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

12-01-08 | 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. : )

[ConorMacNessa]

The Secret Rose

FAR-OFF, most secret, and inviolate Rose,
Enfold me in my hour of hours; where those
Who sought thee in the Holy Sepulchre,
Or in the wine-vat, dwell beyond the stir
And tumult of defeated dreams; and deep
Among pale eyelids, heavy with the sleep
Men have named beauty. Thy great leaves enfold
The ancient beards, the helms of ruby and gold
Of the crowned Magi; and the king whose eyes
Saw the pierced Hands and Rood of elder rise
In Druid vapour and make the torches dim;
Till vain frenzy awoke and he died; and him
Who met Fand walking among flaming dew
By a grey shore where the wind never blew,
And lost the world and Emer for a kiss;
And him who drove the gods out of their liss,
And till a hundred moms had flowered red
Feasted, and wept the barrows of his dead;
And the proud dreaming king who flung the crown
And sorrow away, and calling bard and clown
Dwelt among wine-stained wanderers in deep woods:
And him who sold tillage, and house, and goods,
And sought through lands and islands numberless years,
Until he found, with laughter and with tears,
A woman of so shining loveliness
That men threshed corn at midnight by a tress,
A little stolen tress. I, too, await
The hour of thy great wind of love and hate.
When shall the stars be blown about the sky,
Like the sparks blown out of a smithy, and die?
Surely thine hour has come, thy great wind blows,
Far-off, most secret, and inviolate Rose?

William Butler Yeats

Lamh Foistenach Abu!

[ConorMacNessa]

Ulysses

It little profits that an idle king,
By this still hearth, among these barren crags,
Match'd with an aged wife, I mete and dole
Unequal laws unto a savage race,
That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me.
I cannot rest from travel; I will drink
Life to the lees. All times I have enjoy'd
Greatly, have suffer'd greatly, both with those
That loved me, and alone; on shore, and when
Thro' scudding drifts the rainy Hyades
Vext the dim sea. I am become a name;
For always roaming with a hungry heart
Much have I seen and known,-- cities of men
And manners, climates, councils, governments,
Myself not least, but honor'd of them all,--
And drunk delight of battle with my peers,
Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy.
I am a part of all that I have met;
Yet all experience is an arch wherethro'
Gleams that untravell'd world whose margin fades
For ever and for ever when I move.
How dull it is to pause, to make an end,
To rust unburnish'd, not to shine in use!
As tho' to breathe were life! Life piled on life
Were all too little, and of one to me
Little remains; but every hour is saved
From that eternal silence, something more,
A bringer of new things; and vile it were
For some three suns to store and hoard myself,
And this gray spirit yearning in desire
To follow knowledge like a sinking star,
Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.

This is my son, mine own Telemachus,
to whom I leave the sceptre and the isle,--
Well-loved of me, discerning to fulfill
This labor, by slow prudence to make mild
A rugged people, and thro' soft degrees
Subdue them to the useful and the good.
Most blameless is he, centred in the sphere
Of common duties, decent not to fail
In offices of tenderness, and pay
Meet adoration to my household gods,
When I am gone. He works his work, I mine.

There lies the port; the vessel puffs her sail;
There gloom the dark, broad seas. My mariners,
Souls that have toil'd, and wrought, and thought with me,--
That ever with a frolic welcome took
The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed
Free hearts, free foreheads,-- you and I are old;
Old age hath yet his honor and his toil.
Death closes all; but something ere the end,
Some work of noble note, may yet be done,
Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods.
The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks;
The long day wanes; the slow moon climbs; the deep
Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends.
'T is not too late to seek a newer world.
Push off, and sitting well in order smite
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
Of all the western stars, until I die.
It may be that the gulfs will wash us down;
It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,
And see the great Achilles, whom we knew.
Tho' much is taken, much abides; and tho'
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are,--
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.

Alfred Lord Tennyson

Lamh Foistenach Abu!

[MEG33]

So cute! The one on the right reminds me of youngest kitten..

