Myself

MYSELF

 

MYSELF

I have to live with myself, and so
I want to be fit for myself to know,
I want to be able, as days go by,
Always to look myself straight in the eye;
I don’t want to stand, with the setting sun,
And hate myself for all the things I have done.

I don’t want to keep on a closet shelf
A lot of secrets about myself,
And fool myself, as I come and go,
Into thinking that nobody else will know
The kind of man I really am;
I don’t want to dress up myself as a sham.

I want to go out with my head erect,
I want to deserve all men’s respect;
But here in the struggle for fame and pelf
I want to be able to like myself.
I don’t want to look at myself and know
That I’m bluster and bluff and empty show.

I can never hide myself from me;
I see what others may never see;
I know what others may never know,
I never can fool myself, and so,
Whatever happens, I want to be
Self-respecting and conscience free.

EDGAR . GUEST.

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If I Had Known

                                        If I Had Known                                    
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If I had known what trouble you were bearing;
What grief’s were in the silence of your face;
I would have spent more gentle, and more caring,
And tried to give you gladness for a space.
I would have brought more warmth into the place,
If I had known.

If I had known what thoughts despairing drew you;
(Why do we never try to understand?)
I would have lent a little friendship to you.
And slipped my hand within your hand,
And made your stay more pleasant in the land
If I had known.

                                                            Mary Carolyn Davies.

“The Unknown Soldier”

the unknown soldier I have mentioned the poem’s posted are from a poetry book I found in my mother’s possession. The book belonged to Private “Hutch” Hutchens, a WW2 veteran who left this page bookmarked for me to find and share with all of you. Both of my grandfathers’ fought in WW2 on the front lines. Private “Hutch” fought in the Battle of the Bulge, and another grandfather could tell you, if he were here today, that he knows exactly where Normandy Beach is. I felt “The Unknown Soldier” was appropriate for the tumultuous time our country is facing.

There’s a GRAVEYARD near the White House
Where the Unknown Soldier lies,
And where the flowers there are sprinkled
With the tears from mother’s eyes.

I stood there not so long ago
With roses for the brave,
And suddenly I heard a voice Speak from out the grave:

“I am the Unknown Soldier,” The spirit voice began,
“And I think I have the right
To ask some questions man to man.
“Are my buddies taken care of?
Was their victory so sweet?

Is that big reward you offered
Selling pencils on the street?
“Did they really win the freedom
They battled to achieve?
Do you still respect that Croix de Guerre

Above that empty sleeve?
“Does a gold star in the window
Now mean anything at all?
I wonder how my old girl feels
When she hears a bugle call.

“And that baby who sang
‘Hello, Central, give me no man’s land’-
Can they replace her daddy
With a military band?
“I wonder if the profiteers

Have satisfied their greed?
I wonder if a soldier’s mother
Ever is in need?
“I wonder if the kinds, who planned it all
Are really satisfied?

They played their game of checkers
And eleven million died.
“I am the Unknown Soldier
And maybe I died in vain,
But if I were alive and my country called,
I’d do it all over again.” Billy Rose.

The Power of The Dog

shad and i

The Power of The Dog

There is sorrow enough in the natural way
From men and women to fill our day;
And when we are certain of sorrow in store,
Why foe r always arrange for more?
Brothers and Sisters, I bid you beware
Of giving your to a do to tear.

Buy a pup and your money will buy
Love unflinching that cannot lie-
Perfect passion and worship fed
But a kick in the ribs or a pat on the head.
Nevertheless it in hardly fair
To risk your heart for a dog to tear.

When the fourteen years which Nature permits
Are closing in asthma, or tumor, or fits,
And the vets unspoken prescription runs
To lethal chambers or loaded guns,
Then you will find- it’s your own affair-
But… You’ve given your heart to a dog to tear.

When the body that lived at your single will,
With its whimper of welcome, is stilled (how still!);
When the spirit that answered your every mood
Is gone- wherever it goes—for good,
You will discover how much you care,
And will give your heart to a dog to tear.

We’ve sorrow enough in the natural way,
When it comes to burying Christian clay.
Our loves are not given, but only lent,
At compound interest of cent per cent.
Though it is not always the case, I do believe,
That the longer we’ve kept ‘em, the more do we grieve;
For, when debts are payable, right or wrong,
A short term loan is as bad as a long-
So why in- Heaven (before we are there)
Should we give out hearts to a dog to tear?

                                         Rudyard Kipling

 

The picture above is my first golden, Shadow, when I was 4 years old. He lived for fourteen years.

Try Smiling

 

Try SmilingWhen the weather suits you not,

Try smiling.

When your coffee isn’t hot.

Try smiling.

When your neighbors don’t do right, Or your relatives all fight,

Sure ‘tis hard, but then you might

Try smiling.

 

Doesn’t change the things of course—

Just smiling.

But it cannot make them worse—

Just smiling.

And it seems to help your case,

Brightens up a gloomy place,

Then, it sort o’ rests your face—

Just smiling.

                                               unknown

One of the poem’s in this poetry book that is bookmarked, and marked, and one of the dozens just like it I will be posting.