Lyrical Thursday: Hyacinths

In honor of the first day of spring, I wanted to share a poem that I honestly can't believe I haven't shared yet, as it's one of my favorites!  It also happens to be a favorite of my mom's, and she used to recite it on occasion.  It's short, but has a very upbeat message that I find to be true.  No matter how down-and-out things are, hyacinths can always bring your (or at least my) spirits up.  Flowers in general do that for me - something bright and sweet to cheer up even the dullest days!

The poem is attributed to Moslih Eddin Saadi, a Mohammadan Sheik and Persian poet who lived in the 12th-13th centuries, and is usually called Hyacinths to Feed Thy Soul, or simply, Hyacinths:

If of thy mortal goods thou art bereft,

And from thy slender store two loaves alone

 to thee are left - 

Sell one, and with the dole

Buy hyacinths to feed thy soul.

I did a painting for my mom one year with the poem at the bottom.  The picture's not that clear - I'll see if I can get a better one soon!  For now, Happy Spring, everyone!!!

Lyrical Thursdays: In the Bleak Midwinter

Along with new beginnings, the new year has brought a lot of snow to Michigan. We've had quite a bit all winter, actually, but never at a time that would grant us a snow day!  Ah, well.  (**Update: ...Until January 5th, when the snow kept falling, snow on snow...and got us a snow day on the 6th!) 

I was out shoveling and snow blowing earlier as the snow continued to swirl around me, and this song came into my head.  It's such a beautiful one, and the poem by Christina Rossetti is so moving.  The last line says it all - all that we can give Him is our heart!  A great thing to think about as we head into the new year.  Happy Thursday! 

In the bleak midwinter

BY CHRISTINA ROSSETTI

In the bleak midwinter, frosty wind made moan,

Earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone;

Snow had fallen, snow on snow, snow on snow,

In the bleak midwinter, long ago.

Our God, Heaven cannot hold Him, nor earth sustain;

Heaven and earth shall flee away when He comes to reign.

In the bleak midwinter a stable place sufficed

The Lord God Almighty, Jesus Christ.

Enough for Him, whom cherubim, worship night and day,

Breastful of milk, and a mangerful of hay;

Enough for Him, whom angels fall before,

The ox and ass and camel which adore.

Angels and archangels may have gathered there,

Cherubim and seraphim thronged the air;

But His mother only, in her maiden bliss,

Worshipped the beloved with a kiss.

What can I give Him, poor as I am?

If I were a shepherd, I would bring a lamb;

If I were a Wise Man, I would do my part;

Yet what I can I give Him: give my heart.

Lyrical Thursdays: The Raven

Happy Halloween!!!!!

In honor of this spoooooky holiday, I thought I would share a spoooooky poem!  When I was in middle school I went through a phase where I decided to memorize the poem, and got most of it down before moving on with my life and promptly forgetting it.  Whoops.  I still remember the first stanza or two!  

This Halloween I decided to honor that adolescent memorization by carving the poet into a pumpkin (the poem is way too long...):

Poempkin

Without further ado, here is Edgar Allan Poe's The Raven, first published in 1845, memorized by a nerdy tween in ~1993:

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
`'Tis some visitor,' I muttered, `tapping at my chamber door -
Only this, and nothing more.'

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost Lenore -
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore -
Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
`'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door -
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; -
This it is, and nothing more,'

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
`Sir,' said I, `or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you' - here I opened wide the door; -
Darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, `Lenore!'
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, `Lenore!'
Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
`Surely,' said I, `surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore -
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; -
'Tis the wind and nothing more!'

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door -
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door -
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
`Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,' I said, `art sure no craven.
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the nightly shore -
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning - little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door -
Bird or beast above the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as `Nevermore.'

But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only,
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered - not a feather then he fluttered -
Till I scarcely more than muttered `Other friends have flown before -
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.'
Then the bird said, `Nevermore.'

