Seasons

If life were a summer of waving grass
And sunny, riverside days
We'd laugh a lot and dream a lot
Under the warming rays.

If Life were winter, long and dreary
Wet outside and cold within
We would never get the respite we get
With the coming of the spring.

But Life keeps always moving forward
From season to season, height to height.
And we move from strength to strength
In seasons of rest to those of fight.

Some seasons are long and dark and grey
Like winter's ever ending night
But spring will always come again
And there will come a tie of light.

If Life were a Summer of waving grass
And sunny riverside days,
We'd never learn to fight and pray
And through God's hope our spirits raise.

There's a time for everything under the sun
A time to laugh and a time to mourn,
A time to plant and a time to plough,
A time to die and a time to be born.
There's a time to hug and a time to withhold
A time to search and a time to cease,
A time to love, a time to hate;
A time to hold captive, a time to release.

New Poem For Review - My Poppies

So, just under an hour ago, I posted a poem (which you can read HERE, if you feel so inspired) because I didn't like it and wanted some critique for it.  Guess what??  I still don't like it, so I wrote another one that I like so much better!  If anyone can come up with a good name for it, let me know.  :)  Here it is... oh!  And thank you for being so patient with me.  :)



With the ring upon my finger
And a kiss pressed to my lips,
My Tommy went away to war
Upon those ugly ships.
He promised he’d return to me
We’d share all we possessed
And his last gift that he gave to me
Were poppies for my bedroom chest.

I keep the flowers fresh for him
He’ll me as he left
His bright eyed girl, just seventeen
His love none can bereft.
The letters come in regularly
His love for me professed
I read them o’re and o’re again
With the vase of poppies on the chest.

Then I hear nothing for a while,
And then some news arrives
That he’s been sent to Gallipoli
Where only one in two men survives.
He tells me that he loves me –
I crush the letter to my breast
Oh God! send my Tommy back to me
I see the wilting poppies on the chest.

This cursed war!  The mail is slow
I leave no newspaper unread
Until the black edged telegram comes
And tells me that my love is dead.
Tis cruel to think of my Tommy bright
Without me to be put to rest.
If only I could kiss him once
And lay some poppies on his chest.

I wander listless to the bay
My tears down my cheeks find course.
I sit and read Tommy’s words again:
His new found mates, his military horse.
And there come his words of love
Full of passion, ne’er suppressed.
I rise and scatter on the waves
The dried, dead poppies off my bedroom chest.

Help With Poem - Please!!!

Here's a poem I was intending to enter in the eisteddfod this weekend... there's one problem - I don't like it, and I don't know why!  Maybe it's the rhyme scheme, or maybe because I didn't write it from emotion (which is how I usually write).  Anyway, I would very much appreciate some constructive criticism, so please tell me the brutal truth or reassure me if it really ok.  Thanks everyone!




The stage is a bubble where things always go wrong,
But all is resolved by a speech or a song.
Time and real life are put at a stand still
As all pass into a separate world.
Where nothing foreign can penetrate until
Back to reality one finds himself hurled.

The set is a doorway to a fantasy land
Where speech is a song, and one’s wish a command.
The rocks, or the towers, whatever it be
Are the windows into that realm so distant
Though you’re so close you can hear and see
The land that’s so real and yet non-existent.

The actors are puppets that live, breathe and speak
They are shadows that carry an air of mystique.
Who are the people behind the layers of paint?
Are they anything like the figures they play?
Is he really laughing?  Is she really faint?
Or do they find sweet relief in their playact display?

The curtains are a cruel jolt back to reality.
They kill all the characters with one foul sweep of finality.
And with empty seats, empty stage, empty hall
We leave until we can do it again.
And so we return to life, quiet and small
Until we come once more to entertain.

For if the stage is a bubble with no link to real life
Why do we go through the stress and the strife
Of every show? There’s one link, you know,
That all of us stage-show people can claim:
We’re entertainers, and so for every show
People’s laughter or tears is to our gain.

Pirates, More Pirates, Camps, and Eisteddfods

I am long overdue for a general post to tell y'all about how life is going.  So here it is now.  :)

As a lot of you would have known, Mum and Dad were involved in the local production of The Pirates of Penzance this year.  It was all rather exciting, as none of us have been involved with our theatrical society since Beauty and the Beast six years ago, and Mum and Dad have never done one together.  There is a consequence that must be realized when you commit yourself to being in a musical show, and that is that - while everyone involved is a volunteer - everyone must pay by being semi-tortured with the same songs going around and around your head day and night for months on end.  Thankfully, torture is only torture if you don't enjoy, and I think that, on the whole (in our family at least) we enjoyed the show and the music so much that we are only now beginning to wish we could forget it.  For those of you who do not know the story of The Pirates of Penzance here is a synopsis from The Utah Shakespeare Festival website:

On the coast of Cornwall, a gang of pirates play and party as Frederic (a pirate apprentice) reminds the pirate king that his obligation to the gang is soon over. He was apprenticed to the pirates only until his twenty-first birthday, which is that day, and he is leaving them. Ruth (Frederic’s nursery maid when he was younger) explains that Frederic should never have been a pirate except for her mistake: She was told to apprentice Frederic to a pilot, but she misunderstood and placed him with a pirate instead.

