouds of doubt--
And you never can tell how close you are,
It may be near when it seems afar;
So stick to the fight when you're hardest hit--
It's when things seem worst that YOU MUSTN'T QUIT.

Make your day - as I will mine - one of success :~)

Without

I now live life
Without
So many things:
Without
Unhappiness
Without
Great heaviness
Without
Hate's cold embrace
Without
Indifference
Without
Prejudice, and
Without
Those small regrets.

 (Written from Lisa Cihlar's prompt "small regrets or small egrets - your choice.")

I'm Not Heavy... It's My Heart

Heaviness comes in different sized packages with a vast array of trimmings. But no matter what the shape or content, it will make an individual feel small, and at times, insignificant. It is really nice to know there is a way to remedy it.

                       Heaviness in the heart of man maketh it stoop: 

                                 but a good word maketh it glad.

Quite some time ago, I was given the challenge of learning how to lay fresh sod. I had to travel on the back of a flatbed truck to the sod site, load the rolls onto the truck, ride back to the landscape site, unload and roll out the sod, then carefully tuck in all the seams. There was one tiny detail I hadn't given any thought to - the area had just endured one of its worst torrential downpours in years! 

I had to draw on a lot of my core principles that day - like mental stamina and how to pace myself. The sod was very heavy. It took 2 to 3 people just to load and unload each and every roll! By the end of the day, my mud-caked boots and throbbing legs were telling me that plodding through mud was far more than just a cliche.

That was the same year (my early 40's) when I had the opportunity to snowshoe for the first time - with a 15-20 pound day pack at nearly 10,000 feet in the Colorado Rockies. "What a blast!" I thought...until I discovered how much snow accumulates on top of each snowshoe after every 3 or 4 steps. No biggy. You just shake your foot to flip it off and keep moving.

Unless, of course, the snow happens to be ultra-sticky.

That little day pack began to feel terribly heavy after navigating a couple thousand feet of steep uphill terrain, causing my entire body to bend forward, stooping under the "load." Finally, my shortness of breath convinced me. I wasn't just carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders, but like the mythical Atlas, it was the entire celestial sphere!

I recovered from both of those adventures in pretty much the same way - by indulging myself with a lingering steam bath and cool-down shower, followed by a scrumptious meal, and a night of leisure with a good movie and my closest friends. There were lots of good words being shared about what I had accomplished, making my heart quite glad and proud of myself.

Yet the plodding in mud is felt by everyone at different times. The toil, and at times the drudge in life - as if painfully tramping through mire and wet. Or perhaps it's the weight of the world that's felt - being burdened with too much responsibility for a single person to bare. We may not always have the opening to make a heart glad with a good word, but I believe I have found the next best thing...

                                          The Value of a Smile

                                                       ~ Anonymous

My Daughter & her Friend

It costs nothing, but creates much.

It happens in a flash,

And the memory sometimes lasts forever.

It cannot be bought, begged, borrowed or stolen,

And it is of no earthly good to anyone,

Until it is given away.

So, if in your hurry and rush,

                                          You meet someone who is too weary

                                          To give you a smile -- leave one of yours.

                                          For there is no one on earth who needs a smile

                                          Quite as much as he who has none left to give.

Persnickety

Hi all. My primary reason for posting this is simply to say, "I was here." For the past week my thoughts have had to turn to budget planning. Unless I harness both my time and money, I will not have the energy to go where my vision wants to take me.

Meanwhile...written from a poetry prompt just for fun, and dedicated to all cats who demand to be let outside, then refuse to go when they find out how blistery it is:

Persnickety

I would never unlock the door for
Persnickety the cat -
That high-minded, snooty, and snitty,
Double-minded li'l "brat."
Until he learns how to treat me right,
That I am where it's at,
He can just dream from the window sill,
And that's enough of that!

Okay, you've probably already guessed...I don't own a cat. But, since I did at one time, I feel I have "rites of passage" on this one. And besides, I have a dog that when she insists she has to go out to relieve herself, I hook up the leash and escort her out back, just to find out all she wanted was to eat snow! And, of course, by that time I'm about to freeze my you-know-what off. Yeah, I know,...guess it makes me out to be a faux cat owner that's easily faux'd by a dog. Somehow, it seems there should be a lesson in there, somewhere...but, just to be real...I don't see it :~)

Just a Little Bit More, Huh!

Okay, I've made claims that I am (or was) a poet, so I figure I had better come clean or produce some evidence. This one has been my most controversial, with the need for a little deeper thinking than one may realize at first glance.  It's easy to assume I'm speaking of a baby dying, but am I?

Perpetuation

The first breath of spring
And baby's first cry,
God's blessed that couple
I wonder why?

Love holds many wonders
When the young are in mind,
Engagement then marriage
And fam'lies left behind.

The cold wind of winter
And baby's last cry,
Is God an Indian giver?
One would wonder why?


I actually do have a lighter side; for example:

The Gallant Knight

He looked so fair
Upon his young mare
So gallantly charging.
The crowds all cheering
His enemy sneering
As he came bravely on.

His horse - it reared
As the black knight neared
And he raised his gleaming lance.
One or two blows?
Nobody knows
Save a maiden who misses her Jon.

All for now... I will need to work on this just a little bit more, huh!