mermaidcamp
Keeping current in wellness, in and out of the water
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Familiar faces at the reunion remind us of our youth
Aunts and uncles talk about the cousins and their lives
Most of them have moved away, leaving the old behind
Instead of staying near the tree, the children have taken flight
Living in different cities with no connection to the relations
Yesterday is a fading memory, no sentimental chorus
Travels home for visits, for holidays, for traditional meals
Remembrance has no place in the whirlwind of the day
Everyone is a holograph of
Everyone else
It is National Poetry Writing Month. Please take part by reading, writing, or reciting some poetry this month. You can find a wealth of new poems each day on the #NaPoWriMo site, or by following the hashtags on social media. Bust a rhyme. You still have time.
There is no rewind button for the story of your life
The plot thickens when you fall asleep, depleting shelf life
There is no knowledge of the the time that remains to spend
It could go on forever, or it could suddenly crash, burn, and end
Nature takes time to produce majesty, power, and wonder
In a flash floodwater, centuries of culture are torn asunder
Watch your past for hints of what will reveal itself in the present
Karma is waiting with situations you will not be able to circumvent
Join poets around the world reading, writing, and reciting poetry in the month of April. Follow the hashtags on social media, and find new poetry here, at the #NaPoWriMo site. Try your hand at writing a poem using one of the many prompts available all month. Enjoy!!
Getty Image Easter weekend is fast-approaching, which means the annual White House Easter Egg Roll is just around the corner. Or at least some semblance of the popular, kid-friendly affair will occur, as the Palm Beach Daily News reports that Donald Trump will instead spend the upcoming holiday at his Mar-a-Lago resort in Florida. To…
I have a special treat for my gentle readers today. My good digital friend Marjorie Clayman is my guest today. We probably met on twitter, being a little silly, but over the years I have come to really appreciate Margie’s attitude. She spends a great deal of her time crafting hand made items of the useable sort, which she donates to those who need it the most at the time. She is not only a powerhouse of crafty artful blankets and hats, but also is pretty crafty as a wordsmith. She works in public relations, so words are her stock in trade. Margie adds her own personal commitment to a better world to all her communications. She brings us a story about war and the way it leaves lasting impressions. Without further ado, I bring you Ms Clayman:
The other day, in honor of the 100th anniversary of the US entering World War I, I attended a commemorative event filled with speakers and musicians. One of the singers sang a song called “Pack Up Your Troubles in Your Old Kit Bag and Smile, Smile, Smile.” The singer, in a laid back tone of voice common to folk singers, talked about how the song had been written by two brothers. One of the brothers, Felix Powell, performed the song for soldiers all along the WWI front. The song became popular again during the Second World War and resurfaced once more during the Vietnam War.
You are thinking that this is a feel-good story at this point. You might think that even more so when you learn, as I did via this article (http://www.independent.co.uk/arts-entertainment/music/features/chapter-and-verse-the-surprising-story-of-the-song-pack-up-your-troubles-in-your-old-kit-bag-2124620.html) that the brothers submitted the song to a contest as a joke. They thought it was a dud. When they won first price they thought it was hilarious, and Felix decided to take that opportunity to win some fame. What are the chances?
Sadly, however, the story did not end happily for Felix Powell. This is not a story of rags to riches, per se. Rather, this is a story about the humbling and very real impact of gruesome warfare.
When Powell first got to the front lines, he felt really good about himself, as anyone would. His song was hopeful. Cheerful.
“Pack up your troubles in your old kit bag, And smile, smile, smile, While you’ve a lucifer to light your fag, Smile, boys, that’s the style. What’s the use of worrying? It never was worthwhile, so Pack up your troubles in your old kit bag, And smile, smile, smile.”
Powell was giving these boys a happy message while they tried to survive, far from home.
As the war dragged on, however, Powell began to see just how tragic trench warfare was. He visited battlefield after battlefield, and it dawned on him that these boys were dying. Thousands of them were dying. They were undertaking the ultimate sacrifice, in fact, and he was strumming away at them asking them to smile smile smile. According to the singer at my concert, as well as the article posted above, Powell began to see the contradiction between his light-hearted message and the world he and these boys were actually living in. He became filled with regret, and he never really was the same.
Powell pursued some other writing opportunities after WWI, but he had a rough time of it. When the Second World War broke out and the song gained popularity with a new generation of fighters, you can imagine him grimacing. Now his song was going to be used to make light of more young men marching towards death.
In 1942, Powell, who had entered his town’s Home Guard, dressed himself in his uniform, took his assigned rifle, and aimed at his heart. It is a shocking mark of how much his experiences had impacted him, and perhaps how much regret had come to overshadow any level of success he had ever enjoyed.
I found this story to be deeply moving. Many entertainers, of course, have gone overseas to try to cheer up the troops. You never really think how that impacts those celebrities, though. How can you perform with joy and verve and cheer when you know that you are trying to raise peoples’ spirits who could be killed on the field? It puts war itself, as well as entertainment tied to war, into a very real, and oft overlooked, perspective.