Frederic tells the pirates that, after he leaves the gang, he intends to destroy them, not because he doesn’t love them, but because he loathes what they do. He is a slave of duty and, when no longer a pirate, it will be his duty to destroy them. The pirates understand, and also complain that they cannot seem to make money. Because Frederic is a slave-of-duty to the pirates until noon, he tells them why: Because they are all orphans, the pirates will not rob another orphan; and since all their potential victims are aware of this, they all claim to be orphans!

Because Frederic has spent his entire life with the pirates, he has never seen another woman; thus he thinks he may want to take Ruth with him as his wife. He asks Ruth if she is beautiful, and she responds that she is. Frederic, a very trusting young man, says that he believes Ruth and he will not let her age come between them.

At this point, however, Frederic hears a chorus of girls in the vicinity. He sees a group of beautiful young women, realizes he was betrayed by Ruth, and rejects her. Frederic informs the girls that he is a pirate, but not for long. He asks if any of the girls will marry him, and the youngest, Mabel, agrees.

The pirates enter the scene, and each grabs a girl. Major-General Stanley enters and identifies himself as the girls’ father, demanding to know what is taking place. When the pirates tell Major-General Stanley that they intend to marry his daughters, he objects, saying he has an aversion to having pirates for sons-in-law; the pirates respond that they are opposed to having major-generals as fathers-in-law, but that they will put aside the objection.

Knowing about the pirates’ weakness, Major-General Stanley tells them he is an orphan and, thus, disarms the pirates and takes his daughters, along with Frederic, away to his family chapel and estate. The major-general, who actually is not an orphan, soon feels guilty about the lie he told the pirates. Frederic, however, has a plan to lead a squad of zany policemen against the his old gang.

Before he can act, however, the pirate king and Ruth arrive to tell him that he is still obligated to the pirates. Because Frederic was born on February 29 of a leap year, he has served only five birthdays, not the twenty-one required by his contract. A strong sense of duty forces Frederic to relent, and, because he is a member of the pirate band again, to reveal the truth that Major-General Stanley is not an orphan. The pirate king vows that he will have revenge on the major-general.

Mabel enters and begs Frederic not to go back to the pirates, but bound by duty, he leaves. The police ready their attack on the pirates, while the pirates creep in to take revenge on the major-general.

The pirates defeat the police. However, when Ruth divulges that the pirates are really noblemen and they swear their allegiance to the queen, the tables are turned--and the police take the pirates prisoner.

However, because the pirates have never really hurt anyone, they are soon forgiven. The ex-pirates win the girls, Frederic wins Mabel, and everyone lives happily ever after.

Quite frankly, I don't get tired of it - it has become one of my favourite musicals.  In fact, I went to see it five out of the ten shows that were playing here in town!  XDD  It is a very funny show.  Below are a few videos starring Jon English and Simon Gallagher that make up my favourite sequence in the whole thing (although, now that I think about it, it probably won't make a whole lot of sense if you don't know what's going on. XD)  Oh, and as an extra note... *giggles and whispers it* ....  I think our show was better!!!  XDD  But don't tell Jon English or Simon Gallagher that!  If you want to see photos of some of the characters in our show click HERE.  A lot of of these photos seem to be of the senior patrons who support the shows each year, but you can kind of get an idea from some of the pictures.  Oh, and if you look at photo number 10, that's my dad in the foreground with the parrot on his shoulder.  (He played bass.)  =D

Other than Pirates, I have been doing a few different things.  This weekend coming, Jess and I are going to a leaders training camp in preparation for Tahlee kids camp in September.  (It's the same camp I wrote about here.)  We are really looking forward to it.  I have been hanging out for kids camp since I had to say goodbye to my six little girls last year and send them home.  

This week is also the closing date for the region writing eisteddfod that I discovered we have last year.  I only entered two sections last year, but this year I am entering all three - short story, poetry, and a letter to the editor.  I did not enter the short story category last year as fictional prose is not my strong point when it comes to writing.  However I decided to do it this year and I am happy with the results.  Oddly enough, it is the poetry that is eluding me this time.  I kind of know what I am going for, but the right words are evading me at present.  Hopefully they come before the closing date.  We shall see, we shall see!!

Guess what??!  I am (attempting) to learn the violin!  I have sort have been interested for a while, but did not really want to start right at the start with Twinkle Twinkle.  My sister Joy offered to give me a lesson, and so I agreed, provided I could start with the second song.  She agreed.  Actually I don't think she particularly agreed with me, but she decided to humour me anyway.  So now, I have struck up a race with James.  I asked him who would reach performance level of the last song in Suzuki book 1.  He - of course! - is convinced it will be him.  At the risk of sounding like a broken record, we shall see, we shall see!  XDD

Talking about music lessons, I now have three piano students and am meeting with a potential fourth this week.  (Wow!  It's all happening this week!  O.o)  I so much enjoying teaching.  My three students are all ten years old, but apparently the little girl I am meeting on Thursday is only seven and has no musical training so I will be starting from scratch, so to speak.  I am rather looking forward to it.  :)

I think that is all I have to report for now... So long, farewell!  

A Late Night Poem

It happens sometimes... just as I am going to do something - in this case sleep! - a poem hits me and I have to write it down.  :)




To my princess:

As you go about life, I hear you hum,
As you wonder, “When is my prince going to come?
All my friends and relations, my sister, my brother
Seem to have found their significant other.
Ok not all of them – that’s not quite true
But the singles around me do seem to be getting quite few.
I wonder when my turn is going to come.”
I listen as you continue to hum.

