Thank you for that!

I can imagine I would have enjoyed the company of H.D. Thoreau.

Simple laborers doing their work (which means moving something)
whistling a tune, always ready to stop and gab for a bit...
I am that, I am.

We don't make a ton of money.
We have very few friends in high places.
We have no need to be center stage.

We think any word that starts with con means
'to be taken advantage of', as in Conman.

What does a guilty con scientist look like, anyway?
Does their brain light up like the brights around here?

Oh, where are my cheap sunglasses, Z.Z.?

Dear DK

Thank you for Thoreau, my childhood friend...

"...true to the backbone
Unto itself alone,
And false to none;"

love, Heath

DK,

This is so insync, as I pulled out a poem that I wrote when I was 16 years old this morning, which is the same type of poetry that you have written. But I don’t remember what it is called and I had to do it for my 12th grade literature class. BTW: Your poem hit home, as I heard within the Wind Friday night, “The house is not faithful.” And from that point on thru Saturday until Sunday morning, my house fell apart, as I begged for the Beloved that resides within us all, for I felt that I had lost my heart and for a little while I did as I became cold within the darkness.

Anyway, here it is from 32 years ago … my poem.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

IN BED TODAY, UP TOMORROW

What horrors await, he cannot tell.
When in bed and eyes closed, he shall sail,

His secret thoughts in mysterious dreams.
Who shall know his heart but his screams,

That pierce the ear with unending pain.
His soul waits for the joyous rain,

Which might awaken him and bring relief,
From the horrors that trouble his belief.

One more hour till the treasured day,
The cycle will then be complete, he may say.

Morning is arriving, O what happiness it brings.
He’s out of bed to enjoy the songs as they ring.

Which fills his heart with joy to burst,
Only to prepare for the next cycle’s curse.

© Char

Here's another one from 32 years ago that I had forgotten, i.e., I brought my only poem book in to work this morning :-)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

SISTERS, SISTERS

You two are the gleam in my eye, which
shines through the darkest clouds of the day.
Transformed into sunshine by love's own hand. I
can hardly live these days one by one, without
you two. Hear me now! My light is burning out.
How long will fate uphold her distant walls
between us, for a period of time or forever,
which is worse than death alone. While standing
on the tallest mountain, a magical dream
comes true. I am now at home where the gentle
winds had carried me. I question the secrets
of time, but not a whisper is heard from the
wind's silent breeze. Maybe her passion will
blow strong today. I left as quickly as I had
arrived. All is to short, to sudden. If
loneliness will not put me to death, then
the winds surely will.

(c) Char

PS: Not only, but meant OLD poem book ... even though I don't have that many poems, just some.

Oops ... I see the poem is from Thoreau ;-)

MIST OF CONFUSION

A familiar form
Sheltering an unknown being,
As the restless soul
Continually searches for peace
In an insecure home,
Revealing only the slightest clue
To it eternal existence.
How could it be,
That they,
Sharing all manner,
Are not yet as one?
The body,
In caring only for its own selfish desires,
Is slowly becoming death
To the inevitable needs
Of its dying inner voice:
Transforming into a mutt,
With no purpose.
The stillness of that infinite mist
Is now upon them,
Vanishing all senses;
And they are no more.

© Char

PS: I know I am suppose to share Thoreau’s poems, but since we are all one, here are mine! Anyway, I suppose I should look him up on the internet so I can share properly. Hey, when I was young, my father got us a deck of these famous poets and we would play card games, as we tried to memorize who they were. I don’t think I was ever good at it, but my little sister remembers a lot of the poetry today.

Love, Char

On fields o'er which the reaper's hand has pass'd
Lit by the harvest moon and autumn sun,
My thoughts like stubble floating in the wind
And of such fineness as October airs,
There after harvest could I glean my life
A richer harvest reaping without toil,
And weaving gorgeous fancies at my will
In subtler webs than finest summer haze.

