I’ve written of the happy times,
I’ve written of the sad.
I’m looking through my memories
For something that is bad.
Perhaps I should tell my great age,
But that would be contrary
To vow I made not to reveal it,
Even in my obituary.
I must try to think of something
That would give me claim to fame.
That I can’t recall a single thing
Should give me cause for shame.
I’ve walked the straight and narrow
In the middle of the highway,
And thus missed all of the pitfalls
That were hidden on the byway.
I did hit Ripley’s column, at
Urevealed time of my birth.
(Ripley gathered strange facts
From the far ends of the Earth).
I arrived the seventh member
Of my family you see. As
Seventh granddaughter of each grandma
I was deemed a rarity.
It was Sunday, seventh day of the week,
When I uttered my first cry,
And the seventh day of the month,
The year’s seventh month, July.
Mamma cut that column out
And kept it in the Bible’s pages.
She and Daddy often called me
Their little “Marvel of the Ages”.
It was the third lunar mission
Of the Apollo space program;
Destination was the earth’s moon
Where two men were going to land.
Neil Armstrong was the Commander;
Piloting the Columbia was Michael Collins;
Edwin “Buzz” Aldrin would Pilot the Eagle;
The landing craft they would land in.
Aldrin landed the Eagle
In the Sea of Tranquility,
While millions watched on TV sets,
Including my family and me.
On July 20, 1969,
Men from the Apollo 11 space flight
For the first time walked on the moon
Late on that summer night.
I’ll never forget the exact day it occurred;
It’s a special day for me;
I shared my eleventh birthday
With the men of Apollo 11 and history.
WINTER SOLSTICE AT NEW GRANGE
Sun seems to have gone away -
Light bonfires! Pray she will return!
Our calls to her rise with the burn:
Winter solstice the darkest day.
Our hearts at New Grange will fill:
Trees evergreen are cut for scent;
Dancing and singing with energy pent;
Warding off this dark day’s chill.
Mark the path scant ray has found -
Only in this, the shortest daylight,
A dawn hardly changed from night,
In long dim passages underground.
The pale ray tells this day is worst,
Buried ‘neath our secret mound
Built in strongest fortress round -
But tomorrow will be the first
Of better days when wine and meat
And proud bronzed brooches
Shining as the light approaches
Will cheer the clans to dance and eat.
...........................................................
Poem about Celtic Winter Solstice Holy Day
for Deborah Guzzi's competition.
Some events, in each generation, significantly, our lives do sway
Everyone remembers the same exact moment as if it occurred yesterday
Past history that stays in our minds, moments we cannot forget
Terror reigned upon our countrymen from an unknown threat
Even now the vision still haunts us, as many the pilgrimage make
Memorials stand now where towers stood before and pictures the visitors take
Buried beneath the now sacred ground are souls forever lost
Energies spent on security tightening is the ultimate cost
Remember forever the events of that day and lives lost in trying to right it
1 day of terror from a stealthy foe and
1 decade now trying to fight it
Standing that morning at that Lexington field
Not knowing what drama the day would yet yield
When off to my right rang the shot of a gun
I knew that this dreaded war had just begun
No one knowing who had shot first
This day would go down in history as being one of the worst
Stumbling my way threw the gray smoky haze
Everyone looking like their in a daze
Brothers and friends lying dead on the ground
And i know that bloodier days are still yet bound
From demanding England, America has just tore
For that first shot has just begun the Revolutionary War
I have written to you every day
It has been over twenty five years
Not one day did I miss writing to you
No not even one day
About my feelings and fears
The things I did, the only way
When insanity would invade and normal was not around
Tricks were played in my head
No matter how crazy, I wrote to you
For years you were quiet, never made a sound
Of all the things that they did and said
Some day it would all come true
You knew my every thought and pain
I told you everything
You knew what I wrote on April 3, 1993
You are the best thing I ever did, I cannot complain
Back then I did not know what it would bring
It was you that saved me from the hanging tree
Now I have written a book about you
Because you are all about me
Times and places, names and faces of them all
All about what evil doers do
You are the one that kept me free
Dear Diary, I thank you most of all
We always notice twilight and dawn ...
the sun appears and then it is gone.
Nothing much happens at noon
a lunch hour that is soon
followed by a siesta
while the rest of
the day is brought up short
as twilight brings a report
of the approaching night
with all its fright
of boogie men
and other days when
the fire had to be kept
as the family slept
and the animals paced
outside our cave space.
Then the beating heart
sighs with a start
when another day dawns
and the body yawns.
Eternal time that cycles by
is just the same for you and I ...
we always notice twilight and dawn,
the sun appears and then it is gone.
Yes, the end has at last arrived.
We saw the minefields ahead and continued forward
With the abandon of the damned.
Occasionally I could see the flicker of insanity,
Resting deep within your eyes.
There was nothing to be done, but stare
At the heavens and pray
For the resalvaging of the soul.
You are gone, but I was a million light years away
Long before you had a glimmer of
This fact.
Now there are the faint spectral trails of memories,
And conglomerations energy vortices ...
Speaking from a time that should have
Been kinder and more mericful, yet
Ended up in classic meat-grinder fashion.
In afterthought,
Moving about in my day to day pergrinations,
There must be more consciousness of the gravity
Of my feet - as they have crossed the boundaries
Where I cannot return from.
In this,
I know that we will spend some time in reverie,
But that will fade as new life opens up,
And replaces the old and tired
With the new cycle.
The clearing of the refuse.
The planting of a new garden.
... May the fruits be more sweet and
The vegetables spill from the basket.
An angel fell from the sky
the day she disappeared.
Searching the Pacific
far and wide that day.
An angel had been
lost somewhere at sea.
She had flown the
world around and around.
Her plane was her home
away from home.
Comfort of the sky,
was all she asked for,
no one knows what
happened to her that,
fatal day in 1937,
only God Himself,
knows the answer
of her fate, no one is sure,
she was the first woman
to solo the Altantic,
so one day she decided
to fly around the world,
she left New Guinea
and headed for Howland Island,
but mysteriously vanished
from the face of the earth,
shocking the world
of the news,
she has never been,
forgotten.
wrote 8-5-08 In Memory of Amelia Earhart 1898-1937