“He is coming I’m sure on a dashing white steed
That has only ever known the very best feed.
His hair will be shining, on his feet there’ll be boots,
And his robe will out-spledorize all other suits.
Then he will look right at me, and right back I’ll gaze
And all the love in the world in his eyes seem to blaze.
Them as we gallop away towards the sky, full of hue,
He leans in and whispers, ‘Oh, my darling!  How I love you!’”

Oh my child, I listen as you continue to hum,
Waiting and wondering when your prince will come.
If only you knew how I desperately long
To capture your heart with my passionate song.
True, I didn’t come here on a dashing white steed –
I was born in a manger where the animals feed.
My hair was tossed by the wind, my feet chapped and oft bare
And my simple course robe was all I had to wear.
But I looked forward and saw you, years before you were born
And my love for the world meant that my body was torn.
But if you’ll come with me to the sky golden in hue,
I’ll keep you forever.  Oh my child!  How I love you!!

Poem - Unravelling the Handmade Blanket

This is a poem that only scratches some emotions that I have dealt with over the last few months - Praise God He is always good and will never leave us completely hopeless.  Congratulations to my lovely, lovely friends who are expecting their first baby!!!  So excited for you guys!!!  xxx

Unravelling the handmade blanket

Is like watching my dreams slowly die.

The love and the hope that went into each stitch

Come undone and away they fly.

But the pattern of life is like that in the wool – 

Consistent but intricate with turns and twists

One thread on its own is not very important

But without it the pattern would cease to exist.

And so this I ponder as I continue to wind 

Up in a ball the dreams of my heart

Perhaps I will use this wool again one day

And knit it into a blanket for a brand new start.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I pulled out a ball of wool the other day

That still bears the stains of many a tear

But today instead of weeping I smile with joy

As stitch by stitch I prepare for the arrival of a baby dear.

Each row is woven in with love

And hope is sewn between the lines

Of peace and joy and happiness

That now around my heart entwines. 

Poem - We forgot to Dance: An Old Woman's Lament

I was twenty when we met

And you were three years more.

We got married among our friends

On September twenty-four.

From that point forward our motto was

To work hard and receive

The benefits that came from work – 

To endeavour and achieve. 

You worked from dawn to dusk, and I

Keeping house, of course, saw

To the balance and the checks

That come in through our door.

You were exhausted when you got home

Each night was later still

We ne’er complained but worked to earn

The cash to pay each bill.

The balance rose and o’er the years

Five babies were our joy

We welcomed our four giggling girls

And one squirming baby boy.

Soon they were of age to help around

The house and in the store.

You trained our girls to mind the books

And our son to sweep the floor.

Day in day out, we did our bit

And fell in bed at night.

There were some times you would be so tired

You would scarce take one small bite.

As the girls got older they would beg

You to take them to the dance.

We had no time for that there or at home

We forgot our own romance.

I stand here now – a woman old

It’s been thirty years since you went

And every day I come to your grave 

With my soul all in torment

What was our mistake, my darling?

What did we do wrong?  

Our children all live happy lives

And now I scarce belong.

Maybe in securing goods to

Keep them safe and sound,

We missed the things that really matter

In between the cents and pounds.

It would not have hurt to give a little 

To, in life, take a chance…

I’m off to tell the children now – 

It’s important to work hard now-

And to give it all you’ve got now – 

But don’t forget to dance.

It's Not About Potential - Shannen's Poem

Here's to Shannen: the girl of that beautiful smile; the awkward but heart felt hugs;  the trademark floral jeans and sleeveless blouses (you're the only person I know who could actually pull that off and make it look good!); the bass and guitar; the passion to serve and minister to others; the peaceful, peace-making countenance; your hilarious (and sometimes blonde!) sense of humour; your ability to light up a whole room... Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God.  (Matthew 5:8)





It’s not about potential, it’s the lives
That were touched by the one life now deprived.
It’s the mission and conviction that she brought
And the love that guided and drove her every thought.

It’s not could have been, but what is
How she was and forever more will be His:
How her every hope and passion was to see
All her friends and family live for eternity.

It’s not what she missed out on, but what she did
To ensure heaven was not missed by a single kid.
She loved them all, each and every one
And go out of her way so they could meet God’s Son.

It’s not the future that she doesn’t have that counts
It the eternal minute she’s living that amounts
To all she ever wanted – all she ever wanted
Was to give glory to God, so she lived undaunted.

Yes, she could have had more, said more, seen more,
But I think that inside, she couldn’t have been more…
What a beautiful, gentle, passionate soul

Forever more her Lord to extol.

Too Late

Just a piece of my heart that I needed to put out there...




I cry
         as my heart once again yearns to know
Why
        you were taken away so soon.

I’m lost
as I grope for the words I am looking for
Tossed
are my thoughts as I try and think.

Something
    Is haunting me as I remember your smile
Nothing
will give me rest until I say what I’ve learned.


Love is a thing that should never be wasted
Kept to oneself it is useless and vain
It ought to be showered on all who we meet with
For we just never know when we’ll meet them again.


I ought
To have told you, sweet girl, that you’re precious
I thought
 You would always be here to tell it to…

Sigh
        Why is it we say ‘I love you’ the most when saying
‘Goodbye?’

Wait!
          But you’re gone like the flower that blooms
And I’m too late…

A New Favourite Word and a New Favourite Poem

I have a new favourite word:

Tintinnabulation

Isn't that delicious?  I have been muttering it to myself as I walk around the house just to hear it again and again.  Yeah... I'm weird like that!  ^_^

I came across the word in my New Favourite Poem and it means the sound of bells.  I just love it.  :D

Anyway, you are probably curious as to what my New Favourite Poem is.

