Poetry and Potpourri .... October 24-25-26, 2003

10-24-2003 | JustAmy, St.Louie1 and Mama_Bear

[JustAmy]

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The Poetry Branch has been in limbo since the prior hostess left FreeRepublic April 15th 2003. We've since learned that said hostess has lost her posting privilege. That being the case, and Jim Robinson having given his ok, I wanted to renew the thread.

FreeRepublic is blessed with many fine poets, and we look forward to seeing their poems posted on FR once again. There were many non-poet FReepers who visited the Poetry Branch for the camaraderie; we hope they will return.

I would like to invite everyone to visit and relax at Poetry and Potpourri. Hopefully you will renew old acquaintances for chatting, sharing jokes, telling stories, posting cartoons, etc. Everyone needs a place to escape from the everyday news, make Poetry and Potpourri that place.

...................

The Belvedere's Guardian Wolf ~
the always charming, lovable, huggable,
LouieWolf.

[PoorMuttly]

NUTS !...I mean RATS...I mean SQUIRRELS!!!

Muttly's Master gave him his old (my First!) computer...(something about The Kibble Syndrome...and claw-holes in keys after 9-11)...which Muttly of-course hot-rodded into the Official MuttlySuperIBM-BrainComputer...which now has an audio problem....but think will work later...

Rocky exceptional rodent...like Muttly exceptional...whatever he is...

[Jen]

I'll have to make the Skwerl Souffle for you tomorrow Muttly since all the skwerls are in their nests now and I don't have any left in the freezer. Unless you can climb trees? In the dark. You are so exceptional... can you do that? Or maybe with your Marsupial dog genes, you could jump high enough and grab some skwerls out of the 100-foot pine trees and stuff them in your pouch? Maybe if you use a trampoline? ;-)

[PoorMuttly]

We have our ways.

(easy on the pouch stuff...it's a profesional secret)

[Jen]

OK, it's our secret. My lips are sealed. Wild rabid Skwerls couldn't drag that secret info from me. Nope. Not to worry. Never gonna let anybody know about your special pouch errrrr... 'pocket'. Heh! How about that one. Good save, eh?

[PoorMuttly]

Close...very close.

[Alamo-Girl]

Thank y'all so very much for the wonderful poems! Hugs!

[Calpernia]

Good night to Potpourri!

[Jen]

Good night Calpernia and Potpourri FRiends!

[larryjohnson]

Birthday Dash

Born in Barbell Town in Thirty Seven,
Obsessed with bodies ever since,
Retired in what is widow haven.
They want to travel Rut Sixty Six.

[JustAmy]

Another Dream

When one dream has ended
And the dark settles in
Look quickly above you
Grab a star and a pen

The starlight will guide you
The pen you will take
And begin a new story
Leaving out all heartbreak

Just open a suitcase
And save a few thoughts
Of times you can remember
Without feeling lost

Then start a new journey
Look up at the sky
You'll find your direction
And new wings to fly

Karen Shaw Matteson
©2001

[SheLion]

Good MORNING Amy! Good MORNING everyone!!!!!!

[JustAmy]

Thanks be to thee, my Lord Jesus Christ,
For all the benefits thou hast won for me,
For all the pains and insults thou hast borne for me.

O most merciful Redeemer, Friend, and Brother,
May I know thee more clearly,
Love thee more dearly,
And follow thee more nearly:
For ever and ever.

prayer of St Richard of Chichester - 1197-1253

[JustAmy]

A beautiful Sunday Good Morning, SheLion!
Hope you have a wonderful day.

[JustAmy]

Friends Are Like Angels
by: Emily Matthews, Wendy's Page

Our friends are like angels,
Who brighten our days.
In all kinds of wonderful,
Magical ways.
Their thoughtfulness comes,
As a gift from above.
And we feel we're surrounded,
By warm, caring love.
Like upside-down rainbows,
Their smiles bring the sun.
And they fill ho-hum moments,
With laughter and fun.
Friends are like angels,
Without any wings.
Blessing our lives,
With the most precious things!

[JustAmy]

By day the bat is cousin to the mouse.
He likes the attic of an aging house.
His fingers make a hat about his head.
His pulse is so slow we think him dead.
He loops in crazy figures half the night.
Among the trees that face the corner light.
But when he brushes up against a screen,
We are afraid of what our eyes have seen:
For something is amiss or out of place>BR? When mice with wings can wear a human face.

-Theodore Roethke

[LibertyBelt]

Game Six

Here within this holy ground
the ace ascends the hallowed mound.

The slugger comes to stand his ground
amidst the roar and might sound.

He steps inside the sacred box
where mighty men have beat the Sox.

Batter up! The pitch is fast:
the tension builds; it cannot last.

The fans are nuts; the air is thick,
and Satan comes to play his trick.

Swing-swing-swing, and swing some more,
but nothing can settle the ancient score.

The slugger swings; the side's retired:
Holy God! The pitcher's wild!

Batter up – knock em down:
Batter up – mow em down!

Blood on the moon; blood on the face:
the wrong heroes are rounding the base!

If life is such a baseball game,
then who the hell we gonna blame?

Errors come and runners go:
how the hell we s'pposed to know?

Garbage in; garbage out:
is that what life is all about?

Tears of joy, tears of sorrow:
here today; gone tomorrow.

Shouts of glee, cries of pain:
soft the snow; hard the rain.

Words of peace; winds of war:
holy bride; vile whore.

Songs of life; songs of death:
filled, the lungs; gone, the breath.

Eyes of love; knives of hate:
grab the chance; gone, too late.

Streams of blue; rivers red:
summer's day; a dream is dead.

Hearts of gold, plans for evil:
chuckles of God; jeers of Devil.

The lover's kiss; the liar's twist:
Jesus Christ, or is it Judas?

Drops of mercy; torrents of rage:
open the book; burn the page.

Batter up! – end your inning:
keep repenting or lose your winnings.

Then, do we enter the extra innings?
And what of all those extra sinnings!

The winners lose; the losers win:
and we are stuck on base with sin!

The seasons come; the season's go:
and we are Michelangelo.

Back in the box, the batter's up
who can drink this bitter cup?

Back in the box, the inning is nine:
shit outta luck, and shit outta time.

The batter's up! The game— it's over!
The Irish are stunned: where is the clover?

New York, New York, a helluva town:
but finally the curse, it comes around.

Start the party; finish the races:
fifty cheers; twenty paces.

Mexican beans; Soviet faces:
full, the glasses; empty, the bases.

The Enemy sings; the gods are tired:
the enemy drinks; the manager's fired.

666: the mark of the Beast;
1-2-3: the sound of defeat.

The Devil comes, disguised as man:
he comes to rout the bookies plan.

He plays his cards: a rookie's hand –
but has it changed the Sovereign's plan?

Trounced in six; robbed of seven.
Game six: hell— can there be heaven?

[JustAmy]

I know for a Yankee fan, this cannot be a very good morning but,
at least you got to game six.
For us Giant fans, it can only be Maybe Next Year!

Thanks for sharing your poem with us this morning. Hope you return often.

[MeekOneGOP]

Mornin', everybody ! Happy Sunday !

Have a cup while you FReep !

[JustAmy]

Just what I need this morning ..... Thank You, Carl.
Just because I was AWOL most of yeterday,
I was worried that you and The Mayor were going to take the day off.

[JustAmy]