IF by Rudyard Kipling

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Rudyard Kipling

written in 1910 for his 12 years-old son John


 

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!

Happy Fathers Day to you.

To your Dad,  John

and

To My Dad,  Al

This morning, I listen to Sunday Morning  CBS, heard how fathers today are different from fathers twenty years ago. Dads today spend more time with their kids.  My dad, definitely was ahead of his time,  he was as maternal as my mom.  As a baby he help bathe, cut our nails, feed and read to us.  I guest today dads finely caught on.

 

 

To My Mother by Robert Louis Stevenson

 

Mom
You too, my mother, read my rhymes
For love of unforgotten times,
And you may chance to hear once more
The little feet along the floor.
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Happy Mother’s Day
To your mom Jacqueline
and
My mom Dolly!

Mothers Are a Special Gift by Faye Diane Kilday

Mom

Mothers are a special gift sent
from God above,
They bless us with their nurturing,
And fill us with their love.

They pick us up when we are down,
And when we’re sad they know,
They’re always there to lend a hand,
And guide us as we go.

And mothers are like special jewels
that can’t be bought or sold…
A mother’s love’s more precious
than the rarest gem or gold.

Yes, mothers are a special gift sent
from God above,
And we’ll be blessed forever with
their never ending love!

“Good Night” by Carl Sandburg, 1920

girl flying American flag in field - Tetra Images - Erik Isakson/Brand X Pictures/Getty Images

Many ways to say good night.

Fireworks at a pier on the Fourth of July
spell it with red wheels and yellow spokes.
They fizz in the air, touch the water and quit.
Rockets make a trajectory of gold-and-blue
and then go out.

Railroad trains at night spell with a smokestack mushrooming a white pillar.

Steamboats turn a curve in the Mississippi crying a baritone that crosses lowland cotton fields to razor back hill.

It is easy to spell good night.
Many ways to spell good night.

A Prayer for My Daughter by William Butler Yeats

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Once more the storm is howling, and half hid
Under this cradle-hood and coverlid
My child sleeps on. There is no obstacle
But Gregory’s wood and one bare hill
Whereby the haystack- and roof-levelling wind,
Bred on the Atlantic, can be stayed;
And for an hour I have walked and prayed
Because of the great gloom that is in my mind.

I have walked and prayed for this young child an hour
And heard the sea-wind scream upon the tower,
And under the arches of the bridge, and scream
In the elms above the flooded stream;
Imagining in excited reverie
That the future years had come,
Dancing to a frenzied drum,
Out of the murderous innocence of the sea.

May she be granted beauty and yet not
Beauty to make a stranger’s eye distraught,
Or hers before a looking-glass, for such,
Being made beautiful overmuch,
Consider beauty a sufficient end,
Lose natural kindness and maybe
The heart-revealing intimacy
That chooses right, and never find a friend.

Helen being chosen found life flat and dull
And later had much trouble from a fool,
While that great Queen, that rose out of the spray,
Being fatherless could have her way
Yet chose a bandy-legged smith for man.
It’s certain that fine women eat
A crazy salad with their meat
Whereby the Horn of plenty is undone.

In courtesy I’d have her chiefly learned;
Hearts are not had as a gift but hearts are earned
By those that are not entirely beautiful;
Yet many, that have played the fool
For beauty’s very self, has charm made wise.
And many a poor man that has roved,
Loved and thought himself beloved,
From a glad kindness cannot take his eyes.

May she become a flourishing hidden tree
That all her thoughts may like the linnet be,
And have no business but dispensing round
Their magnanimities of sound,
Nor but in merriment begin a chase,
Nor but in merriment a quarrel.
O may she live like some green laurel
Rooted in one dear perpetual place.

My mind, because the minds that I have loved,
The sort of beauty that I have approved,
Prosper but little, has dried up of late,
Yet knows that to be choked with hate
May well be of all evil chances chief.
If there’s no hatred in a mind
Assault and battery of the wind
Can never tear the linnet from the leaf.

An intellectual hatred is the worst,
So let her think opinions are accursed.
Have I not seen the loveliest woman born
Out of the mouth of plenty’s horn,
Because of her opinionated mind
Barter that horn and every good
By quiet natures understood
For an old bellows full of angry wind?

Considering that, all hatred driven hence,
The soul recovers radical innocence
And learns at last that it is self-delighting,
Self-appeasing, self-affrighting,
And that its own sweet will is Heaven’s will;
She can, though every face should scowl
And every windy quarter howl
Or every bellows burst, be happy still.