*Drum roll*

It is Edgar Allen Poe's The Bells.  If you have not read any poetry by Poe, then you are sadly missing out.  He had such a way with words, rhythm and rhyme and The Bells in particular is a work of pure brilliance.  I have posted it below, but before you read it, you have to promise not to just read it - you have to say it aloud.  The reason is that the way Poe wrote the poem is that as more and more bells are added to the description, the rhythm gets faster and more repetitive, just like the clamour of dozens of bells all ringing at the same time.   The last stanza is where I get really excited.  (Once again... I'm weird like that!  :P)

I hope you enjoy it  as much as I do.  :)

The Bells by Edgar Allen Poe

I.

   Hear the sledges with the bells--

             Silver bells!

What a world of merriment their melody foretells!

       How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle,

           In the icy air of night!

       While the stars that oversprinkle

       All the heavens, seem to twinkle

           With a crystalline delight;

         Keeping time, time, time,

         In a sort of Runic rhyme,

To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells

    From the bells, bells, bells, bells,

               Bells, bells, bells--

  From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells.

II.

         Hear the mellow wedding bells

             Golden bells!

What a world of happiness their harmony foretells!

       Through the balmy air of night

       How they ring out their delight!

           From the molten-golden notes,

               And all in tune,

           What a liquid ditty floats

    To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats

               On the moon!

         Oh, from out the sounding cells,

What a gush of euphony voluminously wells!

               How it swells!

               How it dwells

           On the Future! how it tells

           Of the rapture that impels

         To the swinging and the ringing

           Of the bells, bells, bells,

    Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,

               Bells, bells, bells--

  To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells!

III.

         Hear the loud alarum bells--

                  Brazen bells!

What tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells!

       In the startled ear of night

       How they scream out their affright!

         Too much horrified to speak,

         They can only shriek, shriek,

                  Out of tune,

In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire,

In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire,

            Leaping higher, higher, higher,

            With a desperate desire,

         And a resolute endeavor

         Now--now to sit or never,

       By the side of the pale-faced moon.

            Oh, the bells, bells, bells!

            What a tale their terror tells

                  Of Despair!

       How they clang, and clash, and roar!

       What a horror they outpour

On the bosom of the palpitating air!

       Yet the ear, it fully knows,

            By the twanging,

            And the clanging,

         How the danger ebbs and flows ;

       Yet, the ear distinctly tells,

         In the jangling,

         And the wrangling,

       How the danger sinks and swells,

By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells--

             Of the bells--

     Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,

         Bells, bells, bells--

  In the clamour and the clangour of the bells!

IV.

          Hear the tolling of the bells--

               Iron bells!

What a world of solemn thought their monody compels!

       In the silence of the night,

       How we shiver with affright

  At the melancholy meaning of their tone!

         For every sound that floats

         From the rust within their throats

              Is a groan.

         And the people--ah, the people--

         They that dwell up in the steeple,

              All alone,

         And who, tolling, tolling, tolling,

            In that muffled monotone,

         Feel a glory in so rolling

            On the human heart a stone--

       They are neither man nor woman--

       They are neither brute nor human--

              They are Ghouls:--

         And their king it is who tolls ;

         And he rolls, rolls, rolls, rolls,

              Rolls

            A pæan from the bells!

         And his merry bosom swells

            With the pæan of the bells!

         And he dances, and he yells ;

       Keeping time, time, time,

       In a sort of Runic rhyme,

            To the pæan of the bells--

               Of the bells :

       Keeping time, time, time,

       In a sort of Runic rhyme,

            To the throbbing of the bells--

            Of the bells, bells, bells--

            To the sobbing of the bells ;

       Keeping time, time, time,

            As he knells, knells, knells,

       In a happy Runic rhyme,

            To the rolling of the bells--

         Of the bells, bells, bells--

            To the tolling of the bells,

      Of the bells, bells, bells, bells--

               Bells, bells, bells--

  To the moaning and the groaning of the bells.

Little Girl - A Poem.

This poem is about a girl I know - and it is all real.  I barely made anything up for the drama of the poem.  I didn't have to: the little girl that was under bondage was set free and changed by the love and the blood of Jesus.  I know because I was there and had the privilege of helping her to pray for the first time.  I have called her Angel in the poem... please pray for her as I don't know what kind of home environment she has or if there are other Christians she can go to.


Little girl – she’s so afraid:
It’s dark and the stories she’s just heard
Are echoing and repeating
Around and around… and around…
The panic builds and the masquerade
Of the sassy girl crumbles with every word.
Her confidence flees, ever retreating
And the darkness closes in…

Little girl – she doesn’t know
What to think or do: she’s on her own.
If she could only push away
But it keeps her awake… and awake…
The pressure builds and the tears flow
If only she weren’t quite so alone
She screams from the chaos and the fray
Wrought by the darkness that closes in…

Little girl – she sobs out pain
Then answers come when she least expected.
She keeps on asking, “Why, God, why?”
He replies, “Because of sin…. Because of sin…
But I made a way so you can obtain
My righteousness. You’re my elected –
I love you, little girl, and my love is high
As the clouds. Darkness can’t close in…

Little girl – I’ve a house for you
I’ve been building for two thousand years!
Now I’m waiting for you to come
But I have a job for you… yes, just for you…
There are others that need to hear of me too
Come now, my Angel, enough of your tears
I paid for you, now you can become
Bright.  The darkness need never close in.

