Poetry and Potpourri .... October 8-9, 2003

10-8-2003 | JustAmy, St.Louie1 and Mama_Bear

[JustAmy]

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

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.

[JustAmy]

[Pippin]

"MY FAVORITE MONTH"

by Pippin 10/08/03

October is the month for me!

signs of Autumn all abound

the golden skies

the fallen leaves.

Whenever I think of October fair

I sense the year knows the end is near

Yet, 'tis not this the signs of life asleep

until the Spring brings life renewed.

[Darksheare]

I will be having tea soonly.
Been out running errands!

[JustAmy]

Excellent, Pippin!!

[Dubya]

FORT HOOD, Texas, Oct. 8, 2003 -- She stands in line at the post office waiting
to send a package to her husband, a U.S. Army soldier serving in Kuwait.
Envelopes, pens, paper, stamps, sunscreen, eye-drops, gum, batteries, powdered
Gatorade, baby wipes and Twizzlers.

He said he needed the sunscreen and baby wipes. She threw in the Twizzlers.

There's a common bond at the post office in this military town. People aren't
just sending letters and packages; they are sending smiles, hope, love and just
a touch of home. People look around at the others, sharing their concern, fear
and pride. They take comfort knowing they are not alone.

Passing through the gate leaving the Army post, she enters another world. A
world filled with pawnshops, surplus stores, barbershops, fast food galore and,
of course, "Loans, Loans, Loans."

This is a life that includes grocery shopping at a place called the Commissary.
A life that has her venturing to the Post Exchange, referred to as the PX,
instead of heading to Wal-Mart. This is where you come to learn, appreciate
and respect the ceremonious traditions of Reveille and Retreat, and of course,
the National Anthem from a completely different perspective.

At 6 a.m., or as the soldiers call it, 0600 hours, Reveille can be heard across
post. The bugle call officially begins the military workday. At 1700 hours
Retreat sounds signaling the day's end. Soldiers render salutes, chatter fades
and all eyes are drawn to the nearest flag. At 2300 hours, the bugle sounds
Taps, denoting not only the "final hour" of the day, but also honoring those we
have lost.

When the national anthem plays in a military town, a special aura fills the
air. Men, women, and even children stop to pay their respects. Civilians place
their hands over their hearts. Soldiers salute. In this world, the anthem isn't
just a prequel to the echo of "Play Ball."

Since she married her soldier and experienced the Star Spangled Banner from
this perspective, she's noticed how people in civilian towns react to the
national anthem. She notices the people who continue to talk, the hats that
stay on, the beer that doesn't get put down, and even the jeers at the person
singing the anthem. The meaning seems to be lost to a majority of people. But
if she looks closely, she can see who has been blessed enough to learn this
lesson. Some are grandparents, some are parents, and some are young children.

At first glance, children growing up in this world of artillery, tanks and
uniforms are the same as any other kids from any other town. They do the things
that kids do. They play sports, go to school, and play with their friends. The
difference is that their group of friends may change once a year, or more, due
to a change of duty station.

They don't have any say in this. They could be two years old and not remember a
thing about it, or they may be 16 years old getting ready for prom and having
to up-root and move again. They're known as "military brats," a harsh misnomer
for those who learn a lifestyle of sacrifice at such a young age. Yet, it makes
them strong.

The little boys become the men of the house and the little girls become the
ladies. They adapt to these different situations. They live with the reality
that one, or even both parents, may not be around to celebrate birthdays and
holidays. They know there will be will be times when they will look into the
stands during Little League games and see only an empty space in the bleachers.

At the same time, these kids have a sense of overwhelming pride. They brag
about their daddies and their mommies being the best of the best. They know
their Mom's been through deployments, changes of duty stations, and the ever-
changing schedules Army life brings. While Dad is away, she takes care of the
house, the bills, the cars, the dogs, and the baby.

To cope with it all, she learns military families communicate via the Internet
so he doesn't miss out on what's happening back home. But he does miss out. He
won't be there for the baby's first steps, and he may have to hear his son or
daughter's first words through a time delay across a static-filled telephone
line.

