Poem for today

May my heart always be open

May my heart always be open to little
birds who are the secrets of living
whatever they sing is better than to know
and if men should not hear them men are old

May my mind stroll about hungry
and fearless and thirsty and supple
and even if it’s sunday may i be wrong
for whenever men are right they are not young

and may myself do nothing usefully
and love yourself so more than truly
there’s never been quite such a fool who could fail
pulling all the sky over him with one smile

– e.e.cummings

and Relax

It’s Sunday

It’s time to kick off your shoes and relax

Relaxing is not just nice – it’s important.

Stress is bad for your health.

Seriously.

Relax.

Take some time today to switch off all your electronics, move away from any screens – TV, LapTop, Tablet and phone – yes all of them – and relax.

Be in the moment.

Listen to the sounds that you can hear.

Really listen to them.

What do they make you think of?

Smell what you can smell.

Feel what you can feel.

Notice your thoughts – see where they take you.

Go for a walk and find a flower.

Go into your garden and find something new.

Enjoy a shower or luxuriate in a bubble bath.

Put on some clean, comfy clothes and just relax.

if you start worrying about stuff you need to do – decide when you’re going to do it and relax until then.

Monday comes around before you know it,

until then,

Relax.

Everyone said

Here’s my weekly poem – I hope you enjoy it

It Couldn’t Be Done

BY EDGAR ALBERT GUEST

Somebody said that it couldn’t be done

      But he with a chuckle replied

That “maybe it couldn’t,” but he would be one

      Who wouldn’t say so till he’d tried.

So he buckled right in with the trace of a grin

      On his face. If he worried he hid it.

He started to sing as he tackled the thing

      That couldn’t be done, and he did it!

Somebody scoffed: “Oh, you’ll never do that;

      At least no one ever has done it;”

But he took off his coat and he took off his hat

      And the first thing we knew he’d begun it.

With a lift of his chin and a bit of a grin,

      Without any doubting or quiddit,

He started to sing as he tackled the thing

      That couldn’t be done, and he did it.

There are thousands to tell you it cannot be done,

      There are thousands to prophesy failure,

There are thousands to point out to you one by one,

      The dangers that wait to assail you.

But just buckle in with a bit of a grin,

      Just take off your coat and go to it;

Just start in to sing as you tackle the thing

      That “cannot be done,” and you’ll do it.

My Sunday poem delivered on a Monday – If

I like to post a poem on a Sunday, but I must admit to having a rather lazy weekend and not doing very much of anything except catching up on some TV and eating plenty of yummy food with my partner. We were in hibernation mode – no excuses – just felt like it.

Today the guilt is kicking in and I feel like we wasted a perfectly lovely day.

But then again, was it a waste, as we had a perfectly lovely day?

So, I’ve decided to get over the guilt, roll up my sleeves and do all the stuff that I would have normally done yesterday today and be extra productive on this beautiful Monday – so here’s yesterdays poem – I hope you like it.

I decided to post this one as it was written in a letter to a contestant on celebrity big brother this year. Most people seemed moved by the poem, yet almost all of them had never heard it before, which surprised me as I believed it was very well known.

For those of you that know it, be reminded of these stunning words. For those of you that are new to it, enjoy it, share it and live it.

If—

BY RUDYARD KIPLING

If you can keep your head when all about you

    Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,

If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,

    But make allowance for their doubting too;

If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,

    Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,

Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,

    And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;

    If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;

If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster

    And treat those two impostors just the same;

If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken

    Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,

Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,

    And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings

    And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,

And lose, and start again at your beginnings

    And never breathe a word about your loss;

If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew

    To serve your turn long after they are gone,

And so hold on when there is nothing in you

    Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,

    Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,

If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,

    If all men count with you, but none too much;

If you can fill the unforgiving minute

    With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,

Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,

    And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!

In a modern day of equal opportunity I feel the same applies to Man or Woman and these glorious goals are things I aspire to.

Have a great week 🙂

Blue Monday – Terrific Tuesday

Apparently yesterday was Blue Monday. It’s the most depressing day of the year.

The money has run out, it’s cold, the resolutions are hard work, the lack or parties and events is getting to us and if you’ve decided to have a dry January then it’s feeling tough.