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
`Doubtless,' said I, `what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore -
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
Of "Never-nevermore."'

But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore -
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking `Nevermore.'

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
`Wretch,' I cried, `thy God hath lent thee - by these angels he has sent thee
Respite - respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! -
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted -
On this home by horror haunted - tell me truly, I implore -
Is there - is there balm in Gilead? - tell me - tell me, I implore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us - by that God we both adore -
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore -
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels name Lenore?'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

`Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!' I shrieked upstarting -
`Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! - quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted - nevermore!

Lyrical Thursdays: Opportunity

Today's poem is one that I was given by a friend when I was a missionary in Thailand about 11 years ago.  I keep it in my beat-up (well-loved!) copy of the Book of Mormon, in the middle of some of the war chapters in Alma (where two ancient groups battled on the American continents).  It reminds me that attitude and outlook can really affect the way we perceive a situation.

Opportunity

Edward Rowland Sill (1841-1887)

This I beheld, or dreamed it in a dream:--
There spread a cloud of dust along a plain;
And underneath the cloud, or in it, raged
A furious battle, and men yelled, and swords
Shocked upon swords and shields.  A prince's banner
Wavered, then staggered backward, hemmed by foes.
A craven* hung along the battle's edge, 
And thought, "Had I a sword of keener steel--
That blue blade that the king's son bears, -- but this
Blunt thing--!" he snapped and flung it from his hand,
And lowering crept away and left the field.
Then came the king's son, wounded, sore bestead,
And weaponless, and saw the broken sword,
Hilt-buried in the dry and trodden sand,
And ran and snatched it, and with battle shout
Lifted afresh he hewed his enemy down,
And saved a great cause that heroic day.


If you know me well, you know that I have a deep love for (and mild obsession with) the Harry Potter series.  I recently found J.K. Rowling's companion site to the books, Pottermore, which has a lot of bonus information including extended backgrounds on many characters.  One of those characters is Sir Cadogan, the slightly zany knight in a painting at Hogwarts who helps Harry, Ron, and Hermione find their divination classroom in book three (and pops up again later in the story).

Sir Cadogan and his fat pony

Part of Sir Cadogan's history (copyright J.K. Rowling on Pottermore.com) made me think of the above poem and the message it's telling us:

"Sir Cadogen's most famous encounter was with the Wyvern of Wye, a dragonish creature that was terrorizing the West Country.  At their first encounter, the beast ate Sir Cadogan's handsome steed, bit his wand in half and melted his sword and visor.  Unable to see through the steam rising from his melting helmet, Sir Cadogan barely escaped with his life.  However, rather than running away, he staggered into a nearby meadow, grabbed a small, fat pony grazing there, leapt upon it and galloped back towards the wyvern with  nothing but his broken wand in his hand, prepared to meet a valiant death.  The creature lowered its fearsome head to swallow Sir Cadogan and the pony whole, but the splintered and misfiring wand pierced its tongue, igniting the gassy fumes rising from its stomach and causing the wyvern to explode.

"Elderly witches and wizards still use the saying, 'I'll take Cadogan's pony' to mean, 'I'll salvage the best I can from a tricky situation'."

That last line there says it all.  Sometimes in life we are stuck in a tricky situation, whether of our own making or someone else's, and need to do the best that we can in it without running away.  Or we may think that what we have isn't good enough to win the battles we are waging.  But with the right attitude and outlook, we can "take Cadogan's pony," or grab up that broken sword, and prepare for whatever may come (and maybe give those around us a leg up in the process).  We may not all be Gryffindors**, but we can all find bravery within us to face our battles and, against all odds, win.

*craven |ˈkrāvən| - adjective

contemptibly lacking in courage; cowardly
**Yes, yes, I know.  Nerd alert.  ;)

Lyrical Thursdays: Jabberwocky

Happy Thursday, everyone!  I have to apologize for my temporary leave of absence - I have been doing a long-term substitute teaching job and along with my other jobs it's kept me so busy that I've barely had time to sleep, let alone blog!  But I'm back! 