~Thoreau

~~~~~~~~~~~~
I like this poem of Thoreau's.

Love, Char

SUMMER'S SUN

With the first chilling winds of winter upon me,
as a flower may,
I wither away into deep solitude.
Until Spring reaches out
to embrace my sleeping roots;
awakening in the form of a bud,
blooming to her fullest in beauty and contentment.
Soaking in the steady rays of the Summer's Sun,
a gift of Love,
in return for a Lover's perfection,
pleasing to His warm glow.

(c) Char ~1983

...oops, that's not Thoreau, but his poetry reminds me of nature....

I am the Autumnal Sun

Sometimes a mortal feels in himself Nature
-- not his Father but his Mother stirs
within him, and he becomes immortal with her
immortality. From time to time she claims
kindredship with us, and some globule
from her veins steals up into our own.

I am the autumnal sun,
With autumn gales my race is run;
When will the hazel put forth its flowers,
Or the grape ripen under my bowers?
When will the harvest or the hunter's moon
Turn my midnight into mid-noon?
I am all sere and yellow,
And to my core mellow.
The mast is dropping within my woods,
The winter is lurking within my moods,
And the rustling of the withered leaf
Is the constant music of my grief...

~Thoreau

Not Thoreau but nice nevertheless.

A Noiseless Patient Spider
---Walt Whitman

A noiseless patient spider
I marked where on a little promontory it stood isolated,
Marked how to explore the vacant vast surrounding,
It launched forth filament, filament,filament, out of itself,
Ever unreeling them, ever tirelessly speeding them.

And you O my soul where you stand,
Surrounded, detached, in measureless oceans of space,
Ceaselessly, musing, venturing, throwing, seeking the spheres to connect them,
Till the bridge you will need be formed, till the ductile anchor hold,
Till the gossamer thread you fling catch somewhere, O my soul.

Char

Something from Ralph Waldo Emerson on Nature you might enjoy.

The Complete Works of Ralph Waldo Emerson, Volume I: Nature, Addresses & Lectures(Nature, 1836)

"To speak truly, few adult persons can see Nature. Most persons do not see the sun. At least they have a very superficial seeing. The sun illuminates only the eye of the man, but shines into the eye and heart of the child. The lover of Nature is he whose inward and outward senses are still truly adjusted to each other; who has retained the spirit of infancy even into the era of manhood(womanhood) His intercourse with heaven and earth, becomes part of his daily food. In the presence of Nature, a wild delight runs through the man, in spite of real sorrows. Nature says,---he is my creature and maugre all his impertinent griefs, he shall be glad with me.
Not the sun or the summer alone, but every hour and change corresponds to and authorizes a different state of the mind, from breathless noon to grimmest midnight. Nature is a setting that fits equally well a comic or a mourning piece."

Thanks Bonnie, as I enjoyed that poem by Emerson as well. Yep, he was in that deck of cards that my sisters and I had when we were young.

Love,
Char

Hi Bonnie,
I think I have always been drawn to Emerson, after the mandatory highschool readings :) (and even though the style of language is a bit old fashinoned)

the quote in your post, #12

"a wild delight runs through (me) in spite of real sorrows. Nature says,--- (you Are) my creature ...
be glad with me".

and I am

love,
~ Kate

Char and Kate

I just spent an amazing week reconnecting with family and friends I have not seen in years. The rest of my time was spent sitting by the creek and watching all the amazing little creatures that live there. I even saw a hellbender(a large salamander) which is endangered. It was rare indeed, and walking in the woods. Kate, you would probably love this place.

It reminded me of Emerson and this:

"In the woods, we return to reason and faith. There I feel that nothing can befall me in life,--no disgrace, no calamity,(leaving me my eyes) which Nature cannot repair. Standing on the bare ground---my head bathed by the blithe air, and uplifted into infinite space---all mean egotism vanishes. I become a transparent eye-ball; I am nothing; I see all; the currents of the Universal Being circulate through me; I am part or particle of God."

Love
Bonnie