Monday, August 13, 2012

Desired Things

Desiderata: Latin, "desired things."

"Desiderata"
-1927 by Max Ehrmann
Go placidly amid the noise and haste,
and remember what peace there may be in silence.
As far as possible, without surrender,
be on good terms with all persons.

Speak your truth quietly and clearly;
and listen to others,
even to the dull and ignorant;
they too have their story.

Avoid loud and aggressive persons;
they are vexations to the spirit.

If you compare yourself with others,
you may become vain or bitter,
for always there will be greater
and lesser persons than yourself.

Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.
Keep interested in your own career, however humble,
it's a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.

Exercise caution in your business affairs,
for the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;
many persons strive for high ideals,
and everywhere life is full of heroism.

Be yourself.
Especially do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about love;
for in the face of all aridity and disenchantement,
it is as perrenial as the grass.

Take kindly the counsel of the years,
gracefully surrendering the things of youth.

Nurture strength of spirit
to shield you in sudden misfortune.
But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.
Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.

Beyond a wholesome discipline,
be gentle with yourself.

You are a child of the universe
no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you,
no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

Therefore be at peace with God,
whatever you conceive him to be.
And whatever your labors and aspirations,
in the noisy confusion of life,
keep peace in your soul.

With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams,
it is still a beautiful world.
Be cheerful.
Strive to be happy.

Sunday, August 12, 2012

Alix Poetry Continued

Poems 3 and 4 of Part One.
3.
The sun streams into
The linen closet.
I hand Irene a petticoat
And begin folding
My dressing gown.
If only they could just stay there
Everything the same.
I know Irene won’t
Understand
How I feel
Nobody will, I think,
Except maybe my
Brother Ernie, just visiting
From boarding school
And my best friend, Toni,
Far away in another part
Of Germany.
I know I should talk to Ella
About how I feel
Nothing has been the same
Between us
Since February
And now she’s leaving
Tomorrow.
But I want one last moment
With my beloved big sister
Here at home, in Hesse,
Before she leaves
And becomes a
Grand Duchess of Russia.
4.
Ella is right.
There are so many memories
Here in the parlor.
It is where
Vicky told us she was to be married
Where Ernie bumped his head,
Where Toni and I accidentally smashed a statue
Where I learned that Mama died.
I’ve lost so many people in my life,
I tell Ella.
I don’t know if I can bear to loose you too.
Her comforting words
Do a little to keep back the tears,
But as I lean my head
On her shoulder
I realize it’s the last time
I’ll ever feel her arm around me
In this room
When it’s her home.
Irene says she’ll always be
Our Ella.
She’s right
But something
A light
Is going from our home
And I will feel the loss
More than anyone else.

Saturday, August 11, 2012

A Prequel to The First Dance

A prequel, (staring five years earlier,) to The First Dance. It doesn't have a title yet, but it's bascially just a bunch of ramble-poems from Alix's perspective.

Part One:
1884
1.
Engaged.
The word rings in my head
Making me dizzy.
Sister
Mother
Friend
She is all of those to me.
I can’t believe it
And I don’t want to.
2.
I balance the teacup
In a ladylike manner
Wishing I could throw it
Against the wall.
Grandmamma,
Ella,
Irene,
They’re all so happy.
But I don’t want to be.
Ella thinks Sergei is so
Wonderful
But I don’t understand
And I don’t want to.


Friday, August 10, 2012

A Rambling Poem

I check this page every day
Think I should post something
But nothing comes to mind
I close the page
Forget about it.
What's the point of
Seeking out something to post
Shouldn't it be from inspiration?
Even this poem
(Not even a proper 'poem'
More of a ramble
But it's my favorite kind of poetry)
Seems like it should have
More to it
But if I write anything
Without being inspired
What's the point of
Writing something
To write it
If it's going to end up
Badly written?

Monday, July 30, 2012

Victorian-Inspired Journals and Other Lovely Stuff

I'm finding myself swooning over all these beautiful little journals, card and tags and wanting to buy every single one!
Dorothy Jane

Saturday, July 28, 2012

The Industrial Revolution: A Poem

What has happened to forkfuls of earth,
Tossed away to reveal new potatoes?
What has happened to flocks of sheep,
Put out to pasture on green hillsides?
Where are the lines of clothes,
Flying crisply in the wind,
While chickens peck on corn below?
Sunlight replaced by soot,
Fragrace of wild flowers,
Gone, now only smoke.
Majestic trees, leaves rustling,
Torn down, factories in their wake.
Peat and straw,
Wattle and mud,
Things of the past,
Their places taken by brick and concrete.
Shovels toss coal now,
Instead of dirt.
The men work in mines,
Not in fields,
The women in sweatshops,
Laboring over clothing not their own.
Fireside and garden foreign.
Children slave on in mills,
No happy frolicking in pastures,
Gathering eggs for Mother,
Chasing rabbits, collecting pebbles.
"And this is a 'better future',"
Mourns an old man and his wife,
As they sit thinking of their children,
In one of the last places
Pristinely idyillic pastures
Still intact.
How much longer
Until their home, too,
Will be gone?



Friday, July 20, 2012

Poem for the Romanovs Death

July 16/17, 1918. Rest in Peace.

A clod of earth is tossed over
The bodies still warm
They laughed so recently.
They’re gone now
Their spirits from this earth fled
At the hands of the brutal captors
Who could not see a loving soul.
Gone, yet dead only to this earth
Nor forgotten, for as I write this
I feel an ache in my heart
For the family who cried out in vain
To the sounds of the pistols
That terrible night.
They lived with forgiveness in their hearts
And I know that now,
They’ve beautifully forgave
The ones who held the guns.

It's not a very good poem, but oh well. In situations like this, it doesn't really matter if it doesn't rhyme or doesn't flow very well.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FsMZjo9sUG8 My video tribute. Better than last year's.