The deck heaved and moaned under the pressure of the storm
No crew, no passengers, were brave enough to go outside
They felt a certain doom as the flooded staterooms forewarned
Death by drowning on the high seas, washing ashore with the tide
No lifeboat nor anchor remained to offer a chance of survival
Lost in the darkness, tossed by high winds, this ship awaits the arrival
Of the grimmest reaper of all, Neptune’s servants fish for treasure
Treacherous currents and winds aloft will assist with the desperate measure
Beware of dreams that drag you from your own familiar shore
Your stable secure feeling may be impossible to restore
Join writers all over the world creating poetry in the month of April. National Poetry Writing Month is for everyone. Find some new material, or submit a piece of your own under the hashtags above, or at the #NaPoWriMo site.
When we find the arch of stones standing alone
In the ruins of a once grand castle of a once grand duke
We can feel the hours spent preening to make an entrance
Through the elegant opening that framed the costume
The servants scurried to please His Lordship and his guests
With musical serenades, crumpets, and a silver tea service
No expense nor effort was spared to create the illusion
Of grandeur and pomp, great excess and special privilege
Nothing remains of the era they thought would never end
This pile of stones can’t tell us now if history is foe or friend
Please join a talented group of writers who are inspired each week by Sue Vincent’s photo prompts. Visit Sue’s Daily Echo to read, write, or comment on the posts. It is fun to read all the variation on the same photo inspiration.
April is National Poetry Writing Month. Please bust a rhyme yourself, or enjoy reading some poetry at the #NaPoWriMo site here. There are poets contributing for all over the globe, so this year this had been acknowledged by using the #GloPoWriMo hashtag. Both can be followed on twitter or Facebook for more poetic material.
I stopped at the grocery store on my way home to pick up some essentials.
I noticed a man walking into the store in front of me because of his gait and his attire.
He was a real cowboy with a big hat, and an oversized rag in his back pocket.
Our paths crossed in the store and I asked him if he was a real cowboy or just a look.
He was a poet-electrician shopping for molasses, rescued by his wife, a smart shopper
After check out I asked if I could read his poetry. He said his website was down right now
He gave me a beautiful haiku about cactus pads with lovers names carved in them, then left
I still don’t know his name, and had to wonder if that was all an apparition for my inspiration
Either way, I am sure that was the most romantic episode to ever take place at that Fry’s
April is National Poetry Writing Month. Please join poets from around the world to read, write, and appreciate poetry all month here. Ride the poetry train!! It has the most interesting passengers.
Power to the heavily armed, confusion for the rest
Our resources have been confiscated to feed the hungry pest
Who dominates our life and times with injustice and pain
It is hard to say how many will survive this corrupt reign
Sitting it out is impossible because it runs right up to your door
Knocking down all that is holy in the name of an eternal war
Please ride the poetry train all month in April to find new poets, or find the poet in you. All are welcome all month.
Dear Gentle Readers,
In April I write 30 poems in 30 days to honor my famous ancestor who was an exceptional poet and a special kind of historian. Today I join folks from around the world to participate in this year’s #NaPoWriMo. Since it is a global initiative it is also known as #GloPoWriMo to make it clear that everyone is invited. You can follow both these hashtags on twitter or Facebook for more information. I invite you to partake as a fan or a poet. You my be surprised at the poet you find inside of yourself. There are many wonderful styles of writing to discover in this treasure trove of artistic expression. Don’t be shy. Write a poem.
Please sit down, relax, take a load off your feet
While I tell you the story of Ann Dudley Bradstreet
She published her poetry in the Puritan times
Her English is old school, her well crafted rhymes
Were concerned with religion and current events
She made poignant requests to her progeny to stay
On the right side of God’s will, never sit on the fence
She begged us to be ethical, honest, virtuous and bold
Her legacy is eloquent, the details of our family were told
In real time as America took unexpected turns toward liberty
Finding her voice as a woman was a rare privilege, an anomaly
As her descendant I call on her esteemed presence in April every year
I ask for her assistance to drop a few decent beats, to be pertinent and clear
And so, dear ancestor, now scattered into stardust and moonbeams
Visit me with your discipline, your wisdom, and all of your ancient dreams
To follow in your footsteps I am going to require a great deal of your love
Look down on your daughter here on earth, send inspiration from above
If we were having coffee this month I would ask my coffee friends around the table to ride the poetry train if you are able. I know it is corny and may turn perverse. I assure you than in May I will return to verse. The coffee share and the poetry train go well as a duo, in my opinion. Help yourself to coffee, tea, and poetry. For more digital beverages and prose, please visit Nerd in the Brain. The weekly party is always interesting and stimulating.
Take heed, mortals
Skip to death, to spoil the beginning
Flip a breath, to loyal wishful thinking
Tic-toc! – ‘It won’t slow down or rush’
A date won’t procrastinate. Shhh shush.
Do you care if ‘the sun’ shines today?
If rain pours… What do you display?
Do you bother with “Good morning?”
If it’s not yours… border the warning.
“Signs” for taking are along the way
An awakening is repeated every day
A voice, a noun, a told… your reward
Don’t look down, hold on to the cord
Task the ask, for the mask has ‘a tax’
Soon it’ll be done, won’t total to none
Feel an announce from ocean’s station
Spill at once, ’emotions’ by revelation
The respected milestones of this life
‘Time by time’ with unexpected strife
The dealt seriousness, denied simper
The felt, not the illness of the thinker
Act now, bow, for life is prime & hour
Timed by…
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