Letting Go Takes Love

A friend sent this to me. I thought 

you might enjoy it:

To let go does not mean to stop caring,
   it means I can't do it for someone else.

To let go is not to cut myself off,
   it's the realization I can't control 

another.

To let go is not to enable,
   but allow learning from natural 

consequences.

To let go is to admit powerlessness, 

which means
   the outcome is not in my hands.

To let go is not to try to change or 

blame another,
   it's to make the most of myself.

To let go is not to care for,
   but to care about.

To let go is not to fix,
   but to be supportive.

To let go is not to judge,
   but to allow another to be a human 

being.

To let go is not to be in the middle 

arranging all the outcomes,
   but to allow others to affect their 

destinies.

To let go is not to be protective,
   it's to permit another to face 

reality.

To let go is not to deny,
   but to accept.

To let go is not to nag, scold or argue,
   but instead to search out my own 

shortcomings and correct them.

To let go is not to adjust everything 

to my desires,
   but to take each day as it comes and 

cherish myself in it.

To let go is not to criticize or 

regulate anybody,
   but to try to become what I dream 

I can be.

To let go is not to regret the past,
   but to grow and live for the future.

*To let go is to fear less and love more
       *and
To let go and to let God, is to find peace!

------ author unknown

An ode of English Plurals

We'll begin with a box, and the plural is boxes,
But the plural of ox becomes oxen, not oxes.

One fowl is a goose, but two are called geese,
Yet the plural of moose should never be meese.

You may find a lone mouse or a nest full of mice,
Yet the plural of house is houses, not hice.

If the plural of man is always called men,
Why shouldn't the plural of pan be called pen?

If I speak of my foot and show you my feet,
And I give you a boot, would a pair be called beet?

If one is a tooth and a whole set are teeth,
Why shouldn't the plural of booth be called beeth?

Then one may be that, and three would be those,
Yet hat in the plural would never be hose,
And the plural of cat is cats, not cose.

We speak of a brother and also of brethren,
But though we say mother, we never say methren.

Then the masculine pronouns are he, his and him,
But imagine the feminine: she, shis and shim!

Let's face it - English is a crazy language.


There is no egg in eggplant nor ham in hamburger;
neither apple nor pine in pineapple.

English muffins weren't invented in England .

We take English for granted, but if we explore its paradoxes,

we find that quicksand can work slowly, boxing rings are square,

and a guinea pig is neither from Guinea nor is it a pig.


And why is it that writers write but fingers don't fing,
grocers don't groce and hammers don't ham?

Doesn't it seem crazy that you can make amends but not one amend.

If you have a bunch of odds and ends and
get rid of all but one of them, what do you call it?


If teachers taught, why didn't preachers praught?

If a vegetarian eats vegetables, what does a humanitarian eat?

Sometimes I think all the folks who grew up speaking English
should be committed to an asylum for the verbally insane.


In what other language do people recite at a play and play at a recital?

We ship by truck but send cargo by ship.

We have noses that run and feet that smell.

We park in a driveway and drive in a parkway.

And how can a slim chance and a fat chance be the same,

while a wise man and a wise guy are opposites?



You have to marvel at the unique lunacy of a language

in which your house can burn up as it burns down,

in which you fill in a form by filling it out, and

in which an alarm goes off by going on.



And in closing, if Father is Pop, how come Mother's not Mop?

A Woman's Poem

©Unknown He didn't like the casserole And he didn't like my cake, He said my biscuits were too hard Not like his mother used to make. I didn't perk the coffee right He didn't like the stew, I didn't mend his socks The way his mother used to do. I pondered for an answer I was looking for a clue. Then I turned around and smacked the shit out of him.... Like his mother used to do. ****************************************** I love a good poem, don't you?!?!

Excerpts from RHYMES for the IRREVERENT, by E.Y. Harburg (1965)

Lese Majeste

No matter how high or great the throne,
What sits on it is the same as your own.

***

Belchmerz

When cruel, cruel man
Threw Jonah to the whale,
(As only cruel man can).
Was he half as cruel
As the cruel whale who
Threw Jonah back to man?

***

Name Your Beneficiary

When you are dead,
No need to moan,
No, nothing at all to moan at;
Think of yourself
As just a stone -
And whom would you like to be thrown at?

EARLY IN THE MORNING

While the long grain is softening
in the water, gurgling
over a low stove flame, before
the salted Winter Vegetable is sliced
for breakfast, before the birds,
my mother glides an ivory comb
through her hair, heavy
and black as calligrapher’s ink.

She sits at the foot of the bed.
My father watches, listens for
the music of comb
against hair.

My mother combs,
pulls her hair back
tight, rolls it
around two fingers, pins it
in a bun to the back of her head.
For half a hundred years she has done this.
My father likes to see it like this.
He says it is kempt.

But I know
it is because of the way
my mother’s hair falls
when he pulls the pins out.
Easily, like the curtains
when they untie them in the evening.

by Li-Young Lee

I stole this from my blog friend Loren Webster, whose interests lie in poetry and nature photography. You should check out his photos sometime. Most of them are exquisite; just like this poem.