Little girl – the fear is gone
As for the first time she prays
And is changed as she bows her head.
It is a miracle… truly a miracle…
She smiles as she is reborn
Those around her are amazed
She quietly goes back to bed
The darkness cannot close in.

Un-named Poem

Yep: another one.  ;)  This poem was inspired by a conversation on Google plus about make up and how girls today seem to use make up to completely do themselves over - almost like a daily mini plastic surgery procedure.  As I was thinking about it, I realized that the over use of make up goes so much deeper than wanting to look nice... it comes from insecurities inside, and as I mused on this, my heart just went to the girls trapped in such a mindset.

So here's a poem about it, because that is the way I best express myself.  :)  I kinda thought it would be nice in a song, but I can't compose for the life of me, so if anyone gets some inspiration, you're welcome to it.  ;)



I stand in front of the mirror
And examine myself at length
Can they all see the guilt I read
Beneath my phony strengths?
I reach and grab my bathroom bag
That contains my mask inside
With a little work I’m finished
I can show the fake me outside

So dress me up so they don’t know
Who I really am, who I really am…
If they could see the ugliness, the plainness, the decay
I’m certain they would all turn and walk away.

I smile as I walk the street,
But it’s painted on my face
The pain inside is screaming out
From a world full of disgrace.
What if I left my mask at home?
I could try it and just see…
No I can’t – I couldn’t try
I’m afraid of the real me.

I wish I could be accepted as the person that I am
But if they saw me warts and all would they want to be my friend?
Maybe I’ve got this upside down, perhaps the step to strength
Is opening up, and letting down, and revealing them my weakness.
Just perhaps they are all like me – afraid to show the dirt
Maybe by my opening up, we could all start to heal from hurt.

Another Poem - The Vow

Here's another poem for critique... my school assignment was to write a paper on the essence of marriage.  Because I feel that I convey that kind of thing best on poetical form, I wrote a poem instead.  At first my head was all done in - I know what I believe, but getting it down on paper is so much harder.  I was able to have a chat with my lovely friend though who helped to step it out for me and gave me a couple of pointers.  Thanks so much, dear friend!  This is for you and your fiance.  :)

The Vow

It’s naught that I bring

And yet I bring everything

I am giving it all to you.

I’m so excited, but scared

I pray to God I’m prepared

For the new life we’re about to pursue.

My old life is behind me –

And though it’s the life that’s defined me –

I promise I’ll never go back.

For you will secure my ardour

And going back will be harder

The farther we go down the track.

Things won’t always be perfect

There’ll be times when we’re wrecked

And it all seems to be going awry.

I know I’ll make mistakes

But I’ll be with you in the heartbreaks

To comfort you while you cry.

We are young and new to this

What if we err or go amiss?

Fear not for example precedes us:

Christ’s love for his bride

Her sweet trust to confide -

We’ll follow wherever He leads us

What a blessed sweet vision

It makes firm my decision

To love you with whole mind and heart

I will love you forever

And forsake you never

As we say, “Until death do us part”.

Commonplace Palace

I thought I would share the other poem I entered in the writing eisteddfod.  I have already put up "Strength During Loss" which you can read here.  I was told recently by a poet that rhyming poetry is a bit of a lost art and very few people can do it (personally, I think it depends on how you have learned poetry and what you practice) but not sure what the adjudicator would be looking fr, I thought I would enter a free verse poem as well, which I don't really consider to be a poem - more like prose with funny paragraphing.  :P  Hope you like it all the same.  Thankyou to +Alice Farrelly for helping me out with my formatting, too.  :D

Commonplace Palace

Sitting, I listen to the sounds around me.
Sisters, singing and chattering happily
Oblivious as yet of life’s hardships and woes.
Bless their sweet hearts – they come over and kiss me
And off they go again!
Mozart playing through the stereo, creating a ballroom atmosphere
In this commonplace lounge,
Yet not so commonplace either…
Wherever love and laughter abound, is it so common?
No!  Kisses and hugs from one’s family
Create a fairy tale setting for a princess to live in.
For Mother and Father are the king and the queen
With one young prince and seven princesses to rule alongside.
How rich we are to live in our commonplace palace –
Laughter hangs from the ceiling and lights up the room.
Love surrounds us on all sides
Warmer than the fire in the hearth.
Homemade scarves –  birthday gifts, mainly – are more prized
Than a purple Tyrian cloak.
Patchwork quilts are hugged as stories shared
From books and from life.
Yes our commonplace palace is warmer,
Brighter,
Livelier
Than Buckingham itself
For within these walls resides our family:
Mother Father, Sisters, Brother
Altogether.

