Monday, April 9, 2018

Success is Counted Sweetest...

by those who succeed! (Sorry Emily)

I received word late Friday morning that I have been hired by Hospice of Franklin County as a Human Resource Generalist, O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay! (Sorry Lewis) I don't know when I'll be starting full-time, probably next week. In the meantime, I shall wallow in my success, and leave you with this poem by Emma Lazarus.

Success - Poem by Emma Lazarus

 Oft have I brooded on defeat and pain,
The pathos of the stupid, stumbling throng.
These I ignore to-day and only long
To pour my soul forth in one trumpet strain,
One clear, grief-shattering, triumphant song,
For all the victories of man's high endeavor,
Palm-bearing, laurel deeds that live forever,
The splendor clothing him whose will is strong.
Hast thou beheld the deep, glad eyes of one
Who has persisted and achieved? Rejoice!
On naught diviner shines the all-seeing sun.
Salute him with free heart and choral voice,
'Midst flippant, feeble crowds of spectres wan,
The bold, significant, successful man. 


 Image result for emma lazarus 

Friday, April 6, 2018

Happy Friday!

The internet is an amazing thing, almost as amazing as the people whose work pops up when you do an internet search for "Friday poems."

Image result for Friday


 What is that cacophony of emotion
that falls out of the sky and into my head
when the words "It's Friday" are said?
Comical and all as it is,
I have really fallen for her; for Friday.
Over and over again.
Forever hopeful and rarely inconsistent.
Full of promise, never bad intent.

I wish you were my Friday.

 Dot  (Feb 2015) 

Thursday, April 5, 2018

Hope is a Thing with Feathers....

...and so fragile it is. I am waiting for news of a new employment venture, having been bumped out of a job that I loved due to department consolidations and building mergers. I have been keeping busy, doing part-time work for the facility I was working at full-time, but a potential opportunity has arisen, and I interviewed for it last Friday. I am naturally a pessimistic person; positive thinking is not natural to me. In recent years though, I have become more hopeful, more positive, willing to believe that good things do come to those that wait, and believe, and hope. And so today I will continue to hope and wait, and build my plans on being successful in my ventures.





To be of use

The people I love the best
jump into work head first
without dallying in the shallows
and swim off with sure strokes almost out of sight.
They seem to become natives of that element,
the black sleek heads of seals
bouncing like half-submerged balls.

I love people who harness themselves, an ox to a heavy cart,
who pull like water buffalo, with massive patience,
who strain in the mud and the muck to move things forward,
who do what has to be done, again and again.

I want to be with people who submerge
in the task, who go into the fields to harvest
and work in a row and pass the bags along,
who are not parlor generals and field deserters
but move in a common rhythm
when the food must come in or the fire be put out.

The work of the world is common as mud.
Botched, it smears the hands, crumbles to dust.
But the thing worth doing well done
has a shape that satisfies, clean and evident.
Greek amphoras for wine or oil,
Hopi vases that held corn, are put in museums
but you know they were made to be used.
The pitcher cries for water to carry
and a person for work that is real.

Marge Piercy, "To be of use" from Circles on the Water. Copyright © 1982 by Marge Piercy. Used by permission of Alfred A. Knopf, an imprint of the Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group, a division of Random House LLC. All rights reserved.
Source: Circles on the Water: Selected Poems of Marge Piercy (Alfred A. Knopf, 1982)

Wednesday, April 4, 2018

Loveliest of Trees...

The crab apple tree outside my window is bejeweled with buds the color of pale emeralds; crystalline raindrops sparkle on branches. My tree looks as though she is ready to go to the ball and meet Prince Charming. Soon she will be decked in bridal white, blossoms dancing in the breeze, the loveliest of trees. 

Loveliest of Trees

Loveliests of trees, the cherry now   
Is hung with bloom along the bough,   
And stands about the woodland ride   
Wearing white for Eastertide.   
Now, of my threescore years and ten,
Twenty will not come again,   
And take from seventy springs a score,   
It only leaves me fifty more.   
And since to look at things in bloom   
Fifty springs are little room,
About the woodlands I will go   
To see the cherry hung with snow.
 Image result for A.E.Housman 

Tuesday, April 3, 2018

A poem for a snowy April 3...

