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Posts Tagged ‘Poetry’

Hold fast to dreams,
For if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird,
That cannot fly.
   ―  Langston Hughes
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On This Day In:
2017 The Only Real Security
2016 Time Said
2015 If Only Common Sense Were More Common
2014 PTI
2013 What Now, Then?
2012 Big C, Little B
Duty, Honor, Country

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[This post is a 2-fer…  A poem and an editorial (below the poem).  Merry Christmas to all.  Be safe…  —  KMAB]
‘Twas The Night Before Christmas
‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads;
And mamma in her ‘kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled down for a long winter’s nap,
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer,
With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;
“Now, DASHER! now, DANCER! now, PRANCER and VIXEN!
On, COMET! on CUPID! on, DONNER and BLITZEN!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!”
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,
So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my hand, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.
He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;
A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.
His eyes — how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow;
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath;
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook, when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly.
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
HAPPY CHRISTMAS TO ALL, AND TO ALL A GOOD-NIGHT!
  —  Written by:  Clement Clarke Moore
DEAR EDITOR: I am 8 years old.
Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus.
Papa says, ‘If you see it in THE SUN it’s so.’
Please tell me the truth; is there a Santa Claus?
VIRGINIA O’HANLON
115 WEST NINETY-FIFTH STREET.
VIRGINIA, your little friends are wrong.  They have been affected by the skepticism of a skeptical age.  They do not believe except they see.  They think that nothing can be which is not comprehensible by their little minds.  All minds, Virginia, whether they be men’s or children’s, are little.  In this great universe of ours man is a mere insect, an ant, in his intellect, as compared with the boundless world about him, as measured by the intelligence capable of grasping the whole of truth and knowledge.
Yes, VIRGINIA, there is a Santa Claus.  He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy.  Alas!  how dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus.  It would be as dreary as if there were no VIRGINIAS.  There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence.  We should have no enjoyment, except in sense and sight.  The eternal light with which childhood fills the world would be extinguished.
Not believe in Santa Claus!  You might as well not believe in fairies!  You might get your papa to hire men to watch in all the chimneys on Christmas Eve to catch Santa Claus, but even if they did not see Santa Claus coming down, what would that prove?  Nobody sees Santa Claus, but that is no sign that there is no Santa Claus.  The most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see.  Did you ever see fairies dancing on the lawn?  Of course not, but that’s no proof that they are not there.  Nobody can conceive or imagine all the wonders there are unseen and unseeable in the world.
You may tear apart the baby’s rattle and see what makes the noise inside, but there is a veil covering the unseen world which not the strongest man, nor even the united strength of all the strongest men that ever lived, could tear apart.  Only faith, fancy, poetry, love, romance, can push aside that curtain and view and picture the supernal beauty and glory beyond.  Is it all real?  Ah, VIRGINIA, in all this world there is nothing else real and abiding.
No Santa Claus!  Thank God!  he lives, and he lives forever.  A thousand years from now, Virginia, nay, ten times ten thousand years from now, he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood.
New York’s Sun Editorial Response
Sept. 21, 1897
Although the original editorial was unsigned, the response was written by veteran newsman Francis Pharcellus Church.
[Thanks for reading all the way to the end.  Again, Merry Christmas to All!!  —  KMAB]
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2015 What Are You Looking At?
2014 Ite, Missa Est
2013 I Hear Voices
2012 Positive Thoughts
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2011 Look! Up In The Sky…
Humility Before The Unknowable

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Time Is…

Time is…
Too slow for those who wait,
Too swift for those who fear,
Too long for those who grieve,
Too short for those who rejoice,
But for those who love,
Time is…
Eternity.
Days fly,
Flowers die,
Pass by…
Love Stays.
—  written by:  Henry Van Dyke
[Apologies to the author.  This is actually a quote, but I liked it better reformatted as a poem.  —  KMAB]
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On This Day In:
2016 The Cornerstone Pays
2015 Would That This Be True
2014 More Likely
2013 Enjoyed The Desolation
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2012 Speaking Of Products
2011 Ready To Be Immortal?

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Trees

I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.
A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the earth’s sweet flowing breast;
A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;
A tree that may in Summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;
Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.
Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.
  —  written by:  Joyce Kilmer
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On This Day In:
2016 Unconquerable Imagination
2015 Just Plain Wrong
2014 Finding Beliefs
2013 Pretty Confident
2012 Effective Ranges
2011 Three Wisdoms
2010 I’m Just Askin’…
Space & Time

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See a shadow for what it is.
 Not the absence of light but light living out
 Its properties to bend around some form
 The way doubt gives way to prove a point
 And become known to all who participate
 There was an honest man.
excerpt from the poem “How Will I…?
[Found at one of the sites I follow:  A Mirror Obscura
The specific post is located at:  http://kabryce.wordpress.com/2015/09/19/how-will-i/
Please visit if you have a few minutes to spare…   —  KMAB]
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On This Day In:
2016 Still Blurry
2015 For Awhile Anyway
2014 By Contrast
2013 A Very Long Time…
2012 Raise And Support
2011 Naturally
2010 A Quick Sunday Morning Read
Giants Win Game 4 In Shutout 4 to 0!!!

