I’ve been busy working on some other things, and just noticed that there were problems with the website. Three hours worth of head pounding later, I’ve got them fixed. As usual, it was a simple problem, that was a nightmare to figure out. Next time I talk to Mom, I’m going to ask her to write a poem about how computers drive us nuts.
Regards
Wayne
PS: A Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to everyone.
If sweet sleep does not bedim your weary eyes
Do not lay abed full of moans and sad sighs
This happened to me just the other sleepless night
And I dressed and wandered in the pale moonlight.
A midnight path was illuminated by the moon’s face
Double beauty given by the reflection full of grace
Mirrored in the lake so extra light came my way
Show well the midnight path more subdued than day.
There was a rustle of the bare trees as I wandered along,
It seemed to sooth my troubled heart with a simple song,
The air was cool but the wind was being kind that night
And the glow of the moon was becoming more bright.
I walked along the tracks that followed the edge of the lake
I even took the longer walk that I would normally take,
The silence was like a blessing of peace and harmony
And it brought a sweet and healing peace to me.
As I wandered home that night along the midnight path
I felt relaxed and knew that sweet sleep would now come to pass,
The pathway glistened with pebbles more precious than silver
And that walk for me did restful sleep at last did deliver
M Ann margetson
Copyright April 20, 2010
midnightpath
I’ve uploaded a few more poems, and found a couple of wonders.
Please Love Me is about adopting a cat from the pound. I love animals, both cats and dogs, and this poem nearly had me crying (I’m sitting on the couch writing this, sandwiched between a mostly black cat, and a beagle, both of whom are snoring).
To Be A Precious Stone is about life. Mom compared personal growth to the growth of a pearl in an oyster.
The Olde Curiosity Shoppe is one of Mom’s fantasy pieces, about one of those little stores that, well, just read it. You’ll like it.
And I’d better get back to uploading poems.
Wayne
Music Speaks is the name of our concert this spring,
Let our voices with love of sweet music ring,
We hope we give joy to those who will listen
And happy tears of gratitude from many eyes glisten,
For as we sing from the heart, as most good singers do
We will bring joy to ourselves and other folks too.
The weeks of learning are all over, now is the great day
As we raise our joined voices in are own unique way,
The hall is full, we hope, and friends are waiting ready
To hear us sing with voices, sweet, soft, loud and steady.
May we bring a joyous moment with each melody we make
And maybe help someone with a heart with a heavy load take
A moment to hear one special song of the heart we may sing
And a touch of healing that with music our choir may be able to bring.
M Ann Margetson
Copyright April 19 2010
I have tossed and turned in my bed, have now given up trying
To find sleep, what have I done? That she is now denying
Me my needed rest, All the things I do to coax sleep to come my way
Have not worked, so why in my bed should I sleepless stay.
I have prayed, remembered scriptures, counted blessings too
Even listed names beginning with A and continuing through
All the alphabet, but my mind will not settle down at all
So I thought I would get up, better than climbing the wall.
I thought that if I wrote a poem or too, sleepy I would feel,
It maybe that a poem needs to find it’s way out and so heal
Someone, words of help portray and sweet musings flow
If not in this poem, but from others that may soon follow.
Yes, a poem about the choir is racing through my head
And one about lost real treasures of friends instead
Of lost gold and silver and other earthly precious things
And if we seek for earthly power what sadness it brings.
M Ann Margetson
copyright April 19 2010
I was talking to my daughter on the telephone today,
She said something funny, it gave me a smile anyway,
She said that her hurting foot was a pain in the neck,
I said I thought it was funny, but she was rather a wreck.
I am normally very empathetic and always show my concern
But surely this comment a little humour should earn.
Anyway cruel judgement this afternoon came swiftly my way
I knocked my funny bone and the door and needless to say,
That was a pain in the neck, and I really must admit outright
Then I laughed at that humour , but told no one of my plight.
So when you hurt somewhere and a pain in the neck it seems,
Smile at how funny it sounds and then in your sweetest dreams
Think of other funny saying that can take some hurt away
And maybe you can wipe with a laugh all your hurts away.
M Ann Margetson April 17, 2010
pain
When the day starts off with cloudy skies and a watery look in the sun
We seem to know there be a fall of rain before the day is done.
