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Journal for HATBOX12Journal for HATBOX12
Aug
5
Happy
Human Behavior


It’s hard to extol the merits of mankind
and to lavish excessive praise is insane;
recognize the gamut of vain emotion
and treatment of our brothers that’s inhumane.

The natural nature of man is hardly good –
Proof is found in our vocabulary;
despite incredible accomplishments of this world,
poor relationships of man to extremes are still carried.

Our literature and news is littered
with ugly views of crime and hate.
For brief review of the damage perpetuated,
let’s take time to reiterate.

There’s slavery, incest, murder, torture,
greed, rape, hatred, genocide, racism,
bigotry, fear, starvation, thievery,
lasciviousness and terrorism.

Uncaring predators have always existed,
unable to overcome the evil within.
Such conditions show our need for a loving God,
to triumph over the presence and effects of sin.

Posted January 15th, 2009 by jjbreunig 3Spiritual Poetry

http://www.squidoo.com/book-isbn-1419650513/
Jul
16
Happy
Yes, I\'ve noticed that the speed of uploading all of a sudden skyrocketed. Thanks for that!!
Jun
13
Happy
Millions of water drops

drops of water
millions of drops
Falling down the rocks

Millions of water drops
Glittering in the sun
Shining like pearls

Millions of water drops
Ending as a river
Finding way to ocean

Millions of water drops
Creating childrens happiness
Laughter and joyfullness

Millions of water drops
Soon will tide reach
White long shores

Millions of water drops
Animating Waves
into forming caves

Millions of water drops
spluttering from above
till reaching top of the hill

Millions of water drops
Without them no sound
No whispers of the living

Millions of water drops
Watch the clearness
From crest to earth

Millions of water drops
For tribe’s best
Beware of waste

Millions of water drops
Treasured should they be
As belonging to all humanity

(march 2008, Switzerland)
Morhardt Carmen Mencita Monoi Angel

Jun
4
Happy
THANKS ELAINE FOR YOUR POST, JOURNAL AND LOVELY STORY BEHIND THE FLOWER PICTURES. I\'m very happy for you that things are taking shape regarding your job. It sounds like a very, very lovely job opportunity for you (being within the family business) despite the fact that it wont be as visually satisfying as making wallpapers. Still, I strongly encourage you to embrace it with both arms (sort to speak). Your help to the family will be forever appreciated, I\'m sure of that. So, wishing you ALL the best in your exciting future, and we\'ll catch up with you as time permits. Still consider you to be one of very special friends on DN. Love and hugs, Hattie[B]
May
24
Geeky
The White Magnolia Tree�

The year when I was twenty-one
(John that year was twenty-three)
That was the year, that was the spring,
We planted the white magnolia tree.

“This tree,” said John, “shall grow with us,
and every year it will bloom anew.
This is our life. This is our love.”
And the white magnolia grew and grew…

Oh, youth’s a thing of fire and ice
And currents that run
Hot and white,
And its world is as bright
as the sun…

I was twenty-one….
And I wore a plume in my hat, and
we went to the movies and wept over
“Stella Dallas,” and John sang
“Moonlight and Roses” (a little off-
key, but very nicely, really), and we
hurried through our crowded days
with beautiful plans, boundless
ambitions and golden decisions.

There is so much the young heart�
clamors for; this it must have, and�
that it cannot live without, and
it must be all or nothing, for
aren’t we the masters of creation?

Oh, valiant and untamed were we,
When we planted the white magnolia tree!
And the white magnolia grew and grew,
Holding our love within its core,
And every year it bloomed anew,
and we were twenty-one no more.

No more untamed, no more so free,
Nor so young, nor so wild and
aflame were we.
Dearer to us then grew other things:
easy sleep, books, a day’s quiet
holiday, good talk beside a fire,
the beauty of old faces….

We have known many things since
then: the death of a child and the
bitter lesson that a heart which�
breaks must mend itself again
(that it can and must be done), and�
what loyalty can mean, and how
real a word like courage can be-
come, and that solitude can be
rich and gratifying and quite�
different from loneliness….

There is so little the serious heart�
requires: friends, faith, a window
open to to the world, pride in work
well done, and strength to live in
a world at war and still maintain
the heart’s own private peace….

Dear Heaven, I give thanks to thee
for the things I did not know before,
for the wisdom of maturity,
for bread, and a roof, and for
one thing more…
Thanks because I still can see
the bloom on the white magnolia tree!
by�
Helen Deutsch

Oct
9
Geeky
THE SEASON OF SPRING

the season of spring
weather seems to sing
lovely lovely days
are coming our ways

the season of spring
blooming blossoming
of nature of all kind
let roots unbind

the season of spring
birds unfold their wings
diving high into sky
wish one could fly

the season of spring
careful hearts love sting
reaching out towards others
some persons might bother

the season of spring
nice sound bells ring
new wave new style
faces have on a smile

the season of spring
an new awakening
busy humanity on earth
as if it’s a new birth

listen listen to my words
the season of spring is near
now a look into your lovely eyes
and one can see spring is already here
Morhardt Carmen Mencita Monoi Angel
Sep
20
Happy
Petals[/B]

Life is a stream
On which we strew
Petal by petal the flower of our heart;
The end lost in dream,
They float past our view,
We only watch their glad, early start.
Freighted with hope,
Crimsoned with joy,
We scatter the leaves of our opening rose;
Their widening scope,
Their distant employ,
We never shall know. And the stream as it flows
Sweeps them away,
Each one is gone
Ever beyond into infinite ways.
We alone stay
While years hurry on,
The flower fared forth, though its fragrance still stays.

by Amy Lowell
Sep
17
Happy
Thank you dear friend, it is my greatest pleasure to make may friends feel good. Here is a different type of a poem. It tells of English/ Irish, Scottish women in colonial days of Australia, leaving the comforts of the civilized world (England) for the hardships associated with undeveloped agricultural and cattle raising life on a new continent.