Poem for Critique

While investigating the syllabus for this year's Muswellbrook eisteddfod, I was pleasantly surprised to discover a new section - creative writing.  I hadn't planned on entering in anything this year as my piano is not up to scratch and I cannot do public talking, but although I do not consider writing to be a particularly strong point for me, I thought creative writing would be fun to try.  (If you would like to enter, the syllabus can be found at file:///C:/Users/Emily/Downloads/Syllabus%202014_1%20(1).pdf)


Anyway, the poem I have written is rather sad and probably not what one would expect from a younger writer (in my opinion, anyway) but I decided to go through with it because 1) it is a topic I feel very strongly about 2) the poem came so naturally there doesn't seem to be much sense in changing it for something that I struggled for hours to write, and 3) because I am in the open age category (being over 18 years old) I had to pull out something a little more mature (for want of a better word) to be able to compete with older more experienced writers.  I am somewhat comforted by the fact that a published poet said recently that rhythmic, rhyming poetry is a dying art and few people can master it... (that said, however, I know a number of people who write in such just a way - maybe we are all geniuses!  :P )


I haven't named my poem as yet, so when you comment (and, yes, I am imploring you to comment on this one!) please tell me honestly what you think of the poem, where I could make improvements, and what I could name it.  I will very much appreciate all suggestions and criticisms.  :)  Thankyou!

Anxious, they hover and are waiting near by

As the night is broken by a pained woman’s cry.

The husband, the mother they listen and wait.

It’s been such a long time… such a long time

Such a long time since they’d started to wait.

Then through the quiet, the still early dawn,

Comes the cry of a baby – the child is born.

The joy of a little one – they rush to her side.

She’s exhausted and weak, but beaming with pride.

“Look at him,” she whispers, a tear in her eye,

“He could only be your son… only be your son…

Only your son would have such beautiful eyes.”

They gaze at the child, so skinny, so small

And before they say more, he’s gone like a leaf in the fall.

For one joyous instant, he had been theirs:

And now all one hears are their tears and their prayers.

“God let us keep him!” they cry out aloud

But the little soul slips away… the soul slips away…

The soul slips away while they are praying aloud.

And as the little one stiffens and starts to grow cold,

They kiss him good-bye with grief none can withhold.

God grant comfort to her to had pained for so long

 And to him who for her must stay steady and strong.

And while we don’t know why these things come to pass,

We know faith is a strength… faith is a strength…

Faith is a strength which none can surpass.

Hold onto this strength and peace will overflow

With the courage to look and to hope for tomorrow.

Reader's Interview (for want of a better name!)

I saw this "Reader's interview" on a blog and really enjoyed reading through it... I hope you enjoy my version of it!  If you decide to do one as well, leave me a message to let me know - I would love to read yours!  Oh... and thank you to Joy C. for encouraging me to do it! :)

1. Favorite childhood book? I can't put it down to one book, so I shall have to say the entire Little House on the Prairie series, but I also loved Rainbow Garden by Patricia St. John, and Madeline (to go right back to picture books!)

2. What are you reading right now? I am currently reading When Hitler Stole Pink Rabbit, Kon-Tiki, and Elsie's Motherhood, although  I haven't picked that one up for a while... :)

3. What books do you have on request at the library? I don't request books - I'm happy to wait til they come in.  :D

4. Bad book habit? Reading lots of books all over the house and then going around and picking then up for weeks afterwards... and, yes, it happens...

5. What do you currently have checked out at the library? About four... or is it five???

6. Do you have an e-reader? I have a Kindle, but I prefer a hard cover book.  Kindles are great for those really rare books that you can generally get from Amazon as an e-book for free. :)

7. Do you prefer to read one book at a time, or several at once? I have a tracked record of having so many books going at once that I never finish any of them... I have improved over time, though - I think...

8. Have your reading habits changed since starting a blog? Nope!  

9. Least favourite book you read this year (so far)? Of 2013, it's a close call between Heart of Darkness and  Labor's untold Story.  Blergh!  It was so dry and boring!  Of 2014, probably  Kon-Tiki.  I only started it this afternoon, but I have read bits of it before, and well, it wasn't my favourite.

10. Favorite book you’ve read this year? Of 2013, I can't remember everything I read but I think it is pretty safe to say that the Women of the West books by Janette Oke topped the list.  I think I read about seven of them and I loved each one.  Of 2014, I would have to pick The Wave by Todd Strasser.  It is a fascinating true story about a teacher in the 1960's who recreated a the disciplined environment for his students, similar to that of the Nazi Youth, and how the whole experiment got out of hand.

11. How often do you read out of your comfort zone? If I have the choice, I don't usually push myself much.  Assigned reading is another matter...

12. What is your reading comfort zone? I am confortable with many different genres:  I like Christian biographies, fiction stories, Christian "romances" (that is, the ones that truly do honor the Lord... sadly, many of them do not).  I also enjoy a mystery every now and again, but I am not huge on sci-fi or fantasy, although some fantasy books are ok.

13. Can you read in the car? Sometimes.  I don't usually because I can often get whopping headaches as a result, but if I remembered to bring my glasses, I might.

14. Favorite place to read? Anywhere that I can lounge around in front of or under a fan... :)

15. What is your policy on book lending? "Have you read this?  Take it with you, and take you're time - I read it recently and don't need it at the moment... :)"

16. Do you ever dog-ear books? *is disgusted*  No way!

17. Do you ever write in the margins of your books?  Of course not!

18. Not even with text books? Nope.

19. What is your favourite language to read in? English... it suits me... ;)

20. What makes you love a book? One where I can relate to the character .. that's why I love Janette Oke books so much, because I can so relate to the girls and I cry for them and cheer for them when they are finally able to fulfill their vocation.

21. What will inspire you to recommend a book?  As soon as I hear someone mention something they enjoy, I immeadiately start thinking of books they might like.  I'll tell them about said books, even if I didn't particularly enjoy them - each to their own!

