Things by Others That Touch Me
"Don't be afraid your life will end; be afraid that it will never begin." .....Grace Hansen
"The man who does not read good books has no advantage over the man who can't read them." Mark Twain
"Books to the ceiling, books to the sky. My pile of books are a mile high. How I love them! How I need them! I'll have a long beard by the time I read them." Arnold Lobel
"Seventy million books in America's libraries but the one you want is always out." Tom Masson
Some of my favorite poems
TWINS
There's two to wash, there's two to dry,
There's two who argue, there's two who cry.
One's in the mud having a ball,
The other holds a crayon, another marked wall.
Some days seem endless, my patience grows thin
Why was I chosen to be a mother of twins?
The answer comes clear at the end of each day,
As I tuck them in bed and to myself I say,
There's two to kiss, there's two to hug,
And best of all, there's two to love.
(Anonymous 1986 Laura Leiden)
MOMMIE, DADDY...WHY?
Mommie, why are the roses red? Mommie, why is the grass green and the sky blue? Why does a spider have a web and not a house? Daddy, why can't I play in your toolbox? Teacher, why do I have to read?
Mother, why can't I wear lipstick to the dance? Daddy, why can't I stay out until 12:00? The other kids are. Mother, why do you hate me? Daddy, why don't the boys like me? Why do I have to be so skinny? Why do I have to have braces and wear glasses? Why do I have to be 16?
Mom, why do I have to graduate? Dad, why do I have to grow up? Mom, Dad, why do I have to leave?
Mom, why don't you write more often? Dad, why do I miss my old friends? Dad, why do you love me so much? Dad, why do you spoil me? Your little girl is growing up. Mom, why don't you visit? Mom, why is it hard to make new friends? Dad, why do I miss being at home?
Dad, why does my heart skip a beat when he looks in my eyes? Mom, why do my legs tremble when I hear his voice? Mother, why is being "in love" the greatest feeling in the world?
Daddy, why don't you like to be called "Gramps"? Mother, why do my baby's tiny fingers cling so tightly to mine?
Mother, why do they have to grow up? Daddy, why do they have to leave? Why do I have to be called "Grannie"?
Mommie, Daddy, why did you have to leave me? I need you.
Why did my youth slip past me? Why does my face show every smile that I have ever given to a friend or a stranger? Why does my hair glisten a shiny silver?
Why do my hands quiver when I bend to pick a flower? Why, God, are the roses red?
(Life is not always based on the answers we receive, but also on the questions that we ask.)
Christy Carter Koski
REAL MOTHERS
Real Mothers don't eat quiche, they don't have time to make it.
Real Mothers know that their kitchen utensils are probably in the sandbox.
Real Mothers often have sticky floors, filthy ovens and happy kids.
Real Mothers know that dried playdough doesn't come out of shag carpet.
Real Mothers don't want to know what the vaccuum just sucked up.
Real Mothers sometimes ask, "Why Me?" and get their answer when a little voice says,
"Because I love you best".
Real Mothers know that a child's growth is not measured by height or years or grade...
it is marked by the progression of Mama to Mommy to Mom.
(Author Unknown)
ONLY ONE CHILDHOOD
I stopped to watch my little girl busy playing in her room
In one hand was a plastic phone; in the other a toy broom.
I listened as she was speaking to her make believe little friend
and I'll never forget the words she said, even though it was pretend.
She said "Suzie's in the corner cuz she's not been very good.
She didn't listen to a word I said or do the things she should."
In the corner I saw her baby doll all dressed in lace and pink.
It was obvious she'd been put there to sit alone and think.
My daughter continued her "conversation," as I sat down on the floor.
She said, "I'm all fed up I just don't know what to do with her anymore.
She whines whenver I have to work and wants to play games too;
and never lets me do the things that I just have to do.
She tries to help me with the dishes, but her arms just cannot reach
and she doesn't know how to fold the towels and I don't have time to teach.
I have a lot of work to do and a big house to keep clean.
I don't have time to sit and play --don't you know what I mean?"
And that day I thought a lot about making some changes in my life;
as I listened to her innocent words that cut me like a knife.
I hadn't been paying enough attention to what I hold most dear.
I'd been caught up in responsibilities that increased throughout the year.
But now my attitude has changed because, in my heart I realize
I've seen the world in a different light through my little darling's eyes.
So, let the cobwebs have the corners and the dust bunnies rule the floor,
I'm not going to worry about keeping up with them any more.
I'm going to fill the house with memories of a child and her mother
for God grants us only ONE childhood, and we will never get another.
(Author Unknown)
THE BALLAD OF WITCHE WYNDE
A song is sung in Barbados of the demons down in hell
of the Devil's favorite daughter and how he loved her well.
The Devil's daughter, she asked a boon; a love of her own neath the fair white moon
and the Devil promised this Belle from hell, a human lover...soon...soon.
He'd find her a lover, the Devil swore...handsome and for a start
he gave her the body of a fair white ship and a trusting human heart.
Gaoled for his crimes in Barbados, a Captain waits to die...
they'll hang him when the morning suns a doubloon in the sky.
And all the night through rusted bars the Captain glares at glittering stars...
he howls an oath up to the moon, my soul for a ship...soon...soon.
Deep down in Hell the Devil heard and there his favorite daughter stirred
those ringing oaths the Captain cast into a night he thought his last.
A Devil ship lay in the bay, her sails a billowing bridelike white,
manned by an awesome demon crew, she shimmered in the moon's long light.
Blue lightning zigzagged from the sky, the gaol bars burst asunder.
and down the beach the Captain ran, his laughter drowned in thunder.
He reached a waiting longboat there, amid the bullet's whine,
and unseen hands picked up the oars...the sea was dark as wine.
And on the foredeck with his blood, he signed his pact with Satan...
the clouds stood still, the moon held fast, the sighin' winds abatin'...
And now he was the Devil's own, wed to a demon bride,
as out upon a glassy sea the fair white ship did glide.
And through the days this honeymoon, a gift of hell, went on apace,
warm nights beneath an amber moon, across the ocean's windswept face.
The Captain and his devil ship, they prowled the ocean ways,
they preyed upon the shipping and they lazed away the days.
And She loved him as a lover, and She loved him as a friend
until one night off Barbardos their love affair did end.
For a ship is a jealous mistress and her Captain wanted more
and his thoughts were on human women when his ship put into shore.
For a lovely face is a lovely face...he was drawn to a woman's charms
and no devil ship could equal the embrace of her fair white arms.
Then as the morning sun came up, the ship in angry pride,
saw the Captain now was boarding and he brought with him a bride!
A shudder shook Her timbers and Her deck and mast did part
She whipped through gales and rent Her sails and fled Her broken heart.
Beside him, terrified, his bride, her face as pale as foam,
knew in her heart the ocean deep would be her only home.
Wild waves tossed the ship about, the pale bride prayed aloud
the rigging went and big white sails fell on her like a shroud.
The devil ship, it had her now, and with an evil glee
it almost capsized as it tossed the bride into the sea...
The Captain heard his bride's last scream, she was swept from sight, his vision dimmed
he stared transfixed as in a dream then gray-faced cursed his ship Witche Wynde.
He drove Her hard upon the rocks and with a human cry,
the ship's bones cracked and shuddered as She settled down to die.
A song is sung in Barbardos of how a Captain sinned
and how he whispers in the deep, Witch Wynde...Witch Wynde...
I don't know if Witch Wynde is actually a poem or a song & have had a copy for so many years, that I don't remember where I came across it.