It's SNOWING! It's April 3rd, and it's snowing! This shouldn't surprise me; I had planned a big bash for my 30th birthday on April 16, 2007, and we had to cancel it due to an icy-sleety-snowy-mess falling from the sky. April in New England means snow, rain, snow in the morning then 55 degrees in the afternoon like get the idea. So in honor of April's weird weather issues, I give you this poem by Mary Oliver.

In winter
    all the singing is in
         the tops of the trees
             where the wind-bird

with its white eyes
    shoves and pushes
         among the branches.
             Like any of us

he wants to go to sleep,
    but he's restless—
         he has an idea,
             and slowly it unfolds

from under his beating wings
    as long as he stays awake.
         But his big, round music, after all,
             is too breathy to last.

So, it's over.
    In the pine-crown
         he makes his nest,
             he's done all he can.

I don't know the name of this bird,
    I only imagine his glittering beak
         tucked in a white wing
             while the clouds—

which he has summoned
    from the north—
         which he has taught
             to be mild, and silent—

thicken, and begin to fall
    into the world below
         like stars, or the feathers
               of some unimaginable bird

that loves us,
    that is asleep now, and silent—
         that has turned itself
             into snow.

 Image result for mary oliver

Sunday, April 1, 2018

National Poetry Month is Here Again!

Hello, and Happy April! Today is the first day of National Poetry Month 2018, and I have a lovely springtime poem to share with you, written by Robert Herrick.

To Daffodils

Fair Daffodils, we weep to see
You haste away so soon;
As yet the early-rising sun
Has not attain'd his noon.
Stay, stay,
Until the hasting day
Has run
But to the even-song;
And, having pray'd together, we
Will go with you along.

We have short time to stay, as you,
We have as short a spring;
As quick a growth to meet decay,
As you, or anything.
We die
As your hours do, and dry
Like to the summer's rain;
Or as the pearls of morning's dew,
Ne'er to be found again. 

Image result for daffodil 
(I bought my first bundle of daffodils of the season just the other day, and they were like a bouquet of sunshine on my coffee table. What a happy sight to see when I came in the door each day!)

Stop in again tommorow for another poem as Ellie wanders her way through National Poetry Month!

Tuesday, February 13, 2018

Mysteries and Clarification

   I read my Tarot cards every day, and lately all of my readings have shared some message or have meanings that link together seamlessly. The messages from Spirit are unmistakable: not only is beneficial change coming, but it is coming soon, so I had better be ready (for what, I don't entiely know. I do have several thread-like roots I have extended into different ventures, so it really could be any number of things coming).
   I also read Oracle cards, though not every day. To me, the messages imparted therein are best mulled over for a longer period of time, so I have only read my Oracle cards twice over the past few weeks. The first card I chose from Amy Sophia Marashinsky's Goddess Oracle (illustrated by the amazing Hrana Janto) was Ix Chel, the Maya goddess of healing, magic, creativity, and childbirth.
  Ix Chel tells me that it is time to express my creativity, and that I will find the greatest soul-healing through creative acts. It is through creative endeavors that I will foster change.
  Today I pulled the Eurynome card from the deck. Eurynome represents ecstasy, exuberance, and rapture. She encourages me to create joy for myself, and that in doing so I will heal the wounded parts of myself. Once healed, I will be able to fully embrace ecstasy and joy.
  Aside from spending time with my family, my greatest joy is found in writing. Creating worlds, creating abstracts, crafting dialogue, writing essays and thoughts both simple and convoluted--it is in the written word that I find much happiness.
  I suppose I am on the right track then. These past few months I have used my journal to dissect my wants, my goals, my values, my achievements, failings, and my needs. I have poured everything out, allowing it to be as messy as it needed to be--neatness has no place in soul-searching--sorted through the scraps and glitter and rubble and allowed myself to throw aside that which was most detrimental to me. There are still some bruises and rough spots-I haven't been that successful in letting go of things that bring me down; but I am so much lighter now than I was three months ago.
  Much of this was done unconsciously, done only because I love to write and I keep a journal. If I was a painter like my daughter I probably would have filled canvases with heartache and confusion. Writing comes naturally to me, and so I followed my inclination and created my own peace using words for my medium.