22. Favorite genre? Classic literature

23. Genre you rarely read (but wish you did)? Ummm... Probably mystery.  Last year, I bough a set of 25 Agatha Christie books which look awesome in the shelf, but I have only read about 3-4 of them.  I don't really want them to 'smolder to dust away'.

24. Favourite biography? The Trapp Family Singers would have to be my first pick.

25. Have you ever read a self-help book? I... think... so... but I don't believe I finished it (it was about small businesses and get really boring...)

26. Favourite cookbook? I usually make up recipes or Google them, but my favourite actual cookbook would be Mrs. Beeton's Everyday Cookery and Housekeeping Book.

27. Most inspirational book you’ve read this year (fiction or non-fiction)? We recently read aloud a biography of Isaac Newton.  What a fascinating, godly man he was!  His priority was Christ, and yet he achieved some of the greatest scientific feats in history. 

28. Favorite reading snack? Dry roasted nuts with a cup of coffee.  :)

29. Name a case in which hype ruined your reading experience. I'm not sure this has actually ever happened to me.  The only thing I can think of that comes close is the fact that Jess and I have nearly opposite styles in taste - if she loves a book that I haven't yet read, I dread reading it at all...

30. How often do you agree with critics about a book? I never read critiques - I like my own opinion on a book because whether the 'experts' liked a book or not doesn't mean I will or won't like said book.

31. How do you feel about giving bad/negative reviews? It depends on what I'm condemning in the book.  If it a matter of moral issues, I don't have any qualms about voicing them.  If is just a style thing though, I try to keep my thoughts to myself so I don't cast a bad light on it for others.

32. If you could read in a foreign language, which languages would you chose? I have always wanted to be able to read the Bible in the origianl Hebrew and Greek.  I also think Latin and French would be really cool.

33. Most intimidating book you’ve ever read? Probably Heart of Darkness -  I am suspicious of any book with print that requires binoculars to make head or tail of it.  ;)

34. Most intimidating book you’re too nervous to begin? Some of the really big Dickens.

35. Favorite Poet? Banjo Paterson, followed by Robert Frost.

36. How many books do you usually have checked out of the library at any given time? Somewhere between three and ten...

37. How often have you returned books to the library unread? WAY too often...

38. Favorite fictional character? I love Alex Rover from Nim's Island, and any one of the March Girls from Little Women and Anne from Anne of Green Gables Katy Carr from What Katy Did and...and...and...well, the list goes on!

39. Favourite fictional villain? That prize would have to go to Lady Catherine De Bugh from Pride and Prejudice.  (Does she count as a villain!?) 

40. Books I’m most likely to bring on vacation? Comfortable reading, like Janette Oke. :)

41. The longest I’ve gone without reading. Ummm... what kind of a question is that???  I can't say exactly...

42. Name a book that you could/would not finish. I may shock some die-hard Narnia fans, but I could not finish The Silver Chair, and I have not attempted any of the books beyond that in the series.

43. What distracts you easily when you’re reading? When someone is reading over my shoulder, or when I can hear someone else somewhere reading aloud something else.

44. Favorite film adaptation of a novel? I love the BBC adaption of Pride and Prejudice, and the Narnia movies save Prince Caspian *shudders*.  
  

45. Most disappointing film adaptation? There have been a few... *thinks hard*... Stuart Little and Mary Poppins are nothing like the books, but the films improved them immensely  so I can't say they were exactly disappointing... I think it would be Prince Caspian.  I really didn't like the way they portrayed Aslan as an illusion that Lucy had, and the way Susan behaved was disgraceful!

46. The most money I’ve ever spent in the bookstore at one time? I don't often buys books for myself, but my record would be $100 on a set of 25 Agatha Christie's.

47. How often do you skim a book before reading it? I don't often do this, but sometimes I do just to see if it is happy (i.e. a wedding) or sad (i.e. a funeral) at the end!

48. What would cause you to stop reading a book half-way through? Inappropriate romance gets the bin for me... it also bugs me when kids don't show enough respect to their parents.

49. Do you like to keep your books organized? Well... I like to know where they are when I want them... is that the same thing???;)

50. Do you prefer to keep books or give them away once you’ve read them? Are you crazy!  I keep them, of course!

51. Are there any books you’ve been avoiding? I avoid most books by Francine Rivers and other "Christian" authors that looks suspicious on the back covers... (and don't pretend you don't know what I mean! ;) )

52. Name a book that made you angry. Any book that describes the mistreatment of children makes me angry.  

53. A book you didn’t expect to like but did? Robinson Crusoe

54. A book that you expected to like but didn’t? Swiss Family Robinson

55. Favorite guilt-free, pleasure reading? Janette Oke. :)

Because I Love You

One of my Sonlight books this year is a collection of art works and poems that people have written inspired by the art.  It is only natural, perhaps, that one of my writing assignments should follow the same line.  I had to choose a piece of art.  That in itself is difficult for me as I rarely have feelings of inspiration when encountered with art.  :)  Fortunately, however, I remembered one of my favourite children's books which comes with gorgeous illustrations.  Because I Love You by Max Lucado is a beautiful story, and I would highly recommend it.  Any way, here is the picture I chose, and the poem is underneath it.

Because I Love You

Little child, so dear to Me:

Please listen to My words.

The world you see is full of sun,

Of treees, of play, and birds;

 But I have seen much farhter

Than you will ever see.

I built the line 'tween right and wrong - 

But no one created Me.

I am in your future

And in your past I AM.

While you were dead in your own ways,

I was sacrificed as thy Lamb.

