There was once a day when each of us were young
and many, at least for now, are cloaked in youth this day.
But the song of youthfulness is soon enough sung,
and childhood and adolescence stolen away.
Oh innocent babies, fed from mother’s breast, beware!
The sublime beauty of guiltlessness is not forever,
in time that bright sinless light will go out as if a flare,
the harsh realities of life awaiting each newborn’s endeavor.
In no way does this mean to abandon all hope as we age,
not if we replace lost youth with a few chosen things,
things like accepting responsibility just to set the stage.
And, at any age, living by the Golden Rule happiness brings
by showing general love and respect for our fellow mankind,
and I’ll add our planet, wildlife and nature to that equation.
Knowledge is prime, so continue to learn, refresh your mind,
and “wow” those even decades younger at a given occasion.
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“Rose is a rose is a rose” wrote Gertrude Stein
in her 1913 poem “Sacred Emily”,
and it remains to this day a famous line.
The meaning of the phrase, most have come to agree,
is “things are what they are” by anyone’s decree.
The original idiom didn’t begin with the letter “A”,
though generally seen and quoted that way today.
No matter what you think it means, or how it’s read or said,
a rosebush flourishes in northern Germany that “is what it is”,
the world’s oldest living rose with untold years ahead.
Did you guess it’s about 1000 years old? If so you pass the quiz.
This rose, viewed for centuries, clearly a leader in “show” biz,
climbs massively high up the wall of a 9th century Cathedral,
St. Mary’s in Hildesheim, and to see it will certainly enthral.
March 22, 2009 – 12:39 am
He’s big, no huge, or so the believers all say,
ranging some 6 to 10 feet tall,
an ape-like creature you don’t want in your way,
your day ruined for sure if he should maul.
A bipedal humanoid of 500 lbs or more, not one to crawl,
he’s covered head to toe in dark brown or red hair,
trust me, even if your hair’s super thick it doesn’t compare.
Generally known as Bigfoot, Sasquatch to others,
there would have to be she’s, not only the he’s,
and purported sisters as well as reputed brothers.
They’re said to dwell in deep forests, loving the trees,
but for some, mountains and swamps are better to please.
Hundreds of alleged Bigfoot sightings have been recorded
but only a smidgeon of scientists are positively accorded.
Regarding the most sightings, North America lays claim,
mainly in the region known as the Pacific Northwest.
Call them Bigfoot or Sasquatch, choose your favorite name,
the mainstream of the scientific community will readily attest
evidence of their existence simply doesn’t pass the test,
saying Bigfoot is a combination of folklore and hoax,
with misidentification adding to denouncement strokes.
Everyone knows the meaning of “time”
but does anyone really know what it means?
Adults dread time taking them past their prime,
while little children can’t wait to reach the teens
and trot off to school wearing “big people’s jeans”.
Of gender or nationality time just doesn’t care,
it grabs us all from our birth to the last rite prayer.
So the earth is constantly revolving in a forever spin,
circling our sun to add what we know as a year,
but why should that change our being, outside and within?
What right have the sun and time to make our youth disappear,
altering the once young bodies and minds we held so dear?
The passage of time can eventually end all our days,
after changing smooth skin and colorful hair to wrinkles and greys.
February 26, 2009 – 7:12 pm
It goes without saying, but lets say it anyway,
the immortal poets had a way with words.
Many have been read for hundreds of years,
yet poetry lovers today still read them in herds.
The poets withstanding the ravage of time
are not on a short list, as one might expect.
I’ll make no attempt to name them all here,
to omit even one would be lack of respect.
But, dear readers, you’ve already thought of many,
and chances are your list is similar to mine.
The ones that wrote words that will never die
were blessed with pure genius not short of divine.
Oh, to think of the times when their words were penned,
the early immortals wrote with quills straight from a bird,
dipped into ink made from linseed oil, soot and pitch
and scribbled on sheep or goat parchment, every word.
For them, electricity and computer were words never heard,
and writing at night required expensive candles or oil lamps.
No dictionaries were available to help convey their thoughts,
so they often made up words to give a poem needed ramps.
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