I'm also feeling a little loopy... I hit my head on Monday (when bending down to put a book on the floor, I hit my head on the sharp corner of my dresser) and may have had a mild concussion as a result (who has the time or money to go to a doctor?! I rely on webmd...).  As a result, I've been wiped out all week and a little dizzy, so I thought I'd share a poem with you today that somewhat reflected that loopiness.

I've had a goal for a few years to memorize this poem.  I feel like somewhere, sometime it will come in handy.  Like...to scare small children?  Or if I have a dream where I'm on stage in the middle of a play and forget my lines, I could pull it out and start reciting it to tumultuous applause for my quick thinking and amazing interpretation of the well-known poem...  Or something like that.  (I told you - loopy.)  

Without further ado, here's Jabberwocky by Lewis Carroll:

`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
  Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
  And the mome raths outgrabe.

"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
  The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
  The frumious Bandersnatch!"

He took his vorpal sword in hand:
  Long time the manxome foe he sought --
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
  And stood awhile in thought.

And, as in uffish thought he stood,
  The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
  And burbled as it came!

One, two! One, two! And through and through
  The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
  He went galumphing back.

"And, has thou slain the Jabberwock?
  Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!'
  He chortled in his joy.

`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
  Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
  And the mome raths outgrabe.

Lyrical Thursdays: A Spider Bought a Bicycle

It's SPRING!!  Finally!  FINALLY.  I began to wonder if it would ever happen.  Yesterday I was working outside and I stopped for a while just to look out at the perfection of the day.  Sigh.  I love it!  

I've been trying to ride my bike every day, for several reasons: first, you know, exercise and stuff. Second: it's a great way to run errands and bonus, it's great for the environment.  Third: it feels like being a little kid - cruising around, hopping curbs, seeing how fast I can go - it's the best!!!  

At a stop on the trail I often take

Since I've been riding so much, I thought I'd share a poem about bicycling.  Now, I'm not exactly sure why the spider put an earwig on his back, but maybe it's like having someone ride on your handlebars? Anyway, it's a rather whimsical poem, and I love the 5th & 6th lines especially. 

A Spider Bought a Bicycle

A spider bought a bicycle

And had it painted black

He started off along the road

With an earwig on his back

He sent the pedals round so fast

He travelled all the day

Then he took the earwig off

And put the bike away.

Phyllis Flowerdew (1913-1994)

Lyrical Thursdays: Haiku!

Happy (Friday) Thursday, everyone!  OK, so a 10 hour workday yesterday and meeting last night prevented me from getting this post up yesterday.  So let's all just pretend it's still Thursday, even though TGIF, eh, mack?!  

Wednesday was National Haiku Poetry Day!! Haiku has been around for a millennium in Japan, and is often appreciated for its simplicity.  

The 5-7-5 format is easily recognizable, and kids and adults alike can get into the spirit of National Poetry Month by composing their own.  

Not all haiku follow the 5-7-5 format, actually, which gets the perfectionist in me really prickly, but I'm trying not to be a haiku snob. Here are a few famous (and old) examples:

An old silent pond...

A frog jumps into the pond,

splash! Silence again.

A flash of lightning:
Into the gloom
Goes the heron's cry.

by Basho (1644-1694)

Over the wintry

forest, winds howl in  rage
with no leaves to blow.

by Soseki (1275-1351)

Here are a few I wrote.  Warning: I'm a big nerd and some of mine are nerd-inspired. 

The Doctor and friend
Travel all through time and space
In the blue TARDIS

Agatha spins tales
With Poirot and Miss Marple
Solving mysteries

Yummy warm cookie
Chocolate chips melting and
Filling me with smiles

Lyrical Thursdays: Warm Summer Sun

Here in Michigan, winter has held on like a baby to long hair - with a vice grip that can be painful at times.  (Is that a weird analogy?)  Today it was finally one of those spring days where all you want to do is sit outside in the warm sun in a t-shirt, shorts, and flip flops, even though it's only 55 degrees.  But come on, after 20-30 degree weather for weeks on end, 55 is practically tropical. 