You may wonder, darling child,  - 

Apple of My Eye - 

Why I tell you all of this,

Any why I chose to to die?

My child, you cannot understand;

You cannot get a view

Of how very very very much

Very much I love you.

You are my heartstrings, my every thought

Is concerned with your own good.

And while your love sometimes wanders,

My love never could.

I cannot wait to bring you Here

And save you hurt and pain;

But inless you learn to die to self,

My peace you'll never gain.

This may seem harsh, but trust Me, child:

I only want the best

For you.  And if you come to Me

I promise you'll find rest.

Writing, Maths, Baking, and a Poem by Me :)

Yesterday being Friday, Mum decided we would do a couple of different things - just to be different, I suppose.  :)  The first thing, she said, would be a 'free-write' where each of us writes on the same topic, but interprets it in our own way.  The topic was "The Perfect Day".  James had to write for ten minutes; Elise on up had to write for fifteen minutes.  The result was rather interesting.  Jess wrote a story set in the war about a girl who finally got her perfect day.  I wrote a poem about things I like to do, but it isn't exactly realistic.  The younger four all outlined what would happen to make their days perfect.  This was interesting in itself as they all differed quite a bit.  Grace's perfect day included cleaning the pergola and pealing potatoes - activities she hates - simply because what she does like is to keep busy and have things to do.  In Joy's perfect day, the dishes magically did themselves and we had a great day with lots of dear friends.  Elise's perfect day started with horse riding all morning, and James' perfect day was to play different sports all day at the park.

After we had read our papers aloud, we played a maths game that I haven't played in years.  We have heaps of maths flash cards with simple addition, subtraction, multiplication and division problems printed on them.  (Elise and I sorted them into their respective piles before we began writing.)  The rules of the game are: you set a timer for a minute.  Mum holds up the flash cards and you answer as many of them as you can before the timer goes off, but if you get one wrong, you start again but the timer keeps ticking. 

Some people found this a little bit stressful, but it was good fun.  We started with division.  Grace absolutely blitzed that section, answering fifty problems in a minute.  We then did multiplication, but I can't remember who won that one!  :)  At the end of each section, Mum subtracted our age from twenty and added it to our score (So I got two extra points, Jess got 3, Grace got 5, Joy got 7, Elise got 9, and James got 11) It even us up a little bit.  :)  I think the overall winner was still Grace, but no one could beat her fifty she got on division.

When we had finished that, Mum took Jess through to James to swimming lessons and I stayed to mind Rose and Annie.  Annie hasn't been too well lately, so she sat in the lounge room and watched DVDs  (or as she calls them "DDDs"!)  Rose and I went to the kitchen because I had promised to show her how to make bread.  We make a loaf of bread and some rolls for lunch.  You should have heard her squeal with excitement when she realized that the dough was growing!

So that was my different day day.  I got next to no 'school work'  done, but I did writing, maths, child minding, bread making, home economics - they don't teach you half that stuff at school!  :)

Here's the poem I wrote; I'm sure all of you could relate to at least parts of it!  :)

Waking up one morning,
I heard the rain on the roof
And the window, just above my head.
My heart started soaring
Til it was far and aloof,
For these are my favourite days.

I started with reading
Sitting up in my bed.
Then I went and made pancakes to eat
With dishes succeeding.
Then I went back and read -
Oh these are my favourite days!

 With the rain still coming,
I went and I baked
Bread and and cookies and scones.
All the while I was humming,
Over slices and cake
For these are my favourite days.

After lunch I examined,
The patterns I like
And sewed the whole afternoon through,
A quilt - mint and lemon -
Then dinner (not pike!)
Oh these are my favourite days!


Disclaimer:  I couldn't come up with anything to rhyme with 'like' that would fit, so I just put 'pike' in to clarify that my favorite days do not include seafood!  :P

My Familiar by John Godfrey Saxe

Don't we all have friends like this?  :P




Again I hear that creaking step!--



He's rapping at the door!--
Too well I know the boding sound
That ushers in a bore.
I do not tremble when I meet
The stoutest of my foes,
But Heaven defend me from the friend
Who comes--but never goes!

He drops into my easy chair,
And asks about the news,
He peers into my manuscript,
And gives his candid views;
He tells me where he likes the line,
And where he's forced to grieve;
He takes the strangest liberties,--
But never takes his leave!

He reads my daily paper through
Before I've seen a word;
He scans the lyric (that I wrote),
And thinks it quite absurd;
He calmly smokes my last cigar,
And coolly asks for more;
He opens everything he sees--
Except the entry door!

He talks about his fragile health,
And tells me of the pains
He suffers from a score of ills
Of which he ne'er complains;
And how he struggled once with Death
To keep the fiend at bay;
On themes like those away he goes--
But never goes away!

He tells me of the carping words
Some shallow critic wrote;
And every precious paragraph
Familiarly can quote;
He thinks the writer did me wrong;
He'd like to run him through!
He says a thousand pleasant things--
But never says, 'Adieu!'

Whene'er he comes--that dreadful man--
Disguise it as I may,
I know that, like an Autumn rain,
He'll last throughout the day.
In vain I speak of urgent tasks:
In vain I scowl and pout;
A frown is no extinguisher--
It does not put him out!

I mean to take the knocker off,
Put crape upon the door,
Or hint to John that I am gone
To stay a month or more.
I do not tremble when I meet
The stoutest of my foes,
But Heaven defend me from the friend
Who never, never goes!