i saw shimmys in her blog.... and it made me wonder what MINE was... and it ALSO made me wonder ... what is YOURS?

OTHER than a book of poems my daughter wrote and gave to me...
this is my favorite:
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
And miles to go before I sleep.

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kims SECOND journal is HERE
kims new blog
KIMS BLOG !!
SUGARFREE BLOG

This is simple..... mine has always been "The Road Not Taken" by Robert Frost. It is so true, especially for me... I have often wondered where my life would be if I had just taken a different path oh so long ago.... Thanks Kim... this is a wonderful idea!

THE ROAD NOT TAKEN
By Robert Frost

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

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196/135-135

*L*... another of robert frosts... i ALMOST chose that one.. but the one i learned and recited in school was the one that my little sister and i always laugh about TO THIS DAY..*L*... she helped me learn it.. and i kept saying "MY QUEER LITTLE HORSE " instead of my little horse must think it queer..*L*.... odd tho... i always THOUGHT it was SNOWBOUND by john greenleaf whittier..*L*..no clue why... just know that at that same time i had to keep reciting THAT line... i read the ACTUAL snowbound poem today... and it wasnt IT... not sure HOW i got those two confused... but the STOPPING BY THE WOODS ON A SNOWY EVENING is the one i actually learned and recited...
i gotta call my sister and ask her about that.. its really odd.. i have been saying it was SNOWBOUND by JGW for about 40 years! *LOL*

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kims SECOND journal is HERE
kims new blog
KIMS BLOG !!
SUGARFREE BLOG

not my favorite, but funny!.. Author unknown...

Old-Timers Bedtime

Here he comes, all ready for bed
Wearing nothing at all but a cap on his head.
Here am I- my attire complete..
A smile on my face and sox on my feet.
We're old and we're wrinkled, but why should we mind?
We sleep like two trees- our branches entwined.
Who needs pajamas and nighties so cute
When sleeping's the best in your birthday suit?

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In the cookies of life, we are the chocolate chips.

You smile upon your friend to-day,
To-day his ills are over;
You hearken to the lover's say,
And happy is the lover.

'Tis late to hearken, late to smile,
But better late than never;
I shall have lived a little while
Before I die for ever.

A. E. Housman

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Oranges
By Gary Soto

The first time I walked
With a girl, I was twelve,
Cold, and weighed down
With two oranges in my jacket.
December, Frost crackling
Beneath my steps, my breath
Before me, then gone,
As I walked toward
Her house, the one whose
Porch light burned yellow
Night and day, in any weather.
A dog barked at me, until
She came out pulling
At her gloves, face bright
With rouge. I smiled,
Touched her shoulder, and led
Her down the street, across
A used car lot and a line
Of newly planted trees,
Until we were breathing
Before a drugstore. We
Entered, the tiny bell
Bringing a sales lady
Down a narrow aisle of goods.
I turned to the candies
Tiered like bleachers,
And asked what she wanted -
Light in her eyes, a smile
Starting at the corners
Of her mouth. I fingered
A nickel in my pocket,
And when she lifted a chocolate
That cost a dime
I didn't say anything.
I took the nickel from
My pocket, then an orange,
And set them quietly on
The counter. When I looked up,
The lady's eyes met mine,
And held them, knowing
Very well what it was all
About.

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Shimmer
my blog

My favorites are lengthy ones.....I posted "The Race" here a while back. And I learned an 8 or 9 verse poem called "Charlie Lee" while in high school and can (almost) recite it all to this day! It's about a cowboy who was wrongfully accused of stealing horses and was about to be hanged.....if I can find it on the internet, I'll try to post it. It's very exciting!

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Not sure how I missed this thread! I LOVE poetry. Here's one of my favorites:

The Journey by Mary Oliver

One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice?
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
"Mend my life!"
each voice cried.
But you didn't stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do?
determined to save
the only life you could save.

__________________
Renee
1/19/04
261/220/160
41 lbs off
60 lbs to goal



Race to 199 Challenge
Labor Day Challenge: Focusing on the Journey
Personal Goal: 199 by 12/31/05

Rhonda you stole mine! just kidding.... but it is and always has been my favorite poem. The only one I ever learned and can still recite. The *sigh* gets heavier every year too.

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keep on keepin on

As of 1-3-2009
213/213/180

DO NOT GO GENTLE INTO THAT GOOD NIGHT

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Dylan Thomas

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my blog

Wow great thread, keep em coming folks!!

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keep on keepin on

As of 1-3-2009
213/213/180

Well...we had to memorize and recite at least half of this poem...and I have been intrigued by Poe ever since.

The Raven

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore--
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
"'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door--
Only this and nothing more."


Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow;--vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow--sorrow for the lost Lenore--
For the rare and radient maiden whom the angels name Lenore--
Nameless here forevermore.


And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me--filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,
"'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door--
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;--
This it is and nothing more."

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Sir," said I, "or madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you"--here I opened wide the door;--
Darkness there and nothing more.

Deep into that darknes peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore?"
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!"
Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
"Surely," I said, "surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore--
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;--
'Tis the wind and nothing more!"

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door--
perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door--
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the nightly shore--
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the night's Plutonian shore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

Much I marveled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning--little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door--
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as "Nevermore."

But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing farther then he uttered--not a feather then he fluttered--
Till I scarcely more than muttered, "Other friends have flown before--
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before."
Then the bird said, "Nevermore."

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore--
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
Of 'Never--nevermore.'

But the Raven still beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore--
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking "Nevermore."

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o'er,
But whose velvet-violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor.
"Wretch," I cried, "thy God has lent thee--by these angels he hath sent thee
Respite--respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore;
Quaff, oh, quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!--prophet still, if bird or devil!--
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted
On this home by horror haunted--tell me truly, I implore--
Is there--is there balm in Gilead?--tell me--tell me, I implore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!--prophet still, if bird or devil!--
By that heaven that bends above us--by that God we both adore--
Tell this soul with sorrow laden, if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore--
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore."
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

"Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!" I shrieked, upstarting--
"Get thee back into the tempest and the night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of the lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken!--quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted--nevermore!

~~~Edgar Allen Poe

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~~~~
Shelley
~~~~

Visit Kassie's Korner



Life deserves a treat now and again, but life also deserves being healthy[with required disipline] to make it worth living!

I posted mine in Kim's journal too

Emily Dickinson

There Is No Frigate Like A Book


There is no frigate like a book
To take us lands away,
Nor any coursers like a page
Of prancing poetry.
This traverse may the poorest take
Without oppress of toll;
How frugal is the chariot
That bears a human soul!

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Start Date Jan 21 05
Restart Date 17 Mar 07
200/189/145

hmmmm im so old i dont know.. do they STILL have children recite poetry in school anymore? .... i sure hope so...

and read plays? gosh... i remember what an AMAZING play "OUR TOWN" was... i have seen it performed on tv... but NOTHING is as powerful as reading the WRITTEN word.......your mind can conjure up so much more than what can be shown by performers...

but i DO love seeing plays as well.... i saw peter pan when i was a child.. MAGICAL.... so very magical..

ARSENIC and OLD LACE was another play i saw... gosh... was really REALLY fun!

anyone ELSE here a fan of theater?

__________________
kims SECOND journal is HERE
kims new blog
KIMS BLOG !!
SUGARFREE BLOG

Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower,
but only so an hour.
So leaf subsides to leaf,
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.

Frost, but I don't know the real title.