And the word is...

[CdnReader]

WELL! I can't compete with that!!!
(This is PERFECT, PM. Loved it!)

[motherhubbard]

Jerry, I think I'll step outside of those velvet ropes and leave my spot in the queue and JUST DO SOMETHING

[ampoule]

A beautifully written piece on a not so beautiful subject Prince. It stirs me up. Thank you.

[ampoule]

Waiting Without Complaining

My face, against the spindles of your crib,
is marked with my vigilant watch
of your tiny sleeping and those precious
eyelids that I want to kiss awake.
But I must wait without complaining
for you to finish your sweet baby dreams
and wake up hungry enough to satisfy
my fullness.

My face, pressed against a window now,
the panes marking my vigilant watch
for my love's headlights turning onto
our rainy street, your footsteps at the door.
But I must wait without complaining
for you to safely sit down at my table,
to reach for my hands, to look in my eyes
full of relief.

My face, marked by a cold and aching arm rest,
looks into the face of a large numbered clock
wondering if it is time to begin the wake for
the removal of my closest friend's identity.
But I must wait without complaining
for the angels of mercy to set her about
for garden walks and Earl Grey and lemon bread
with me.

My face, false strength holding a quivering chin,
searches my father's every detail, making note
of his voice and words, tracing his brow while
knowing he longs for a peaceful forever rest.
But I must wait without complaining
for each day, each hour, each minute, each second,
that his river veined hands might reach up and
brush my cheek.

Patience, I will gladly wait with you.

[PrinceMyshkin]

How lovely, Ampoule!

[ampoule]

How lovely, Ampoule!

Thank you Prince. Two such different perspectives on patience. I know I have felt yours and I'm pretty sure you have felt mine. Now what were we talking about here?

[Pendragon]

If it was Patience, I think you guys covered it to the max! Salutations to all!

[Granny5]

Pen, give them a new word....Poppy is up and ready to have a go.

[ampoule]

Unless Pen comes back with a word, why don't we continue with virtues. Howz about CHARITY?

[Poppy]

Charity doesn’t have to cost anything,
well, not in the fiscal sense.
It can be just giving of time, efforts
and especially love.

Old man Dawson was a sage’s sage,
a man’s man if you will.
He lived in the green house next door
real close to my bedroom wall.

I first met him when he moved back North,
he was the new teacher in the sixth.
He was fairly aged at the time but didn’t
look his years.

I was in his class, on his teams and sometime
the target of his swats.
This was the year that JFK died, and when
teachers could still teach.

Besides his love of teaching, his passion was
the great outdoors.
I suspect at some point like self examination
he thought I should learn its ways.

There were endless trips to wood and stream,
coon, squirrel and perch.
In early morning we ran his hounds, the blue tick
and the redbone.

The bounty that we brought back home was never
gone to waste.
The nature meat was turned over to the lady of
the house.

His missus was such a lovely soul, God fearing but
always frail.
But cooking was her forte; well you could tell
just by the smells.

Both are long gone, both buried together
somewere I presume.
As I think back on them, remembering kind souls,
I wish I had thanked him more.

Giving of his time, his knowledge and his
friendship are the things I received.
So its payback time, its my turn to pass on
what this mentor shared with me.

~Poppy

[ampoule]

What a wonderful tribute! I can hear the hounds barking and smell the vittles!

[CdnReader]

You are such a wonderful storyteller, Poppy. I'm so glad you've come here to share your stories with all of us. Thank you!!

[Pendragon]

If I Have Not Charity…

It was a white frame house with a green tin roof,
Down on the corner near the river and the railroad.
When the winter snows would come it would get so cold,
I’ve seen ice freeze on the walls inside…

To call us poor was probably flattery,
Momma raising three kids by herself in the 60’s,
When a woman on her own like that could get a bad name.
But you know my momma bore up under anything…

She taught me never to be ashamed of who I was,
To mind my manners, and respect other folks—
How to give an honest day’s work for an honest day’s pay.
She taught me how that color doesn’t define anyone,
And that even faith has to come from somewhere within,
And if I had anything at all to share—that was charity.

Dad had pulled two tours of duty over in Vietnam.
Came back—he just never came back home.
Never sent a dime of support for his family,
But we always got by, somehow, someway, anyway—

Always appreciated all those hand-me-down clothes,
The milk and the eggs from the man who owned the farm.
We never really found out who had two loads of wood delivered,
And The Elder beside us sent us things from his garden.

And I can recall so many, many a time—
All of us kids on the block out in our backyard.
We didn’t have a lot, but we picnicked on kool-aid and bologna sandwiches.
Momma believed you gotta take Charity and give it right back…

Pendragon
© 8/23/07

[Poppy]

Pen, My, My. With your permission I have archived this to read again and again. I was partial to grape kool aid and I liked my bologna fried. If it was fried then you could keep it with you longer without spoiling. Or so we thought.
This is such a great tribute to your childhood and your Mother.
~Poppy

[ampoule]

Wonderful, wonderful Pen. I am thankful that YOU are charitable with your memories.

Oooo, I LOVE fried bologna! I'd like to have some right now but I'm trying not to eat stuff like that.

Grape kool aid, unsweetened makes great playdough.
Here's another trick. IMAGINE a packet of unsweetened grape kool aid. Pretend to tear off the corner. Now pretend to pour a little in the palm of your hand. Now touch it with your tongue. Does your mouth water or what? It's a great trick for singers.