She remembers what it was like before he left, when everything seemed "normal."
Normal except for the pressed uniform, the nightly ritual of shining boots, the
thunder-like sound of the Apache helicopters flying overhead, and the artillery
shells heard off in the distance. OK, relatively normal - when they
occasionally went to the park, spent holidays together and even enjoyed four-
day weekends when he could get a pass. But, the real challenge began with the
phone call.

She relives the moments before she kissed him goodbye.
A phone ringing at 0400 hours is enough to make her heart end up in her throat.
They've been expecting the call, but they weren't sure when it would come. She
waits to hear the words, "Don't worry, it's just a practice run." But instead
she hears, "Here we go."

So, off he goes to pack, though most of the packing is finished because as a
soldier, he is "always ready to roll." She gets the baby, but leaves his
pajamas on because it is just as well that he sleeps. She takes the dogs out,
she gets dressed, all the while trying to catch glimpses of her husband. She
wants to cherish his presence because she doesn't know when she'll see him
again.

She knows that in other homes nearby, other families are enacting exactly the
same scene.

Within 15 minutes, the family is in the car heading to the "rally point." As
they pull up, they see soldiers everywhere, hugging their loved ones. While
people love to see tearful, joyous homecomings, fearful, anxious, farewells are
another story.

Too soon, with his gear over his shoulder, he walks away. She is left behind,
straining to keep an eye on her soldier. As the camouflage starts to blend,
only his walk distinguishes him from the others.

She takes one last look and takes a deep breath. She reminds herself she must
stay strong. No tears. Or, as few tears as possible. Just words of
encouragement to the children, to her friends and to herself. Then she turns,
walks back to the car, and makes her way home to a house that is now eerily
quiet.

She mentally prepares for the days, weeks, even months ahead. She needs to
focus on taking care of her love while he is overseas. Her main priorities will
be the care packages, phone calls, e-mails, and letters sprayed with perfume.
And, she can't forget to turn the stamp upside down to say, "I love you."

Taking care of her family, her friends, even strangers - this is her mission as
an Army wife to do these things without a second thought. At the ripe old age
of 22, she knows the younger wives will turn to her for advice. "How do you
balance a checkbook? How do you change a tire? When are they coming home?"

Only when she knows everyone else is OK, the bills are paid, the cars
maintained, the lawn cut, the kids asleep, the pets calmed down, and the lights
are off, does she take time for her self.

Alone at night, she runs the next day's events over in her mind to make sure it
will all get finished. She reviews her checklist of things to do, things to buy
for his care package. Once again, she checks the calendar to count down the
days. Before turning in, she checks to make sure the ringer is on for the late
night phone call that might come in from overseas.

Before she falls asleep, a few tears hit the pillow. But even as the tears
escape, strength enters her mind, body, spirit and soul. She remembers why she
is here. She remembers the pride and the love that brought her here in the
first place, and a sense of peace comes over her, replacing, if only for a
second, the loneliness, the fear and the lingering heartache she feels while
her soul mate is away.

This is what it means to love a soldier.

She wouldn't have it any other way

[Dubya]

LOL

[MeekOneGOP]

hehe ! When I heard xlintoon was backing Davis I was laffing too ! You go, Davis !! LOL !!

[MeekOneGOP]

ROTFLMAO !!!! That is HILARIOUS ! I'm sending that one out on email ...

[Darksheare]

I covered you with roses
and first earth in the sun
Saw the cap put on your grave
and saw a sunny day end all our fun
I cried to myself
alone and in the dark
Wish there was a reason
for why things turned out so wrong
But I sit and think
of all the days that have gone by
And in sweet memory
remember all the things we'd used to say
And I wish there was a way
to bring back those sunny days
'Forever and never apart'
a motto that we held true
'Friends from the heart'
bonds of threaded gold
'Be there when I grow old'
a memory is all I hold.
And I still hear you sing
in my memory again
I do know this one thing
that I will never forget you
-My Friend

[firewalk]

Very nice day here in the east,
hope it's at least as nice where everyone else is too

Congratulations to CA for dumping davis...