To celebrate the day, I took a little road trip - to Hell, Michigan.  It's only about 25 miles or so from where I live, and not too much past Dexter, where my show is up currently.  Since I had to go fix a frame at the show, I thought I'd just keep going!  I'll write more about my trip to Hell in the next few days (for a preview, you can look at my tweets about it on the side of my blog), but both the warm sun and the metaphorical warmth of actual Hell (Hell, MI is still defrosting after this frigid winter) made me decide to choose this painting and poem for today.  Both are in the Dexter show (which you should go check out!).  I'll include below the blurb I have next to the painting as well as, of course, the poem.

Encaustic painting is the use of heated beeswax with colored pigments added.  When painting with the beeswax, it can become quite warm, as the wax has to be melted and reheated over and over to gain the desired effect.  All of this heat made me think of the warmth of the sun, and this poem by Mark Twain.  I tried to bring the tendrils of warm colors up through the cool blue to reach out to those who need it so much after the sharp, bitter cold of winter.

Warm Summer Sun

Mark Twain

Warm summer sun,

Shine kindly here,

Warm southern wind,

Blow softly here.

Green sod above,

Lie light, light light.

Good night, dear heart,

Good night, good night.

Warm Summer Sun by Moi
Encaustic on Panel

Lyrical Thursdays: I Dwell In Possibility

Happy Thursday, everyone!!

As I mentioned briefly in my post last week, I've been super duper busy lately and haven't had much free time.  A majority of my time has been spent preparing for an exhibit of a number of my paintings (33, to be exact) in nearby Dexter, Michigan's new(ish) library.  I'm really excited to have all of these paintings up (and out of storage) - and to be able to share them outside of my website and blog!

Around half of the paintings in this show are poetry paintings, many of which have been featured in my Lyrical Thursdays posts, and some of which you'll be seeing in upcoming weeks.  I took a number of pictures today in the hopes of sharing one of them on here, but the photos weren't the best, so I think I'll hold off until next week.  For now, I'll share a short poem by Emily Dickinson that I was thinking about today:

657

I dwell in Possibility-

A fairer House than Prose-

More numerous of Windows-

Superior-for Doors-

Of Chambers as the Cedars-

Impregnable of Eye-

And for an Everlasting Roof

The Gambrels of the Sky-

Of Visitors-the fairest-

For Occupation-This-

The spreading wide my narrow Hands

To gather Paradise-

c. 1862

It was very motivating for me to prepare everything for this show!  I felt possibilities open up before me as an artist, and that is always a good thing.  It's easy to become discouraged when we face trials and hard times (which these last weeks have been - very stressful!!), but it's better to dwell in Possibility, in what can be, and use that to push us forward!

I'll share more about the show soon, but for now, it's sleep and recovery time!  

Happy Easter!!

Lyrical Thursdays: Limericks

In honor of last weekend's St. Patrick's Day celebrations, I thought it'd be fun to post some limericks.  I actually found a website with clean limericks, which aren't always the norm...  I chose a few of my favorites to share here, and would LOVE it if you wrote one and shared it in the comments!!  Here's my attempt, which describes me lately:

There once was a girl so busy, 
Her head was getting real dizzy.

She had paintings and prose

From her head to her toes

And hair that often was frizzy.

If this post is a little short, it's only because I'm so busy with other creative endeavors that I don't have time for much more this week. Those endeavors will be explained in next week's Lyrical Thursdays, so get excited! 

Happy Thursday!