I took the above picture this morning when I was walking the dog.

I’m no better off than I was yesterday (but the mortgage is covered, I can have the heating on without worrying and there’s food in the fridge)

It’s still blooming cold (but I can heat my house and wear big fluffy jumpers, scarves and socks when I go walking in the bright sunshine)

The resolutions are easy (if you approach them in the right way – make habits not resolutions – I will post more on this soon)

I have made plans for February and March so I have things to look forward to

and finally the dry January thing is not something I subscribe to (but having said that I rarely drink anyway so it wouldn’t really bother me)

The sun is shining somewhere and the most depressing day of the year is already behind us. Spring is on it’s way, but I don’t want to wait until then to be happy.

Have a Terrific Tuesday x

Count that day lost – George Elliot

Hi prose fans.

Here is a beautiful and poignant little poem from George Elliot.

If you sit down at set of sun
And count the acts that you have done,
And, counting, find
One self-denying deed, one word
That eased the heart of him who heard,
One glance most kind
That fell like sunshine where it went —
Then you may count that day well spent.

But if, through all the livelong day,
You’ve cheered no heart, by yea or nay —
If, through it all
You’ve nothing done that you can trace
That brought the sunshine to one face–
No act most small
That helped some soul and nothing cost —
Then count that day as worse than lost.

Try to never lose another day.

Do you love me? A Sunday Poem

There is a beautiful book I bought as a young adult called Master Snickup’s Cloak.

I was drawn to it because of the amazing illustrations by Brian Froud (one of the creators of the Labyrinth, which is possibly  my favourite film)

Hidden among it’s pages was a little verse that has always stayed with me…

Do you love me?

Or do you not?

You told me once,

But I forgot.

It’s simple, sweet and speaks to me about the nature of people and of love.

To you, my wonderful followers, I have said this before, but it’s worth repeating.

I love each and every one of you.

Have a great Sunday.

A mundane poem for a mundane day

• 

  Mundane Poem #1 by Murray Lachlan Young

  This poem is not very interesting

  It has, pauses

  Where there, should be none

  It is not deep and meaningful in any, respect

  It is not very, clever and not that much, fun

  This poem is purposefully, dreary,

  Its desire is to be everyday, commonplace and dull.

  And just incase it isn’t, monotonous, enough

  This poem will now, wander into a lull

  Of: boring, and unexciting ordinariness

  And it will stay there for a while

  While we all sit with the humdrum reality

  Of its unexcitingness

  Realising that it has lost focus

  Its rhyme scheme it no longer functioning

  This is not an attempt to be clever

  It’s not even an attempt to prove that

  Life can’t be interesting all the time

  It is not attempting to say anything about anything

  Really

  Why would it want to do that?

  For this poem is completely mundane

  And that’s it.

  Its finished, now.

Sunday Poem – Carol Ann Duffy – Talent

Those of you that follow my blog will know my fascination with words and the images they conjure.

This poem illustrates what I love beautifully.

Talent

This is the word tightrope. Now imagine
a man, inching across it in the space
between our thoughts. He holds our breath.

There is no word net.

You want him to fall, don’t you?
I guessed as much; he teeters but succeeds.
The word applause is written all over him.

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Carol Ann Duffy

The first female, Scottish Poet Laureate in the role’s 400 year history, Carol Ann Duffy’s combination of tenderness and toughness, humour and lyricism, unconventional attitudes and conventional forms, has won her a very wide audience of readers and listeners.

Remembrance Sunday Poem DULCE ET DECORUM EST

DULCE ET DECORUM EST

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind.
Gas! Gas! Quick, boys! – An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling,
And flound’ring like a man in fire or lime . . .
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie; Dulce et Decorum est
Pro patria mori.

Wilfred Owen

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DULCE ET DECORUM EST  are the first words of a Latin saying (taken from an ode by Horace). The words were widely understood and often quoted at the start of the First World War. They mean “It is sweet and right.” The full saying ends the poem: Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori – it is sweet and right to die for your country. In other words, it is a wonderful and great honour to fight and die for your country.