FROM OTHER PENS

Spend time every day listening
to what your muse is trying to tell you...
Saint Bartholemew

Quoter applet by Paul Lutus, the CareWare guy.

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Index

[D.H. Lawrence] [Charles Hanson Towne]
[Darren Kearns] [Freckles] [Spike Milligan]
[Fay Inchfawn] [Henry Wadsworth Longfellow]
[Dorothy Parker] [Allan Cunningham] [W.H. Davies]

POVERTY

The only people I ever heard talk about
My Lady Poverty
Were rich people, or people who imagined
themselves rich.
Saint Francis himself was a rich and
spoiled young man.

Being born among the working people
I know that poverty is a hard old hag,
And a monster, when you're pinched for
actual necessities,
And whoever says she isn't is a liar.

I don't want to be poor, it means I am pinched.
But neither do I want to be rich.
When I look at this pine tree near the sea,
That grows out of rock, and plumes forth,
plumes forth,
I see it has a natural abundance.

With its roots it has a grand grip on
its daily bread,
And its plumes look like green cups held up
to the sun and air
And full of wine.

I want to be like that, to have
a natural abundance,
And plume forth, and be splendid.

AROUND THE CORNER
Around the corner I have a friend,
In this great city that has no end,
Yet the days go by and weeks rush on,
And before I know it, a year is gone.
And I never see my old friends face,
For life is a swift and terrible race,
He knows I like him just as well,
As in the days when I rang his bell.
And he rang mine but we were younger then,
And now we are busy, tired men.
Tired of playing a foolish game,
Tired of trying to make a name.
"Tomorrow" I say! "I will call on Jim
Just to show that I'm thinking of him",
But tomorrow comes and tomorrow goes,
And distance between us grows and grows.
Around the corner, yet miles away,
"Here's a telegram sir," "Jim died today."
And that's what we get and deserve in the end.
Around the corner, a vanished friend.
© Charles Hanson Towne

MURPHY'S LAW

I was already late when I jumped in my car and finally got underway,
When I got booked by a cop at the end of the street, well it set the tone for the day
As he wrote out the fine a truck whistled past and clipped a branch on a tree,
It fell to the ground, a large puddle it found and then the puddle found me.

With my clothes dripping wet and a ticket in hand I headed to work in a huff,
But cars need their fuel and I felt like a fool when I ran right out of the stuff.
I was pelted with cans from the trucks and the vans who passed me at the green light;
It was a five mile walk to the servo...Murphy's law turned out to be right!

With the fuel can in hand from my ten mile round trip - breathing hard from walking so far
I cursed and I spat and I screamed and I cried...the keys were locked inside the car.
So I smashed the side window and poured in the fuel and finally got back underway,
Then with a bang and a hiss the rear tyre blew out - I was having a #!#! sort of a day.

I lost skin and some hair when I pulled out the spare and the towbar smashed into my shin
"What else could go wrong?" I said out aloud; "It seems that I just cannot win!"
But life seldom is fair as I soon was aware, I must have killed a black cat
Because as I let down the jack, the car sagged at the back..the bloody spare tyre was flat!

I WONDER
Sometimes I stop to wonder
As I wander through my day
If any of the people
I encounter on my way
Ever stop to wonder
About love and life and such
And if they do I wonder
If they wonder just how much
Time is spent just wondering
About the things we see
And then I start to wonder
If they wonder about me
As I go about just wondering
From dawn to setting sun
It is no bloody wonder
I can't get a damn thing done.
© "Freckles"

IF I COULD WRITE WORDS

If I could write words
Like leaves on an autumn forest floor,
What a bonfire my letters would make.

If I could speak words of water,
You would drown when I said
"I love you."

THE FLIGHT OF THE FAIRIES

There's a rustle in the woodlands and a sighing in the breeze,
For the Little Folk are busy in the bushes and the trees;
They are packing up their treasures, every one with nimble hand,
Ready for the coming journey back to sunny Fairyland.

They have gathered up the jewels from their beds of mossy green,
With all the dewy diamonds that summer morns have seen;
The silver from the lichen and the powdered gold dust, too,
Where the buttercups have flourished and the dandelions grew.

They packed away the birdies' songs, then, lest we should be sad,
They left the Robin's carol out, to make the winter glad;
They packed the fragrance of the flowers then, lest we should forget,
Out of the pearly scented box they dropped a Violet.

Then o'er a leafy carpet, by the silent woods they came,
Where the golden bracken lingered and the maples were aflame.
On the stream the starlight shimmered, o'er their wings the moonbeams shone,
Music filtered through the forest — and the Little Folk were gone.

THE TIDE RISES, THE TIDE FALLS

The tide rises, the tide falls,
The twilight darkens, the curlew calls;
Along the sea-sands damp and brown
The traveller hastens toward the town,
And the tide rises, the tide falls.

Darkness settles on roofs and walls,
But the sea, the sea in darkness calls;
The little waves with their soft, white hands
Efface the footprints in the sands,
And the tide rises, the tide falls.

The morning breaks; the steeds in their stalls
Stamp and neigh as the hostler calls;
The day returns, but nevermore
Returns the traveller to the shore.
And the tide rises, the tide falls.

AFTERNOON
When I am old, and comforted,
and done with this desire,
with Memory to share my bed
and Peace to share my fire,
I'll comb my hair in scalloped bands
beneath my laundered cap,
and watch my cool and fragile hands
lie light upon my lap.
And I will have a sprigged gown
with lace to kiss my throat;
I'll draw my curtain to the town,
and hum a purring note.
And I'll forget the way of tears,
and rock, and stir my tea.
But oh, I wish those blessed years
were further than they be!
© Dorothy Parker

A SEA SONG

A wet sheet and a flowing sea,
A wind that follows fast,
And fills the white and rustling sail
And bends the gallant mast;
And bends the gallant mast, my boys,
While, like the eagle free,
Away the good ship flies, and leaves
Old England on the lee.

"O for a soft and gentle wind!"
I heard a fair one cry;
But give to me the snoring breeze
And white waves heaving high;
And white waves heaving high, my lads,
The good ship tight and free, -
The world of waters is our home,
And merry men are we.

There's tempest in yon hornéd moon,
And lightning in yon cloud;
But hark the music, mariners!
The wind is piping loud;
The wind is piping loud, my boys,
The lightning flashes free, -
While the hollow oak our palace is,
Our heritage the sea.

LEISURE
What is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.
No time to stand beneath the boughs
And stare as long as sheep or cows.
No time to see when woods we pass,
Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.
No time to see in broad daylight,
Streams full of stars, like stars at night.
No time to burn at Beauty's glance,
And watch her feet, how they can dance.
No time to wait till her mouth can
Enrich that smile her eyes began.
A poor life this if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.
© W.H. Davies

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