[JustAmy]

Thank you for that wonderful, insightful story, Dubya.

Yesterday, I received e-mail from Fresno Freepers' first adopted sailor. He forwarded pictures showing some of the good happening in Iraq.

[JustAmy]

That is beautiful, Darksheare. Is that one that you wrote?

[JustAmy]

Good afternoon, BIS

It is a beautiful day on the left coast; made much better by the overwhelming defeat of Davis.

[JustAmy]

I finally found it!!! I posted this two or three days ago but it its worth a second post!

Hoping for the Best

Oh, the comfort, the inexpressible comfort of feeling safe with a person,
having neither to weigh thoughts nor measure words,
but pouring them all out,
just as they are, chaff and grain together,
certain that a faithful hand will take and sift them,
keeping what is worth keeping, and with a breath of kindness
blowing the rest away.

~Dinah Maria Mulock Craick

[b9]

Thank you, dear!
I didn't know you posted it earlier.
Do you know anything about the author?

[JustAmy]

I really don't know anything about the author. I found it when searching for poems and liked it; saved it to use here. I will see if there is any info on her.

Thanks.

[JustAmy]

FOUR YEARS
by: Dinah Maria (Mulock) Craik (1826-1887)

At the Midsummer, when the hay was down,
Said I mournful--Though my life be in its prime,
Bare lie my meadows all shorn before their time,
O'er my sere woodlands the leaves are turning brown;
It is the hot Midsummer, when the hay is down.

At the Midsummer, when the hay was down,
Stood she by the brooklet, young and very fair,
With the first white bindweed twisted in her hair--
Hair that drooped like birch-boughs, all in her simple gown--
That eve in high Midsummer, when the hay was down.

At the Midsummer, when the hay was down,
Crept she a willing bride close into my breast;
Low-piled the thunder-clouds had sunk into the west,
Red-eyed the sun out-glared like knight from leaguered town;
It was the high Midsummer, and the sun was down.

It is Midsummer--all the hay is down,
Close to her forehead press I dying eyes,
Praying God shield her till we meet in Paradise,
Bless her in love's name who was my joy and crown,
And I go at Midsummer, when the hay is down.

[JustAmy]

Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
I was from England, and I lived from 1826-1887.

Born Dinah Maria Mulock at Longfield Cottage, Hartshill, Stoke-upon-Trent in 1826. Her father was a Nonconformist clergyman. She wrote poetry from an early age and helped her mother teach in a small school.

In 1831 the family went to live at Newcastle under Lyme, Staffordshire where she attended Brampton House Academy. On inheriting some property in 1839, they all moved to London. Dinah continued to study a range of modern and classical languages. Her other interests included drawing and music.

Her first work to be published was a poem on the birth of the Princess Royal which appeared in the Staffordshire Advertiser in 1841. She wrote some stories for children and in 1849 The Ogilvies appeared. This novel was dedicated to her mother who had died four years earlier. Her career began to take off and she began to move in London literary circles. The head of the family (1852) was dedicated to Elizabeth Barrett Browning. Her best known work is John Halifax, Gentleman (1857) which features Longfield, named after the cottage in which she was born, and its publication led to a new prosperity. It was printed in many editions in English and in several foreign translations. Her own favourite novel was A life for a life (1859). In 1865 she married George Lillie Craik who was a partner in the company of Macmillan, publishers. Mrs. Craik lived with her husband at Shortlands, Bromley, Kent for the rest of her life.

Dinah was respected for her very generous and compassionate nature and this strength of character can be seen in the rather moralistic tone of much of her poetry, fiction and essays. She felt that true nobility was not dependent upon material wealth and this theme is well developed in John Halifax, gentleman.


Info found on oldpoetry.com

[Victoria Delsoul]

Evening friends!