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© Diane Mayr, all rights reserved
A little levity...I doubt the gift-giver realized that I could manage to kill a Christmas cactus before Christmas!
"I think it must be the field-mice," replied the Mole, with a touch of pride in his manner. "They go round carol-singing regularly at this time of the year. They're quite an institution in these parts. And they never pass me over--they come to Mole End last of all; and I used to give them hot drinks, and supper too sometimes, when I could afford it. It will be like old times to hear them again."
"Let's have a look at them!" cried the Rat, jumping up and running to the door.
....
As the door opened, one of the elder ones that carried the lantern was just saying, "Now then, one, two, three!" and forthwith their shrill little voices uprose on the air, singing one of the old-time carols that their forefathers composed in fields that were fallow and held by frost, or when snow-bound in chimney corners, and handed down to be sung in the miry street to lamp-lit windows at Yule-time.
CAROL
Villagers all, this frosty tide,
Let your doors swing open wide,
Though wind may follow, and snow beside,
Yet draw us in by your fire to bide;
Joy shall be yours in the morning!
Here we stand in the cold and the sleet,
Blowing fingers and stamping feet,
Come from far away you to greet--
You by the fire and we in the street--
Bidding you joy in the morning!
holiday cheer--
the cat's mouth opens
a field mouse runs free
Dimmest and brightest month am I;This is taken from a long work, "The Months: A Pageant," which is written to be performed by girls and boys who personify the months and "Robin Redbreasts; Lambs and Sheep; Nightingale and Nestlings. Various Flowers, Fruits, etc."
My short days end, my lengthening days begin;
What matters more or less sun in the sky,
When all is sun within?
Democracy is not a spectator sport. Using dramatic and musical performances of the letters, diaries and speeches of everyday Americans, The People Speak gives voice to those who spoke up for social change throughout U.S. history, forging a nation from the bottom up with their insistence on equality and justice. Narrated by Howard Zinn and based on his best-selling books, A People's History of the United States and Voices of a People's History of the United States, The People Speak illustrates the relevance of these passionate historical moments to our society today and reminds us never to take liberty for granted.
Howard Zinn's work also reminds us that we always need to ask: what stories am I not hearing? Whose voices am I not hearing? And that if no one is telling our stories, we need to find ways--creative, dynamic--ways of telling them ourselves.Read the rest of Mortensen's comments here.
Come when my heart is full of griefRead the entire poem here.
Or when my heart is merry;
Come with the falling of the leaf
Or with the redd’ning cherry.
Come when the year’s first blossom blows,
Come when the summer gleams and glows,
Come with the winter’s drifting snows,
And you are welcome, welcome.
I never know who is hosting Poetry Friday until after I have already posted my stuff. Is there a way to know who is coming up?The schedule can be found at A Year of Reading (here's an explanation), and I have the list here at Random Noodling, too!
Rules are mostly made to be broken and are too often for the lazy to hide behind.Good for you Priya for breaking a few rules!
Childhood Religion© Diane Mayr, all rights reserved
I was Catholic back then, attending
mass every Sunday and holy day. Little
attracted by the divine, I was more
distracted by the piquant scent exhaled
by a swinging censer, the gilded dome
behind the altar, and the glassy eyes
of a mink biting the tail of a mink biting
the tail of a mink all around the mothball
permeated coat collar of an old lady
I hoped never to become.
I tried again, but this time I strung a bunch of englynion together. And although there are no rules about it, I tried my best to make it scan within the parameters:
Poetic ruination--
complete mortification--
leads to inebriation.
Give it a try and leave an englyn in the comments below. If you're feeling really brave, post it as a Poster Poem on The Guardian's Book Blog.
FARMER v. CROW
Summer's coming and the crows
comment while the farmer sows--
sows and hoes and weeds and hoes...
Summer passes, crows still wait,
patiently anticipate
ways to tease and aggravate.
Now it's time! The ripened corn
suddenly becomes airborne!
Crows ignoring scarecrow's scorn.
Farmer acts the lunatic
trying ev'ry dirty trick.
Vengeful thoughts are really sick!
Fields and corn he can't defend.
Farmer's now around the bend.
Crows, of course, win in the end.