Amy's Place ... Poetry and Potpourri ... June, 2008

June 1, 2008 | JustAmy; St.Louie1; MamaBear; Billie

[JustAmy]

Welcome To....


'Amy's Place' welcomes all poets
and those who enjoy poetry.
'Amy's Place' is more than just about poetry.
Come in, relax, and share with fellow FReepers
your thoughts about any of the things on the *Menu*.

Enjoy! :)











Never Forget!





Bad Penny



Amy's personal guardian ~
the ever charming, lovable, huggable,
LouieWolf




Many thanks for stopping by. : )

[fish hawk]

       ARE WE WORTHY

The passion of woman
Is drawn by the words of man
To surface in thought
Of remembered dreams
Soft as the gentle touch
Of a poem or a song
Yet, with great determination
To protect the heart
With caution and time
Most men do not see the 
Quiet armor of self preservation
Until they ride into it
Like invisible walls
The lesser strength
Turns out to be the 
Strongest of all
And with the quiet 
Patience of time
Stops, turns, and waits
For man to catch up
Sometimes we are worth it
Sometimes not.  

[Billie]

Hi, jaycee - thank you, jaycee. You are a sweetheart, you know that? :)

[Billie]

I was skimming through some of the posts and this picture you posted struck me, dita!

The reason is that very early at the Finest, ST.LOUIE1 made a hostess graphic for Lori, Daisy and me with those 3 cats - only it was thOSe 3 cats' BACKSIDE! I can't find it anymore, but it was way too funny.

Pinging Lori, Daisy, and Louie just 'cause one of them might still have it. :)

[fish hawk]

THE SONS OF MEN

The sons of men
Go off to war
To fight and die
On foreign shore

Some on the waves
Some in the air
In jungled valleys
Or desert bare

I pray to God
A safe return
And if there's 
One thing 
I would learn

I must not fail
To do my part
To praise our boys
In head and heart

For this very day
I'm living free
'Cause other's sons
Have died for me. 

[NicknamedBob]

For those of you who keep track of such things, there's a line missing from my poem. The third and fourth lines should read:

"An image of unagingness, perenially bright,
A glow of youth and beauty set against the fall of night."

[gardengirl]

Beautiful pic and poem, guys!

Somehow, I just can’t see myself in a dress like that—all froth and furbelows—no matter how gorgeous! Much less with a big boxer beside me!

Now, muddy jeans, barefoot, and with a big wet dog—that I can see! LOL

[jaycee]

Thank you, sweet Billie, for a very nice compliment. I have been working my head off upstairs today and needed to stop by where my buddies are! With the computer downstairs and me upstairs, at least I break my “addiction” a little~~LOL~~

Glad you dropped in and I’ll keep pinging you when I see your beautiful graphics.

[JustAmy]

That bugs me .... I copy and paste! How did I mess it up? Probably erased something when I formatted it.

So sorry, NnB. Just proves you should write something for the new images that I’ve sent to you! ;^ )

[jaycee]

Have enough fun for all of us! Sounds so exciting. Lots of music, etc?? How are the Sardinas done?

[jaycee]

I just wanted to comment on your cute graphics this morning! I have been working at a pretty steady pace today. With the computer down here and me upstairs, its not handy to get to!

I may get time to get on this evening if I can...hope you have had a good day!

[NicknamedBob]

"Just proves you should write something for the new images that I’ve sent to you!"

And just how would you get the poem from Freepmail to the posting, young lady? Hmm? Hmmm?

As I suspected. Anyway, most of my poems have a very regular pattern, usually four lines and a space, four lines and a space, four lines and ...

Eventually, I wind down and stop. So it would be easy to tell at a glance that something was missing.

Now, whether it makes any sense or not is another question.

[Cardhu]

Lots of music, etc?? How are the Sardinas done?

Yes there was music with the typical Galician bagpipes and drums.

This is how they are done:


Outside a restaurant


In the Sardinara


On a girl´s lap


When they cool a little you eat them with your fingers like corn on the cob, of course leaving the head and tail, you never tasted such nice fish.

[Cardhu]

Of course we burnt the witch just as the English burnt St. Joan of Arc.

[jaycee]

Cardhu, it looks like a whole lot of fun! Bet the music was happy and nice! Now, the fish looks so delicious and I am not hungry! I love fish or seafood of any kind! I’m sure your afternoon was refreshing! Having fun perks us up for sure.
Thanks for the pictures!

[jaycee]

More happy fun...bet the kids really loved burning the witch!

[JustAmy]

LOL

I admit that I should have caught that. Oh me Oh my .... no excuse except trying to do something without paying enough attention.

I promise with any new ones, I will be more attentive. : )

[yorkie]

Amy, your poem, “Beauty Lasts” reminded me of one by my favorite poet of all time, James Whitcomb Riley:

AN OLD SWEETHEART OF MINE*

An old sweetheart of mine! - Is this her presence here with
me,
Or but a vain creation of a lover's memory?
A fair, illusive vision that would vanish into air
Dared I even touch the silence with the whisper of a prayer?

Nay, let me then believe in all the blended false and true -
The semblance of the old love and the substance of the new, -
The then of changeless sunny days - the now of shower and
shine -
But Love forever smiling - as that old sweetheart of mine.