Dream On

A dream that I had while taking a dream course I in 1979 resulted in this poem:


"Deep, crystal river
Steep are your banks. Will he drown?
Sparkling water trap."

Here are the notes I took after the dream:

"I am at the side of a very deep river between stone walls like the Grand Canyon; narrow and deep and the water is crystal clear and sparkling. My son is diving into the water and I can see him all the way to the bottom. I fear for him, but I know there is a way out through a sewer system."

I found my dream folder in the closet I cleaned out last week. This time, it is all going through the shredder!! Have you had any good dreams lately?

Project Blue + Quotes of Note

It's about 33 years old now, and the blue is faded and dirtied by the dust of all those years, but it is among my most precious possessions, made by my younger daughter. For more Project Blue Posts, see Anna!

<<<<<<<<<

One of the indictments of civilizations is that happiness and intelligence are so rarely found in the same person.

William Feather, author, editor and publisher (1889-1981)

@@@@@@@@@

The art of living does not consist in preserving and clinging to a particular mood of happiness, but in allowing happiness to change its form without being disappointed by the change; for happiness, like a child, must be allowed to grow up.

Charles Langbridge Morgan

*********

It is not of so much consequence what you say, as how you say it. Memorable sentences are memorable on account of some single irradiating word.

Alexander Smith, poet (1830-1867)

>>>>>>>>>

There are strange ways of serving God;
You sweep a room or turn a sod,
And suddenly, to your surprise,
You hear the whirr of seraphim,
And find you're under God's own eyes
And building palaces for him.


Herman Hagedorn, poet, teacher (1882-1964)

<<<<<<<<<

I would not enter on my list of friends
(Though graced with polished manners and fine sense
Yet wanting sensibility) the man
Who needlessly sets foot upon a worm.

William Cowper, poet (1731-1800)

A Poem I Like

THE VANISHING SPECIES by Ric Masten

I was born on a planet almost seventy seven light years from here

an idyllic world where children grew up without the threat of nuclear holocaust or global warming

no instant messaging systems no black revolutions gay revolutions

drug revolutions

no woman's liberation not even the choice of taking or not taking the pill

true the seed of all this was there but had nothing to do with my formative years

and now I find myself come to this harsh place a kind of space traveler having close encounters with my own children

like creatures from different star systems we stare at each other across the void

even our words have different stems

we are aliens in each others midst but damn it I am the one saddled with the memory of that other place

part of a colony stranded on planet earth at the beginning of the twenty first century

marooned with no way to go back and no time to go on

like a moon being eclipsed my kind will soon be gone

and in light of the headlines today the sooner the better

(When I copied and pasted this, it all ran together, so I have no idea where the line breaks should be. Apologies to all if they are wrong.)

It was Bobbie who introduced me to Ric Masten, and I am grateful for both of them!

Spell Check

Hope sent me this in June, and I put it in a folder and forgot it! Sorry, Hope, and thanks for the poem. (Hope doesn't have a blog, otherwise I'd link to her).

OWED TO A SPELLING CHECKER

I have a spelling checker.
It came with my PC.
It plane lee marks four my revue
Miss steaks I can knot sea.
Eye ran this poem threw it,
Your sure reel glad two no.
Its very polished in it's weigh.
My checker tolled me sew.
A checker is a bless sing.
It freeze yew lodes of thyme.
It helps me right awl stiles two reed,
And aides me when aye rime.
Each frays come posed up on my screen.
Aye trussed two be joule.
The checker pours o'er every word.
The cheque sum spelling rule.
Be fore a veiling checkers

Hour spelling mite decline,
And if were lacks or have a laps,
We wood be maid to wine.
Butt now bee cause my spelling rule.
Is checked with such grate flare.
There are know faults with in my cite.
Of nun eye am a wear.
Now spelling does knot phase me,
It does knot bring a tier.
My pay purrs awl due glad den
With wrapped words fare as hear.
To rite with care is quite a feet
Of witch won should be proud,
And wee mussed dew the best wee can,
Sew flaws are knot aloud.
Sow ewe can see why aye dew preys
Such soft wear four pea seas.
And why eye brake in two averse
Buy righting want to pleas.

The Poet's Lobby

Last week, our newspaper had a story about a local middle school teacher, who wanted her students to write about subjects they felt passionate about, and then explain to legislators how they felt. After writing their pieces in prose and poetry, they headed down to the General Assembly. I was struck by the insights of two of the poems. See if you agree.

A Beautiful World
by Jaslina Paintal

Dearest Earth
Divine Treasure
Mother land
That gives life

I give thanks
for this home
This nest of marvels
In an infinite universe

Friends
by Nicky Eick

Skin that's all it is
Me and you
Have a border
Of skin whether
White or Black
I got your back
Because you're my
Friend and no
Matter what they say
I will be there
Til the end