I did not want to wash the other sliding doors but the sky was clouding up..We’ve dropped to 72 just since I went out to finish all the outsides..It is windy and will be colder tomorrow..High of 55 instead of 80!
I can finish the inside doors later.
When it is cold and gray..I enjoy clean sliding doors more than anytime..It seems to make it look a little bit brighter..
The yellow leaves seem to suddenly all be on my patio this afternoon.

[JustAmy]

Good afternoon, Kitty. Thank you.

Hope all is well at Kings Ranch.
How is Doggie taking the cold weather?
Mr Mittens (Kitty MIttens) is a spoiled kitty.
He sleeps in the garage every night but comes in every morning for a can of Friskies.
Lately he searches out a nice place for a nap and stays in all morning.
Today, he is sleeping on a dining room chair.
He is hid by the tablecloth and sleeping soundly.

Marissa says he has invited friends over ...
in addition to Mr Mittens, we are also feeding two wild cats.
They visit him in the garage and help him with the dry food.

Hope your day is Warm and Fuzzy.

[Lady Jag]

[pollywog]

Happy Birthday Nan!!

[pollywog]

That is the cutest poem and photo!!
Gotta love little children...
Polly

[MEG33]

Happy Birthday To You
~NAN~

[MEG33]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU!

*WayzataJOHNN*

Have a great day!

[Lady Jag]

A Question

A voice said, Look me in the stars And tell me truly, men of earth, If all the soul-and-body scars Were not too much to pay for birth. Robert Frost

[Lady Jag]

The poet obviously loves children.

[ConorMacNessa]

To Ireland in the Coming Times

KNOW, that I would accounted be
True brother of a company
That sang, to sweeten Ireland's wrong,
Ballad and story, rann and song;
Nor be I any less of them,
Because the red-rose-bordered hem
Of her, whose history began
Before God made the angelic clan,
Trails all about the written page.
When Time began to rant and rage
The measure of her flying feet
Made Ireland's heart begin to beat;
And Time bade all his candles flare
To light a measure here and there;
And may the thoughts of Ireland brood
Upon a measured quietude.

Nor may I less be counted one
With Davis, Mangan, Ferguson,
Because, to him who ponders well,
My rhymes more than their rhyming tell
Of things discovered in the deep,
Where only body's laid asleep.
For the elemental creatures go
About my table to and fro,
That hurry from unmeasured mind
To rant and rage in flood and wind;
Yet he who treads in measured ways
May surely barter gaze for gaze.
Man ever journeys on with them
After the red-rose-bordered hem.
Ah, faeries, dancing under the moon,
A Druid land, a Druid tune!

While still I may, I write for you
The love I lived, the dream I knew.
From our birthday, until we die,
Is but the winking of an eye;
And we, our singing and our love,
What measurer Time has lit above,
And all benighted things that go
About my table to and fro,
Are passing on to where may be,
In truth's consuming ecstasy,
No place for love and dream at all;
For God goes by with white footfall.
I cast my heart into my rhymes,
That you, in the dim coming times,
May know how my heart went with them
After the red-rose-bordered hem.

William Butler Yeats

Lamh Foistenach Abu!

[JustAmy]

Make A Gift Day




Flamenco Guitar Day




International Day Of Disabled Persons





Illinois Admission Day

Illinois has not been featured at the Finest. :(

[Lady Jag]

What did Illinois admit?

[Mama_Bear]

Illinois has not been featured at the Finest. :(

Sorry. I should have had it done long ago. I'm working on it. I am, really! :-)

[JustAmy]

Happy Warm Fuzzy Wednesday, Conor.

Thank you for the wonderful poems today.
Also your basket of Warm Fuzzy Kittens is so cute ... Thank you.

I may not have this exactly right, but this graphic is Ireland's Fanad Lighthouse.
Yike, I cropped off the top of the lighthouse. :^()

[Aquamarine]

He won! Georgia still has some good common sense people.

[JustAmy]

LOL

I know; there is no problem. There are a few states left but it is difficult to get motivated.

I spent a day looking for graphics or info but gave up. Nothing grabbed me.

[JustAmy]

:)

That she is the home of OB. Not much to brag about, is there?

[JustAmy]

Great, LadyJ. Thank you.