And may her bridegroom bring her to a house
Where all’s accustomed, ceremonious;
For arrogance and hatred are the wares
Peddled in the thoroughfares.
How but in custom and in ceremony
Are innocence and beauty born?
Ceremony’s a name for the rich horn,
And custom for the spreading laurel tree.

HAPPY FATHER’S DAY, Dad

Freedom in America by Joanna Fuchs

Freedom in America
Isn’t really free;
We often pay a price
To keep our liberty.

Remember those we loved,
Who fought for us, and died;
And those we never knew
For whom others mourned and cried.

At home our “war” for freedom
Is sadly overdue;
We’ve let corruption stage
A sad and grievous coup.

No longer can we brush off
Dishonesty and greed,
Lust for wealth and power;
We can’t, we won’t concede.

Complacency is weakness
Patriots can’t afford;
We have to act on wrongs
That cannot be ignored.

We must give up some time,
Spent on other pleasures,
To restore America’s freedom,
To keep America’s treasures.

Money spent on trifles
Must now go to our cause:
Get rid of the offenders,
Constitutional outlaws.

Freedom in America
Isn’t really free
It’s up to American patriots;
It’s up to you and me.

To My Mother by Christina Rossetti

Mom

To-day’s your natal day,
Sweet flowers I bring;
Mother, accept, I pray,
My offering.

And may you happy live,
And long us bless;
Receiving as you give
Great happiness.

LEAP YEAR POEMS

Eastern Europe 101

Leap Year Poem
BY MOTHER GOOSE
Thirty days hath September,
April, June and November.
All the rest have thirty-one,
Excepting February alone,
And that has twenty-eight days clear
And twenty-nine in each leap year.

LEAPTIDE AND SEASIDE
By Sharon O’Riley 2/29/44
A notion at the ocean,
today I tried to hide.
As the waves approached,
rippling near seaside.

Reminded me of younger days,
salt water at first hand.
Playing with children,
sunbathing on the sand.

Like time in a bottle,
birthdays come and go.
For me this event,
certainly has been slow.

Yes sad as it seams,
four years is a dream.
Each one memorable,
making my eyes gleam.

For today I have cried,
as the tide rolls in.
Waiting for my leaptide,
rushing to the seaside!

A BIRTHDAY PRAYER FOR MOM by Henry Van Dyke

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Lord Jesus, Thou hast known
A mother’s love and tender care:
And Thou wilt hear, while for my own
Mother most dear I make this birthday prayer.Protect her life, I pray,
Who gave the gift of life to me;
And may she know, from day to day,
The deepening glow of Life that comes from Thee.As once upon her breast
Fearless and well content I lay,
So let her heart, on Thee at rest,
Feel fears depart and troubles fade away.Her every wish fulfill;
And even if Thou must refuse
In anything, let Thy wise will
A comfort bring such as kind mothers use.Ah, hold her by the hand,
As once her hand held mine;
And though she may not understand
Life’s winding way, lead her in peace divine.
I cannot pay my debt
For all the love that she has given;
But Thou, love’s Lord, wilt not forget
Her due reward,–bless her in earth and heaven.

Mom everyone misses you!!!

Standing Tall by Jamie McKenzie

 

 

In honor of Martin Luther King

 

Some kings rule their kingdoms sitting down
Surrounded by luxury, soft cushions and fans
But this King stood strong
stood proud
stood tall

When the driver told Rosa
“Move to the back of the bus!”
When the waiter told students
“We don’t serve your kind!”
When the Mayor told voters
“Your vote don’t count!”
And when the sheriff told marchers
“Get off our streets!”
using fire hoses, police dogs and cattle prods
to move them along
This King stood strong
stood proud
stood tall
Speaking of peace
of love
and children
hand in hand
free at last
free at last

When some yelled for violence
For angry revenge
An eye for an eye
And a tooth for a tooth
He stood his ground
Preaching peace

And when some spit out hate
He stood there smiling
Spreading love
Until it rolled like the sea across the land
Sweeping away Jim Crow
Breaking down the walls
Ringing the bell
Joyfully
For Freedom

Until
Standing on the mountain top
They shot him
Coldly
Hoping to see him fall
Hoping to put him away
To bring him low

But this King
even in death
even today
stands strong
stands proud
stands tall
And we remember

 

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