It is such a pleasure to read such wonderful thoughts at Christmastime.

((BMW)) you brought me out of hiding

Your poem is beautiful.. thank you ♥

The Loneliest Job in the World

by Tony Hoagland

As soon as you begin to ask the question, Who loves me?,
you are completely screwed, because
the next question is How Much?,

and then it is hundreds of hours later,
and you are still hunched over
your flowcharts and abacus,

trying to decide if you have gotten enough.
This is the loneliest job in the world:
to be an accountant of the heart.

It is late at night. You are by yourself,
and all around you, you can hear
the sounds of people moving

in and out of love,
pushing the turnstiles, putting
their coins in the slots,

paying the price which is asked,
which constantly changes.
No one knows why.

Discrimination

by Kenneth Rexroth

I don’t mind the human race.
I’ve got pretty used to them
In these past twenty-five years.
I don’t mind if they sit next
To me on streetcars, or eat
In the same restaurants, if
It’s not at the same table.
However, I don’t approve
Of a woman I respect
Dancing with one of them. I’ve
Tried asking them to my home
Without success. I shouldn’t
Care to see my own sister
Marry one. Even if she
Loved him, think of the children.
Their art is interesting,
But certainly barbarous.
I’m sure, if given a chance,
They’d kill us all in our beds.
And you must admit, they smell.

The Turkey Shot Out of the Oven
by Jack Prelutsky


The turkey shot out of the oven
And rocketed into the air,
It knocked every plate off the table
And partly demolished a chair.
It ricocheted into a corner
And burst with a deafening boom,
Then splattered all over the kitchen,
Completely obscuring the room.
It stuck to the walls and the windows,
It totally coated the floor,
There was turkey attached to the ceiling,
Where there'd never been turkey before.
It blanketed every appliance,
It smeared every saucer and bowl,
There wasn't a way I could stop it,
That turkey was out of control.
I scraped and I scrubbed with displeasure,
And thought with chagrin as I mopped,
That I'd never again stuff a turkey
With popcorn that hadn't been popped!

This delightful poem that speaks of growing old in a wonderfully outrageous style was written in 1961 by Jenny Joseph who lives in Minchinhampton, England. The poem is popularly known by many titles including, of course, the actual title "Warning", as well as by "When I Am An Old Woman", "The Purple Poem", "Old Woman", "I Shall Wear Purple"

When I am an old woman I shall wear purple
With a red hat which doesn't go and doesn't suit me.
And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
And satin sandals, and say we've no money for butter.
I shall sit down on the pavement when I'm tired
And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells
And run my stick along the public railings
And make up for the sobriety of my youth.
I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
And pick the flowers in other people's gardens . . .
But maybe I ought to practice a little now?
So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.
love,
lavenderlou/ tena

THE WAYSIDE ROSE






Out on the old highway it grows,
The wayside rose,
Rooted deep in the hard dry ground,
Swathed in the weeds that crowd it round,
Tended by naught but the rain and sun,
Its loveliness hidden, praised by none,
Contented, it blooms for the One who knows
Why it is there, This wayside rose.

Beaten by every wind that blows,
This wayside rose,
Asking not for a better place,
Where to unfold with ease and grace,
Wasting no time with excuses vain,
It brightens the weed-filled dusty lane,
An exquisite flower that blooms and grows,
Perfect for Him, This wayside rose.

--Sarah Wilson Middleton, ARA 1926

Dear room,

Could you please make me suggestions to improve my painting ??

Thanks !!!

Attached Thumbnails

 

When I get really old
And my hair is blue
I will remember a time
In the youth of my prime

When I was young and dark eyed,
And I saw the world
Through a rose colored glass
Filled with ruby red wine

when I smiled and I laughed
And thought in peculiar rhyme
I finally found out who me was
And had such a grand time

So as I watch the mirror grow old
when my hair becomes electric blu
I will remember this time
In the last of my prime.
adieu, adieu, adieu
written bymoi
Copyright © 2009

It's beautiful tina...like you. I assume bymoi means by you and not our "moi". I wonder if you play tag on the Creative Corner forum...it's fun and more challenging for some of us than others.