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To live in the hearts we leave behind is to live forever.
   ―  Carl Sagan
[This quote was found at one of the blogs I follow: http://ididnthavemyglasseson.com/
The specific post is located at:   http://ididnthavemyglasseson.com/2017/03/02/valhalla/
Well worth a visit…   KMAB]

My Children

It is not how much I have gathered
Through my honest work or even greed
In the end possessions won’t matter
But what flowers from each planted seed
I wanted them to have all my heart
And leave no part of my love unused
Give them an easier place to start
Let them find their own dreams to pursue
I wonder will they remember well
The lessons that I have tried to teach
Those things that I tried to gently tell
To show that hope is within their reach
To show them not to stand on the stage
Instead intermingle with the crowd
Always have the want to turn the page
Be the one of whom they could be proud
They’re the footprints that I leave behind
They will be my only legacy
They will be the story brought to mind
When my grandchildren remember me
[This poem was found at one of the blogs I follow:  https://thebackyardpoet.com/
The specific location for the post is:   https://thebackyardpoet.com/2017/10/06/my-children/
Another site well worth visiting (if you have the time)…  —  KMAB
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On This Day In:
2016 Tremendous Energy
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2015 Tell Me…
2014 Live Forever (To Remember Me)
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2013 More Than Just Words
2012 Egotist, n.
2011 Good And Bad

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Yet the ivory gods, And the ebony gods, And the gods of diamond-jade, Are only silly puppet gods That people themselves Have made.
   ―    Langston Hughes
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On This Day In:
2016 Halves
Accepted Fraud
2015 Even The Little Ones
2014 Who’s On First?
2013 No Equal Measure
2012 A Single Host
2011 No Exemptions
2010 Memories Of KSA – Inside The Fire

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Let America Be America Again

Let America be America again.
Let it be the dream it used to be.
Let it be the pioneer on the plain
Seeking a home where he himself is free.
(America never was America to me.)
Let America be the dream the dreamers dreamed—
Let it be that great strong land of love
Where never kings connive nor tyrants scheme
That any man be crushed by one above.
(It never was America to me.)
O, let my land be a land where Liberty
Is crowned with no false patriotic wreath,
But opportunity is real, and life is free,
Equality is in the air we breathe.
(There’s never been equality for me,
Nor freedom in this “homeland of the free.”)
Say, who are you that mumbles in the dark?
And who are you that draws your veil across the stars?
I am the poor white, fooled and pushed apart,
I am the Negro bearing slavery’s scars.
I am the red man driven from the land,
I am the immigrant clutching the hope I seek—
And finding only the same old stupid plan
Of dog eat dog, of mighty crush the weak.
I am the young man, full of strength and hope,
Tangled in that ancient endless chain
Of profit, power, gain, of grab the land!
Of grab the gold!  Of grab the ways of satisfying need!
Of work the men!  Of take the pay!
Of owning everything for one’s own greed!
I am the farmer, bondsman to the soil.
I am the worker sold to the machine.
I am the Negro, servant to you all.
I am the people, humble, hungry, mean—
Hungry yet today despite the dream.
Beaten yet today — O, Pioneers!
I am the man who never got ahead,
The poorest worker bartered through the years.
Yet I’m the one who dreamt our basic dream
In the Old World while still a serf of kings,
Who dreamt a dream so strong, so brave, so true,
That even yet its mighty daring sings
In every brick and stone, in every furrow turned
That’s made America the land it has become.
O, I’m the man who sailed those early seas
In search of what I meant to be my home—
For I’m the one who left dark Ireland’s shore,
And Poland’s plain, and England’s grassy lea,
And torn from Black Africa’s strand I came
To build a “homeland of the free.”
The free?
Who said the free?  Not me?
Surely not me?  The millions on relief today?
The millions shot down when we strike?
The millions who have nothing for our pay?
For all the dreams we’ve dreamed
And all the songs we’ve sung
And all the hopes we’ve held
And all the flags we’ve hung,
The millions who have nothing for our pay—
Except the dream that’s almost dead today.
O, let America be America again—
The land that never has been yet—
And yet must be — the land where every man is free.
The land that’s mine — the poor man’s, Indian’s, Negro’s, ME—
Who made America,
Whose sweat and blood, whose faith and pain,
Whose hand at the foundry, whose plow in the rain,
Must bring back our mighty dream again.
Sure, call me any ugly name you choose—
The steel of freedom does not stain.
From those who live like leeches on the people’s lives,
We must take back our land again,
America!
O, yes,
I say it plain,
America never was America to me,
And yet I swear this oath—
America will be!
Out of the rack and ruin of our gangster death,
The rape and rot of graft, and stealth, and lies,
We, the people, must redeem
The land, the mines, the plants, the rivers.
The mountains and the endless plain—
All, all the stretch of these great green states—
And make America again!
     ―  Langston Hughes
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On This Day In:
2016 Dear Automakers
2015 And Some Not So Brave Too
2014 In My Lifetime…
2013 Democracy
2012 Borrowed Expectations
2011 Not Necessarily True