Yet it is a truly welcome sight in the early days of sweet spring
Because we see the snow vanish before our eyes and that is a blessed thing.
For it is like a tender touch of a lovers hand that turns things green
And helps buds of hidden leaves grow until the whole leaf is seen.
When added with following days with the warming touch of the sun
We know that life is there and spring has at last begun.
A few days of warmth and a day of rain with temperatures quite high,
Makes snow vanish and grass grow green a pleasing sight to the eye.
There is one large resisting pile of snow reluctant to melt away
But I am sure that soon even that monster will go without delay.
Welcome spring with your warmth and gentle rain bring life and hope to this place
Who has for much too long worn winter’s cold unrelenting pure white face.
M Ann Margetson
Copyright April 16, 2010
watery
APRIL IS POETRY MONTH
April is poetry month so poets should celebrate
With an extra effort more poetry to create,
Help words to flow from heart, soul and mind,
With many poems of lilting beauty to find.
In some places spring is coming forth in glory
But farther north, that is another story,
No flowers yet bloom, but pussy willow is out
And the ice is slowly going off most lakes no doubt
So rejoicing in the return of darling sweet spring
Becomes a tantalizing and imaginary thing.
Yet was that a hint of the snowdrops at the edge of the lawn?
And some birds have returned for they wake me at dawn,
So even when spring comes late after winter’s reign
We northern poets should be able to gladly proclaim
That spring is a season that is now coming our way,
Even if we are covered in snow in the middle of May.
M Ann Margetson
Copyright April 7, 2010
poetrym
Hello all! I’ve just finished uploading another batch of Mom’s poetry (and yes, I am awake at 2:15 AM, I’m having problems getting to sleep). All of the poems I’ve uploaded in the last twenty-four hours were written in the year 2000, the last year of the Twentieth Century, and I would like to share a couple that I consider special.
First there is White Stallions. White Stallions is a powerful piece about a storm. In my opinion it’s one of Mom’s best early pieces, and I know Heather agrees, because she has put it to music, and it’s on her list to be included in the CD we are recording. We’ve already done several practise runs, working on the correct instruments and mixing to bring this poem to life in song, and I think when we get finished it will be incredible. Heather plans to post a copy here as soon as we have finished working on it.
Second there is When We Were Young, and evocative piece about Mom’s youth in the Potteries District of England.
Third and last, there is Warning Signs, a strong spiritual piece. Just think of all those little things that you could have done, but didn’t because it wasn’t convenient, and how not doing those little things has interfered with your spiritual growth. I’m one of those to gets ‘to busy’ to do what I should sometimes, and this poem has reminded me of that, and that I’ve wasted a lot of time doing things like watching TV, when I could have done something more productive spiritually. Guess I’ll just have to try harder.
I’m trying to make sure that I upload at least twenty poems per day. Since I’m back dating them to when Mom wrote them, that means that they aren’t going to show up as new posts. It’s not ideal, in fact I wish there was some way to tag newly uploaded older poems as new, or to show two dates (date written and date uploaded), but at present this is the best option I can think of.
Good night all!
Wayne
This is a wonderful fun thing to do at Easter time,
Boil eggs hard then paint them to look so fine,
Then wander to a steep hill and them then gently roll
Watch them as they go, and see the great toll.
As long as they can roll you climb up and roll them again
You should have seen eight children and four adults in pain
As they watched the slow destruction of each pretty prize
Cheered their own egg on and being filled with surprise
That the fragile eggs could take a beating of each toss
But slowly and surely there would be a dreadful loss.
Neighbours on the hill sat and watched the fun with delight,
As we all went up and down keeping each egg in sight.
From the youngest at five go to the age of granny there
The afternoon was fun and the weather did her share
Of making it a fun time with the warmth of sweet spring,
He heard the seagulls cry and the newly returned birds sing.
The victorious egg was Keagan’s it was the last whole yoke
That rolled down the hill, all the others lay totally broke
Our friends had never rolled eggs down a gravelled hill,
We shared this ancient tradition, and they did it with a will.
M Ann Margetson
Copyright April 3, 2010
eggroll