O SOLITUDE! if I must with thee dwell,
Let it not be among the jumbled heap
Of murky buildings; climb with me the steep,—
Nature’s observatory—whence the dell,
Its flowery slopes, its river’s crystal swell,
May seem a span; let me thy vigils keep
’Mongst boughs pavillion’d, where the deer’s swift leap
Startles the wild bee from the fox-glove bell.
But though I’ll gladly trace these scenes with thee,
Yet the sweet converse of an innocent mind,
Whose words are images of thoughts refin’d,
Is my soul’s pleasure; and it sure must be
Almost the highest bliss of human-kind,
When to thy haunts two kindred spirits flee.

john keats - english poet...
_________________

ps. Dec.10, 1830 -the birthdate of Emily Dickinson -
Emily Dickinson lived quietly in Amherst, Massachusetts and wrote poetry for most of her adult life. Her verses were short but inventive, and her themes universal: love, death, and her relationship with God and nature. Dickinson was not famous during her lifetime; she rarely left Amherst and according to the Encyclopedia Britannica, "after the late 1860s [she] never left the boundaries of the family's property." Dickinson's output was prodigious -- over 1,700 poems in all -- but only a handful of her poems were published during her lifetime. Her sister Lavinia actively promoted her work after Emily's death in 1886.

dedicated to a Emily ~

Solitude
Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Laugh, and the world laughs with you;
Weep, and you weep alone.
For the sad old earth must borrow it's mirth,
But has trouble enough of it's own.
Sing, and the hills will answer;
Sigh, it is lost on the air.
The echoes bound to a joyful sound,
But shrink from voicing care.

Rejoice, and men will seek you;
Grieve, and they turn and go.
They want full measure of all your pleasure,
But they do not need your woe.
Be glad, and your friends are many;
Be sad, and you lose them all.
There are none to decline your nectared wine,
But alone you must drink life's gall.

Feast, and your halls are crowded;
Fast, and the world goes by.
Succeed and give, and it helps you live,
But no man can help you die.
There is room in the halls of pleasure
For a long and lordly train,
But one by one we must all file on
Through the narrow aisles of pain.

poem by emily dickinson
I'm Nobody! Who are you?
Are you--Nobody--too?
Then there's a pair of us!
Dont tell! they'd banish us--you know!

How dreary--to be--Somebody!
How public--like a Frog--
To tell your name--the livelong June--
To an admiring Bog!

sorry alffeee she said just a plain frog - not a dancin frog!!
______

Oh God i'm feeling funny and don't know what to do.
I had a drink an hour ago; I think i've got the FLU.

The room is spinning badly now, I've lost my fags and lighters,
My neck is stiff I hate bright light, have i got MENINGITIS?

My stomach is doing somersaults, my mind is in hysteria.
I've thrown up twice, but i dont have lice, but i think i've got DIPTHERIA.

My head is shot, my mouth is dry, but i do not have the answer,
My lips are numb, my gums still hurt; I think i've got Throat CANCER.

Oh dear Lord i've been sick again, and my spleen is in the sink.
If only i could control myself, and never bloomin DRINK

I will go to hospital tomorrow morning, and tell them of my pain.
And they'll all just look at me and 'TUT'....

Oh! DR Roberts, NOT AGAIN..................

David

Little Boy Blue
by Eugene Field (1850-1895)


The little toy dog is covered with dust,
But sturdy and stanch he stands;
And the little toy soldier is red with rust,
And his musket moulds in his hands.
Time was when the little toy dog was new,
And the soldier was passing fair;
And that was the time when our Little Boy Blue
Kissed them and put them there.

"Now, don't you go till I come," he said,
"And don't you make any noise!"
So, toddling off to his trundle-bed,
He dreamt of the pretty toys;
And, as he was dreaming, an angel song
Awakened our Little Boy Blue---
Oh! the years are many, the years are long,
But the little toy friends are true!

Ay, faithful to Little Boy Blue they stand,
Each in the same old place---
Awaiting the touch of a little hand,
The smile of a little face;
And they wonder, as waiting the long years through
In the dust of that little chair,
What has become of our Little Boy Blue,
Since he kissed them and put them there.

Hope this is okay. I'm not a poet and this is a song, but I don't really see a difference between poems and song lyrics. It touches me deeply. Makes me wonder how this man found his way into my heart to steal the lyrics. Glad he did, because his singing voice is MUCH better than mine. It relieves my pressure, especially after I've watched the news. It keeps me from throwing my baloney sammich at the TV screen - or giving up altogether.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Es7S4kMPxs8

"What are We Fighting For?" - Tyrone Wells

People get ready
There’s something in the air
Creeping in slow so we don’t even notice
Brothers and sisters beware

People get ready
Open up your eyes
Hatred and violence, millions fall silent
We don’t even hear their cries

It’s time to love one another, we’re sisters and brothers
What are we fighting for?
Too many backs that are breaking, lives being taken
What are we killing for?
I think it’s time for forgiveness, to rise up and end this
What are we waiting for?
Love teach us the way, to overcome hate
And weapons of war

People get ready
What’s your loaded gun?
Silent indifference
Hunger for vengeance
Or words from a wicked tongue

People get ready
Only you can choose
What you will do
When it comes down to you
No one else can walk in your shoes

It’s time to love one another, we’re sisters and brothers
What are we fighting for?
Too many backs that are breaking, lives being taken
What are we killing for?
I think it’s time for forgiveness, to rise up and end this
What are we waiting for?
Love teach us the way, to overcome hate
And weapons of war

Oh my Lord
I have a dream
Oh my Lord
One day we’ll see
Oh my Lord
All men be free
Oh my Lord
I still believe

People let's love one another, we’re sisters and brothers
What are we fighting for?
Too many backs that are breaking, lives being taken
What are we killing for?
I think it’s time for forgiveness, to rise up and end this
What are we waiting for?
Love teach us the way, to overcome hate
And weapons of war

http://www.classicshorts.com/stories/lotry.html

just a reminder...artistic expression...can be songs..poems...drawings..paintings...just artistic.

love is a lily pond~

my mom in the late 1920's -to early 1930's
she was born in 1924...

my grandfather had a chili bussiness - redbird chili...

Tena

As a kid, I used to spend as much time as I could out in the woods - walking with my dad, working at a stable, and partying with my friends.

In my early 20s, I had a friend who grew up downtown and had never been out to the woods. My friend and I took her for a long walk, and she was amazed. We passed by a lily pond, and she said "This is really beautiful - who does the gardening for these forest preserves?"

Nice pics - your mom was a cutie.