Poems wanted!!!

[dandymomma]

That is absolutly true!!!

[Bonnie M.]

I returned a couple of days ago from a delightful trip to Baxter, Tennesse, to be hosted by a distant cousin and his wife, Joe and Diane Elmore.  There were nine of us who made the journey, with the encouragement of Joe.  We all stayed at Cookville, Tenn.  Joe is 73 years old, and we share a great-great grandfather, George Washington Elmore.  My Mother, and all of her sisters, had the most amazing memories, and could recite almost every poem they'd ever learned, from back in early 1900's.  Joe took us around to a lot of the various places where our ancestors had made their mark, and one was at a school hosue, in a community where my great-great grandmother grew up.  As he pulled up to stop at the schoolhouse, he started reciting this poem, by Whittier:



                        In School-Days
               
     
              Still sits the school-house by the road,
            A ragged beggar sleeping;
            Around it still the sumachs grow,
            And blackberry-vines are creeping.

            Within, the master's desk is seen,
            Deep-scarred by raps official;
            The warping floor, the battered seats,
            The jack-knife's carved initial;

            The charcoal frescoes on its wall;
            Its door's worn sill, betraying
            The feet that, creeping slow to school,
            Went storming out to playing!

            Long years ago a winter sun
            Shone over it at setting;
            Lit up its western window-panes,
            And low eaves' icy fretting.

            It touched the tangled golden curls,
            And brown eyes full of grieving,
            Of one who still her steps delayed
            When all the school were leaving.

            For near it stood the little boy
            Her childish favor singled;
            His cap pulled low upon a face
            Where pride and shame were mingled.

            Pushing with restless feet the snow
            To right and left, he lingered;---
            As restlessly her tiny hands
            The blue-checked apron fingered.

            He saw her lift her eyes; he felt
            The soft hand's light caressing,
            And heard the tremble of her voice,
            As if a fault confessing.

            "I'm sorry that I spelt the word:
            I hate to go above you,
            Because,"---the brown eyes lower fell,---
            "Because, you see, I love you!"

            Still memory to a gray-haired man
            That sweet child-face is showing.
            Dear girl! the grasses on her grave
            Have forty years been growing!

            He lives to learn, in life's hard school,
            How few who pass above him
            Lament their triumph and his loss,
            Like her, because they love him.

He recited it all of the way through, and said he'd learned it in the 5th. grade.  Have you ever heard it before?

[Roma Jean Turner]

You know Bonnie, some of my most precious memories with my Grandfather Turner wer his quoting
poetry to me.  I can still see him sitting there, pipe in one hand, looking over his glasses which were down on
the end of his nose.

My mother said that every night after he closed the lumber yard, he would come to our house and
sit by my crib and quote nursery rhyms and poetry to me.  (We left when I was 3). Everytime I would come to visit
I would ask him to quote poetry.  He loved Hiawatha, Evangeline, Charge of the Last Brigade, etc.  Longfellow was
his favorite poet.  He knew them all by memory. It was years before I realized how blessed I was to have been hearing such beautiful sounds everyday as I lay in that crib.

(For some reason the name Joe and Diane Elmore and Geroge Washington Elmore seem familiar to me.  Do you all have any DeWitt/DeWhitts in your family tree?)

[Bonnie M.]

I don't think we have any relation named DeWitt, but we sure do have a lot of relatives, so "one never knows."  Our family has done very well in knowing our history, but, when making a trip like we did back to Tennessee, we realize just how little we really do know.  We'd love to know why two of G. W. Elmore's brothers headed on out west, to Missouri, then on to Kansas, and if their family ever saw them again, etc., etc.  It has never ceased to amaze us how they made a living, with so few "worldly goods."  Many of them lost several children, some babies, some a bit older.  We are fortunate to live in this generation!   But, they sure were all "close" in previous generations, and clung together for survival.

[Teresa]

Thank you Bonnie.. I loved that.
Poetry to me should tell a story. you should be able to "feel" and "sense" more than just the words.'
It should transform you to a time or place and as you are reading.

[Teresa]

 Can you imagine a world without Witches, A world with all people the same?
Where the only known dragons are hiding in books, And children are terribly tame?

A world without Magick would be sad indeed. I cannot imagine the pain..
Of having a world where there's no Santa Claus , Where wizards are searched for in vain.

Can you imagine a world without Spells, That science and businesses run?
And think of the sadness a unicorn feels, When he no longer plays in the sun.

Can you imagine a world without Fantasy, No elves and no magic pools?
And can you imagine how dull it would be If all that we had were the schools?

I cannot imagine a world without Witches , A world with no magical wand.
A world without beauty, or even a dream, Or a wood nymph of whom to be fond.

They say I should grow up and be more mature, Like a normal adult ought to.
But I'd rather, at night, go dance with a Sprite, And I'll bet that you feel that way too.

[Wilma]

True, Teresa.  My favorite TV show is Charmed where 3 beautiful witch sisters deal with all kinds of fantasy creatures.  Basketball and football come in second here and they are also fantasy at times.

[Bonnie M.]

Here's another poem sent to me by the "distant" cousin in Baxter, Tennessee.  I'm sure many people feel this way, about the area they live in.

From Joe  "I don't want to bore you with poems but there are some more that I think you would find interesting.  One that I particularly enjoy is by Kippling called "Sussex by the Sea."  As I remember, it goes like this:
   
  God gave all man all earth to love
  But since man's heart is small
  Ordained for each one spot to prove
  Beloved overall
   
  To each his choice and I rejoice
  The spot ordained for me
  Is a fair spot in a fair land
  Sussex by the sea
   
  That poem reminds me of Baxter.  All that would be necessary to make it perfect would have been for him to have substituted  Baxter Tennessee for Sussex by the Sea. 
   Joe"

[Teresa]

It is a full moon tonight and the energy outside is electrifying...


I raise my arms in greeting,
As She slips up through the night.
The rounded Moon of Mystery,
A glowing silver disk of light.

My spirit answers to Her call,
And longs for wings to fly,
That I might seek Her secret place
Whose symbol is the sky.

A place of hidden secrets,
Of sacred Mysteries old.
A place I knew in other times,
In temple wisdom no more told.

I struggle to remember
All the things I learned before.
The forgotten Mysteries of the Moon,
The goddess and Her lore.

Although my arms reach skyward,
I turn inward toward Her voice.
I tread the inner labyrinth,
Trusting in my choice.

"Seek not without, but deep within."
The words are soft and clear.
"Keep faith with Me for thirteen months,
The Mother's Sacred Year."

I watch Her through Her cycles,
As I did in lives before.
And follow down Her moonbeam path,
To the secret, inner door.

[Jo McDonald]

        Mystical and beautiful.........Oh how I love words like that !!

     Thank you, my Teresa