This ever-restful sense of home, though shouts ring in the
hall. -
The easy chair - the old book-shelves and prints along the
wall,
The rare Habanas in their box, or gaunt church-warden-stem
That often wags, above the jar, derisively at them.

As one who cons at evening o'er an album, all alone,
And muses on the faces of the friends that he has known,
So I turn the leaves of Fancy, til, in shadowy design,
I find the smiling features of an old sweetheart of mine.

The lamplight seems to glimmer with a flicker of surprise,
As I turn it low - to rest me of the dazzle in my eyes,
And light my pipe in silence, save a sigh that seems to yoke
Its fate with my tobacco and to vanish with the smoke.

‘Tis a fragrant retrospection, - for the loving thoughts that
start
Into being are like perfume from the blossom of the heart;
And to dream the old dreams over is a luxury divine -
When my truant fancies wander with that old sweetheart of
mine.

Though I hear beneath my study, like a fluttering of wings,
The voices of my children and the mother as she sings -
I feel no twinge of conscience to deny me any theme
When Care has cast her anchor in the harbor of a dream -

In fact, to speak in earnest, I believe it adds a charm
To spice the good a trifle with a little dust of harm, -
For I find an extra flavor in Memory's mellow wine
That makes me drink the deeper to that old sweetheart of
mine.

O Childhood-days enchanted! O the magic of the Spring! -
With all green boughs to blossom white, and all bluebirds to
sing!
When all the air, to toss and quaff, made life a jubilee
And changed the children's song and laugh to shrieks of
ecstasy.

With eyes half closed in clouds that ooze from lips that
taste, as well,
The peppermint and cinnamon, I hear the old School bell,
And from “Recess” romp in again from “Blackman's” broken
line,
To smile, behind my “lesson,” at that old sweetheart of mine.

A face of lily beauty, with a form of airy grace,
Floats out of my tobacco as the Genii from the vase;
And I thrill beneath the glances of a pair of azure eyes
As glowing as the summer and as tender as the skies.

I can see the pink sunbonnet and the little checkered dress
She wore when first I kissed her and she answered the caress
With the written declaration that, “as surely as the vine
Grew ‘round the stump,” she loved me - that old sweetheart of
mine.

Again I made her presents, in a really helpless way, -
The big “Rhode Island Greening2” - I was hungry, too, that
day! -
But I follow her from Spelling, with her hand behind her - so
-
And I slip the apple in it - and the Teacher doesn't know!

I give my treasures to her - all, - my pencil - blue-and-red;
-
And, if little girls played marbles, mine should all be hers,
instead!
But she gave me her photograph, and printed, “Ever thine”
Across the back - in blue-and-red - that old sweetheart of
mine!

And again I feel the pressure of her slender little hand,
As we used to talk together of the future we had planned, -
When I should be a poet, and with nothing else to do
But write the tender verses that she set the music to...

When we should live together in a cozy little cot
Hid in a nest of roses, with a fairy garden-spot,
Where the vines were ever fruited, and the weather ever fine,
And the birds were ever singing for that old sweetheart of
mine.

When I should be her lover forever and a day,
And she my faithful sweetheart till the golden hair was gray;
And we should be so happy that when either’s lips were dumb
They would not smile in Heaven till the other's kiss had
come.

But, ah! my dream is broken by a step upon the stair,
And the door is softly opened, and - my wife is standing
there.

************************

*This poem was one of Riley's most popular. It was said to have earned him $500 a word - a princely sum in Riley's day. A story set in New York City demonstrates its popularity. A vagabond named McGlaughlin was brought to Court on an October day charged with loitering and vagrancy. In defending himself he said that he was an actor and simply out of work. “To prove I'm an actor just give me a poem to recite. I'll orate any piece you choose.” The judge said if he could recite, “And Old Sweetheart of Mine” he would acknowledge that he was no “bum.” McGlauglin did so and his reading was so good that the judge not only dismissed the charges but also had a collection taken up for the man in his courtroom.

[yorkie]

What fun it all looks like, Cardi! How many people do you think were there?

Thank you for sharing with us!! (I can almost hear the music....)

[Cardhu]

I think we had half the population of little Sada there, about two thousand people. Probably half were children as there were fires to fire their imaginations. There were about 3O fires on the beach with the kids jumping over the smaller ones — you could sense their excitement as the just jumped for joy with all the excitement of playing with fire. No one bothered them at all as they carried flames from one to the other.

We are a very laid back society.

[NicknamedBob]

Let's try this:

Memories

Memories in black and white, of sunny days gone by,
Recalling smiles and music, the taste of summer fun,
The blue of sky, the yellow sun, the bright green of the grass,
In black and white photos in my mind, now that the days are done.

Those silent pictures singing out their music and their joy,
Of hayrides, songfests, parties and families gathered up,
To pat the heads and see the smiles of the newest young’uns,
And all of that crammed into a photograph with edges all curled up.

Your fancy computers may hold a lot of data, and then connect you,
With a world much wider than I’ve known and wandered,
But if it can’t expand a faded image into distant laughter,
Then you may find it isn’t time but life you’ve squandered.

NicknamedBob . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . June 23, 2008