There once was a man named Hall
Who died in the spring in the fall.
'Twould have been a sad thing
Had he died in the spring
But he didn't, he died in the fall.
—Contributed by Bill Pellow

There once was a musical hobo
Who strung four strings on his oboe.
Said he, "With these strings,
This thing really sings!
I both blow and bow on my oboe."
—Original limerick by Dave Reckoning

Flappity, floppity, flip,
The mouse on the Moebius strip.
The strip revolved,
The mouse dissolved
In a chronodimensional skip.
—Contributed by John Field

There once was a man from Peru
Whose limericks stopped at line two.
—Contributed by John Field

There was a young woman named Bright
Whose speed was much faster than light.
She set out one day
In a relative way,
And returned on the previous night.
—Geri Taran

There was a young man from Japan
who's limericks never would scan.
When asked why this was,
he said: "Tis because
I always try and put as many words in the last line as I possibly can."
—From Barbara Sohngen, Amsterdam

A tongue-twister limerick!
A flea and fly in a flue,
Were imprisoned so what could they do?
Said the flea let us fly.
Said the fly let us flee.
So they flew through a flaw in the flue.
—Contributed by Paul Ogden, Israel

Another tongue-twister limerick!
A tutor who tooted a flute,
Tried to tutor two tooters to toot.
Said the two to the tutor,
"Is it harder to toot, or
To tutor two tooters to toot?" 
—Submitted by Chris DeSantis

(Please record yourself reading these last two out loud and send me the video, would ya? I could use a good chuckle...)  :D

Lyrical Thursdays: Pure Imagination

This week's Lyrical Thursdays was inspired by an awesome experience I had last Saturday.  A friend of mine was in town visiting, and we went with my older sister into Detroit to meet up with her friends at the Redford Theater.  It's an old theater, the last of the old cinemas of its kind in Detroit, and is really beautiful!

The movie we saw was "Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory" and BONUS, the actors who played Charlie Bucket and Mike Teevee were there!!!!  All grown up!!!  (Charlie pointed out that the stretching machine clearly worked, because Mike Teevee is normal sized again...)  ;)

The theater was all decorated with Willy Wonka-esque decorations - funky balloons, big candy (not real), candy for sale (real, and necessary - it's impossible to watch that movie and not eat candy, especially chocolate), etc.  (Also, the candy, popcorn, and drinks there are all reasonably priced!!!  It was amazing to be able to buy candy for $1, pop for $1.50, and popcorn for about the same.  Take THAT big, overpriced theaters...)

Before the movie started, there was a guy playing all of the songs from the movie on the organ there in the theater.  He was so good!!

Plus, Charlie and Mike (alias Peter Ostrum and Paris Themmen), along with a guy dressed up like Willy Wonka (sadly not Gene Wilder), came on stage before the movie and during the intermission and talked about their experiences making the movie and memories from on set.  (My sister wrote more about that on her blog, which you can read here.)

The movie watching experience there was great!  Everyone in the audience was so engaged, gasping and clapping when (spoiler alert) Charlie found the golden ticket, and laughing at all of Gene Wilder's crazy antics.  (Seriously, that movie is realllly weird! But awesome!!!)  I loved every minute of it.*  

So, in honor of this experience, I thought I'd share the lyrics (and a video) of my favorite song from the movie - "Pure Imagination."  I love the words in the chorus: "If you want to view paradise/Simply look around and view it/Anything you want to, do it/Wanta change the world?/There's nothing/To it."  What a great message for kids (of all ages...) to hear!

Enjoy, and Happy Thursday!


Pure Imagination

Willy Wonka:
[Spoken]
Hold your breath
Make a wish
Count to three

[Sung]
Come with me
And you'll be
In a world of
Pure imagination
Take a look
And you'll see
Into your imagination

We'll begin
With a spin
Traveling in
The world of my creation
What we'll see
Will defy
Explanation

If you want to view paradise
Simply look around and view it
Anything you want to, do it
Wanta change the world?
There's nothing
To it

There is no
Life I know
To compare with
Pure imagination
Living there
You'll be free
If you truly wish to be

If you want to view paradise
Simply look around and view it
Anything you want to, do it
Wanta change the world?
There's nothing
To it

There is no
Life I know
To compare with
Pure imagination
Living there
You'll be free
If you truly
Wish to be

Composed by Leslie Bricusse and Anthony Newley

*Disclaimer!!!  I know that you're probably way jealous after reading all about this, and are really cheesed off that I didn't invite you.  In my defense, I had no idea going into it that it would be this amazing! Next time, I promise I'll let you know.  And you.

