Making A House A Home

LANDLORD AND TENANT

by Edgar Guest

The landlord wouldn’t paint the place
or keep it in repair,
yet at the window panes was lace,
though every board was bare
and those who passed it by could trace
the tenant’s tender care.

And those who passed it by could see
a blossoming plant or two.
Despite the tenant’s poverty
a little garden grew,
lovely and gay and orderly
the blazing summer through.

The landlord Life at times seems cold
and deaf to every plea,
yet to our dreams we still can hold;
courageous we can be
and round the place plant marigolds
for passers-by to see.

We, too, with faith, can plant a rose
where all is bleak and bare
and fashion pretty furbelows
for windows of despair,
and work, till our poor dwelling shows
a tenant’s tender care.

From his book, LIFE’S HIGHWAY
© 1933 by the Reilly & Lee Co.

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Cerebral Squalls

I remember the days, after I was done with my chemo-therapy treatments — the first time round, 36 years ago. I recall the times when these dark storm clouds would roll over my mind and everything looked so hopeless. Some chemo treatments are largely hormonal, so they mess yours up so bad.
Blogger Stacey LePage describes these times so effectively in her poem and has kindly permitted me to share it with you.

 

In The Corner

They come and blow your mind away
They make mountains of your thoughts
They will gather strong in billowed clouds
You will find yourself distraught

The sky can blacken all around
Will cause your heart to race
You fear the wrath the clouds may bring
As you quicken up your pace

Then as quickly as it came
It moves along the sky
And out of view the squall does pass
To leave you high and dry

You feel the warmth upon your face
It melts and thaws your mind
You stop and pause and close your eyes
To leave the past behind

The moment seems to slow right down
Life stops and takes a breath
Living in the here and now
Gives minute of brain refresh

Then

There is it, yet once again
The storm is suddenly nigh
You’ve seen it once, you’ll see it again
And know it will…

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Wild Flower….

Are you in the mood for something whimsical today? I came across this poem several days ago and thought you readers might enjoy it as much as I did.
Thanks M-R for allowing me to Reblog your lovely poem.

Montana Rose Photography

dsc_4113I often wonder what it’s like
To be a little wild flower
Lost amongst the others
Out in a big ole field
Bending in the wind
Basking in the sun
Soaking up the rain
It’s the same old story
A little bit cliché really
Still…it doesn’t stop me
From wishing it was so
To be a little wild flower
Dancing in a field of snow

Or maybe something like that. I don’t know really.  Just words rumbling around in my head.  This picture was taken on my trip last year.  I stopped a little place in Wisconsin. No idea what it was called. I remember being disappointed with the actual destination in that area, but I got a few good shots.

This obviously isn’t the original picture. I mean, in a sense.  I played around with it. I like it better this way. I hope that you do too.

Have…

View original post 8 more words

What Could Be?

I came across this little poem recently and found it encouraging. Hope you enjoy it, too.

I’d rather be a Could Be
if I couldn’t be an ARE —
for a Could Be is a May Be
with a chance of touching par.
I’d rather be a Has Been
than a Might Have Been by far —
for a Might Have been has never been,
But a Has was once an ARE!

Author Unknown to me

I’ve posted my Friday Fictioneers response, on my Christine Composes blog. You can read it here: Jack Miner’s Discovery

Traveling On Together

Wishing you all a Happy New Year. I thought this an inspiring poem for friends starting out in a new year.

A Mile With Me

By Henry van Dyke
1852 — 1933

Oh, who will walk a mile with me
along life’s merry way?
A comrade blithe and full of glee
who dares to laugh out loud and free
and let his frolic fancy play
like a happy child, through the flowers gay
that fill the field and fringe the way
where he walks a mile with me.

And who will walk a mile with me
along life’s weary way?
A friend whose heart has eyes to see
the stars shine out o’er the darkening lea,
and the quiet rest at the end of the day.
A friend who knows and dares to say
the brave, sweet words that cheer the way
where he walks a mile with me.

With such a comrade, such a friend,
I fain would walk till journey’s end
through summer sunshine, winter rain,
and then — farewell, we shall meet again!