The Women of the West.

They left their vine-wreathed cottages and the mansion on the hill,
The houses on the busy streets where life is never still,
The pleasures of the city and the friends they cherished best,
For love they faced in the wilderness – the women of the West.

The roar and rush and fever of the city died away,
And the old-time joys and faces, they were gone for many a day;
In their place the lurching coach wheel or the creaking bullock chains,
O’er the everlasting sameness of the never-ending plains.

In the slab-built zinc-roofed homestead of some lately taken run,
In a tent beside the bankment of a railway just begun,
In the huts of new selections, in a camp of men’s unrest,
On the frontiers of the nations, lived the women of the West.

The red sun robbed their beauty and in weariness and pain,
The slow years steal the nameless grace that never comes again,
And there are hours men cannot soothe and words men cannot say –
The nearest woman’s face may be a hundred miles away.

The wide bush holds the secret of their longings and desires,
When the white stars in reverence light their holy altar fires,
And silence, like the touch of God, sinks deep into the chest –
Perchance He hears and understands the women of the West.

For them no trumpet sounds the call, no poet plies his arts –
They only hear the beating of their gallant loving hearts.
But they have sung with silent lives the songs all songs above –
The holiness of sacrifice, the dignity of love.

Well have we held our father\'s creed. No call has passed us by.
We faced and fought the wilderness, we sent our sons to die.
And we have hearts to do and dare, and yet, o\'er all the rest,
The hearts that made the Nation were the Women of the West


G. E. Evans


[/I]
Sep
15
Happy
Bell Birds


By channels of coolness the echoes are calling,
And down the dim gorges I hear the creek falling;
It lives in the mountain, where moss ad the sedges
Touch with their beauty the banks and the ledges:
Through breaks of the cedar and sycamore bowers
Struggles the light that is love to the flowers,
And softer than slumber, and sweeter than singing,
The notes of the bell-birds are running and ringing.
The silver voiced bell-birds, the darlings of day-time,
They sing in September their songs of the May-time.
When shadows wax strong, and the thunder bolts hurtle,
They hide with their fear in the leaves of the myrtle;
When rain and the sunbeams shine mingled together,
They start up like fairies that follow fair weather,
And straightway the hues of the feathers unfolden
And the green and the purple, the blue and the golden.

October, the maiden of bright yellow tresses,
Loiters for love in these cool windernesses,
Loiters knee-deep in the grasses to listen,
Where dripping rocks gleam and the leafy pools glisten.
Then is the time when the water-moons splendid
Break with their gold, and are scattered or blended
Over the creeks, till the woodlands have warning
Of songs of the bell-bird and wings of the morning.

Welcome as waters, unkissed by the summers
Are the voices of bell-birds to thirsty far-comers.
When fiery December sets foot in the forest,
And the need of the wayfarer presses the sorest,
Pent in the ridges for ever and ever,
The bell-birds, direct him to spring and to river,
With ring and with ripple, like runnels whose torrents
Are turned by the pebbles and leaves in the currents.

Often I sit looking back to a childhood
Mixt with the sights and the sounds of the wildwood,
Longing for power and the sweetness to fashion
Lyrics with beats like the heart-beats of passion --
Songs interwoven of lights and of laughters
Borrowed from bell-birds in far forest rafters;
So I might keep in the city and alleys
The beauty and strengths of the deep mountain valleys,
Charming to slumber the pain of my losses
With glimpses of creeks and a vision of mosses.


******

Henry Kendall
Sep
14
Happy
September in Australia

Grey winter has gone, like a wearisome guest,
And, behold, for repayment,
September comes in with the wind of the West
And the spring in her raiment!
The ways of the frost have been filled of the flowers,
While the forest discovers
Wild wings, with the halo of hay-line hours
And the music of lovers.

September, the maid with the swift, silver feet!
She glides, and she graces
The valleys of coolness, the slopes of the heat,
With her blossomy traces;
sweet month, with a mouth that is made of a rose,
She lightens and lingers
In spots where the harp of the evening glows,
Attuned by her fingers.

The stream from it\'s home in the hollow hill slips
In a darling old fashion;
And the day goes down with a song on its lips
whose key-note is passion;
Far out in the fierce, bitter front of the sea
I stand, and remember
Dead things that were brothers and sisters of thee,
Resplendent September.

The West, when it blows at the fall of the noon
And beats on the beaches,
Is filled with tender and tremulous tune
That touches and teaches;
The stories of youth, of the burden of time,
And the death of devotion,
Come back with the wind, and are themes of the rhyme
In the waves of the ocean.

We, having a secret to others unknown,
In the cool mountain-mosses,
May whisper together, September, alone
Of our loves and our loses.
One word for her beauty, and one for the grace
She gave to the hours;
And then we may kiss her, and suffer her face
to sleep with the flowers.

Oh, season of changes - of shadow and shine -
September the splendid!
My song has no music to mingle with thine,
And its burden is ended;
But thou, being born of the winds and the sun,
By mountain, by river,
Mayst lighten and listen, and loiter and run,
With thy voices for ever.

Henry Kendall

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