Lyrical Thursdays: Brown Penny

Since I missed a week last month, I thought I'd make up for it with another poem about love.  It's kind of funny, because I am posting these at a time in my life when I feel these poems have little relevance to me personally.  But still, they are moving and beautiful poems, and will perhaps mean even more to me down the road.

I find this poem very enchanting in its lyricism.  I get caught up in the way Yeats uses phrasing and rhythm and a conversational style.  It brings so many images to mind: a young man reflecting on his own, an older man offering advice, a reflecting pool or wishing well, etc.  (I think this is one of the most pretentious paragraphs I have ever written...)

I've heard it recited twice via the wonderful world of cinema.  One I have included below - it's Christopher Plummer reciting it in the film "Must Love Dogs."  (The video is nicely done.)  The other, and my favorite, was on the TV show "Northern Exposure."  Chris Stevens (alias Chris in the Morning, played by John Corbett) recites it in an episode when offering advice to a kid in town.  I love the way that he says it, in the conversational way that Yeats wrote it, and the way only Chris Stevens could (that show is pretty much the best).  Sadly I couldn't find a video of Chris' recital, so I'll leave you in the capable hands of Captain Von Trapp.

Brown Penny

I whispered, 'I am too young,'
And then, 'I am old enough';
Wherefore I threw a penny
To find out if I might love.
'Go and love, go and love, young man,
If the lady be young and fair.'
Ah, penny, brown penny, brown penny,
I am looped in the loops of her hair.
O love is the crooked thing,
There is nobody wise enough
To find out all that is in it,
For he would be thinking of love
Till the stars had run away
And the shadows eaten the moon.
Ah, penny, brown penny, brown penny,
One cannot begin it too soon. 

William Butler Yeats

Lyrical Thursdays: No Loser No Weeper

Today's poem, on the last day of the Month of Love, talks a little about not wanting to lose love once it's been found.  The poem is called No Loser No Weeper, by well-loved poet Maya Angelou. Angelou grew up during times of hardship for many, when money was scarce and the Great Depression was flooding across America.  The loss of even a dime, as Angelou says, was cause for despair, and loss of property, even small things, was equally upsetting and unsettling.

The poem is best when heard in Angelou's own voice.  Years ago I found a recording of it online, but I can't seem to track it down again, except on a track listing for her CD, Black Pearls: The Poetry of Maya Angelou.  (You can hear a sample of it there.)  I love the way she pauses and laughs at parts, especially in the last stanza.  She really builds in the last two lines - no woman would dare cross Maya Angelou when it comes to her "lover boy!"  The last line as read by her reads something like,
"And I mean.........I really....hate....to lose something." If you can find a copy of it somewhere, let me know!  Meanwhile, enjoy, and happy Thursday!


No Loser No Weeper

"I hate to lose something,"
then she bent her head
"even a dime, I wish I was dead.
I can't explain it.  No more to be said.
'Cept I hate to lose something."

"I lost a doll once and cried for a week.
She could open her eyes, and do all but speak.
I believe she was took, by some doll-snatching-sneak.
I tell you, I hate to lose something."

"A watch of mine once, got up and walked away.
It had twelve numbers on it and for the time of day.
I'll never forget it and all I can say
Is I really hate to lose something."

Now if I felt that way 'bout a watch and a toy,
What you think I feel 'bout my lover-boy?
I ain't threatening you madam, but he is my evening's joy.
And I mean I really hate to lose something."