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Oh, God of Dust and Rainbows,
Help us to see
That without the dust the rainbow
Would not be.
   ―  Langston Hughes
[Every act of terrorist violence diminishes us as mankind.  My thoughts and prayers go out for the people of London, for the injured and the dead, for their families and friends, and for the security forces protecting the innocent.   —  KMAB]
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On This Day In:
2016 Don’t Default
2015 Her Pilgrim Soul
2014 Three Observations
2013 Robbed Again
2012 Good Hearts
2011 Interesting Reading
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Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
“Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!” cries she
With silent lips. “Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!
   —  Emma Lazarus
The poem:  “The New Colossus” inscribed on the Statute of Liberty
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On This Day In:
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2015 Can Your Repeat The Question, Please?
2014 On Faith
2013 My Name Is Charles Stein
2012 Faiths And Sorcery
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I AM!!

When last I looked upon a mirror,
I wondered that indeed,
I do exist.
There I was,
In living color.
Yet, strangely not alive.
A reproduction of the shell
Within which, I am alone.
A prisoner. To my feelings —
Of love,
Of joy,
Of hope,
Of happiness,
and of the pervasive rapture
Of my aloneness;
There are none to share —
to totally understand.
Within my finiteness,
the universe is captured.
Within the universe,
my finiteness is insignificant.
And yet…  I AM!!
Against the scale of all that is,
I AM!!
Though locked within
this fragile shell,
My living consciousness
joyously proclaims
To the farthest reaches
of the void  —
I AM!!!
[The above poem was written back in 1980.  When one has the words, one shouts them to the universe.  You can find more of my poems on my “Poems” tab / page.  —  KMAB]
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On This Day In:
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2014 Beyond Proof
2013 Poor Students Of History
2012 Between Two Worlds
2011 Common Humanity
2010 The Last Two Olympians

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To keep your marriage brimming,
With love in the
loving cup,
Whenever you’re wrong, admit it;
Whenever you’re right, shut up.
     —  Ogden Nash
[Some advice to my son (James) on his 1st Anniversary…  See how quickly time flies!  Love to you both!  —  KMAB]
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On This Day In:
2015 To James (and ‘Tasha)
2014 Ssshhush, You Are Not Alone
2013 So I Chose Living…
2012 For However Short A Time…
2011 Take A Deep Breath And Continue (Or Not)
2010 Tootsie-Roll Day

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Life is for the living.
Death is for the dead.
Let life be like music.
And death a note unsaid.
   ―  Langston Hughes
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On This Day In:
2015 Still Seeking (Believe It Or Not)
2014 Guidelines For Bureaucrats
2013 Failing At Normalization
2012 Are You An Expert?
2011 Joy!

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‘No Man is an Island’

No man is an island entire of itself; every man
is a piece of the continent, a part of the main;
if a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe
is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as
well as any manner of thy friends or of thine
own were; any man’s death diminishes me,
because I am involved in mankind.
And therefore never send to know for whom
the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.
Olde English Version
No man is an Iland, intire of itselfe; every man
is a peece of the Continent, a part of the maine;
if a Clod bee washed away by the Sea, Europe
is the lesse, as well as if a Promontorie were, as
well as if a Manor of thy friends or of thine
owne were; any mans death diminishes me,
because I am involved in Mankinde;
And therefore never send to know for whom
the bell tolls; It tolls for thee.
John Donne
MEDITATION XVII
Devotions Upon Emergent Occasions
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On This Day In:
2015 It Is What It Is
2014 What Have You Learned (Gently) Lately?
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2013 Ignore The Man Behind The Curtain
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2012 What Are Your True Measurements
2011 What It Is All About
2010 The Magnificent Seven
Giants Fever!!

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And there’s always poetry in science if you stop to listen and look for it.
   —  Stephanie Zacharek
From her article: “Werner Herzog ponders the poetry of the Internet
Appearing in Time Magazine, dtd: 29 August 2016
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On This Day In:
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2014 What Are You Doing?
2013 Lives > 1
2012 Strange To All The World
2011 Unnecessary Stagefright

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