July Fourth – symbolic Declaration Day
In ’76 – for o’er a year – war they did wage
For at least seven more – it would yet rage
Until in Paris – finally independence was agreed
But on this day – hearts still do stir
Freedom’s claim and promise to assure
And let it so be – for all in Liberty’s Land
A bright reality on which to stand
British NCOs WW1, Image – A family photo from Padre’s Ramblings
It is Armed Forces Day in the UK. It is marked annually at the end of June to commemorate the service of men and women of the British Armed Forces. It is similar to the American Veterans’ Day, though it is more recent, having been created in 2006 (as compared to the US’ celebration which dates to the 1950s). Although an official event, it is not a public holiday in the UK.
Service isn’t just a thing that you do
I really needs to be part of you
Prepared on behalf of other’s – to enter the fray
Waiting to count the risks “on some other day.”
To serve, to protect, even sacrifice
Is what it is to enter that way of life
Time to relax, the summer’s begun
World of Concrete – behind me
Now for some much needed sun.
Kids to summer camp –
Have been sent away
Sand and sea before me
To fill up my day.
Straw hat on my head,
Margarita in hand,
Crash of waves to serenade me
On my comfy lounger bed.
Craft a poem on the these of “What a Relief, “using at least 4 of the following 7 words and phrases:
smooth sailing, shark,
concrete, wax seal, summer camp, margarita, and straw hat.
I still might not be the time for such escapes, but let’s hope the world-wide crisis abates so we can again find such reliefs.
It’s Fourteen O’ Eight –
It’s getting late,
As we approach the end of year.
The Yanks do say,
Means everything’s bright and clear.
May your future prove – to be so
As we enter into a New Year.
Photo Challenge #296
“Christmassy Music” is Jim Adams’ challenge this week, with emphasis on the terms Christmas, Holiday, and Snowman. Here is a traditional offering, the Wexford Carol. It is claimed by some to be 12th Century, and while this is debatable, it is assuredly 18th or 19th Century.
Variation of Lyrics:
[Good people all, this Christmas time
Consider well and bear in mind
What our good God for us has done
In sending His beloved Son
With Mary holy we should pray
To God with love this Christmas day]
In Bethlehem upon that morn’
There was a blessed Messiah born
Near Bethlehem did shepherds keep
Their flocks of lambs and feeding sheep
To whom God’s angels did appear
Which put the shepherds in great fear
“Arise and go”, the angels said
“To Bethlehem, be not afraid
For there you’ll find this happy morn’
A princely Babe, sweet Jesus born”
With thankful heart and joyful mind
The shepherds went that Babe to find
And as God’s angel had foretold
They did our Savior Christ behold
Within a manger He was laid
And by his side the Virgin maid
As long foretold upon that morn’
There was a blessed Messiah born
Songwriters: Trad / Gavin Emmanuel Murphy
The Wexford Carol lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.
“That is the ugliest sweater I have ever seen,” Erin said dismissively.
“I kind of like it,” Wanda said. “What’s wrong with it?”
“Well first of all, it is baby poop green.”
“It’s ‘mustard’ actually,” Wanda said a bit defensively.
“Well, whatever you call it, it looks like it belongs in a nappy. And what is that design on it? A moldy doughnut?”
“It’s a wreath,” Wanda humphed.
“Ah, that’s what it is? So it’s a Christmas jumper then.”
“Well, dah,” Wanda retorted.
“Well in that case, I have seen worse. Sorry.”
First Line Friday: December 20th, 2019
It is midwinter. The days are short. It is wet and cold. Many are rushed about by preparations for the holidays. Others in what is meant to be a festive season of tidings of good news and joy find being away from friends and family a cause of gloom. Others are apprehensive of the reunions with ones that they have grown apart from. It is in short, a “bleak mid-winter” for many.
A very dear sister in Christ wrote to me today and confided in me her depression at this season. Before continuing, I would like to say that I am not medically trained, nor do I understand all the ins and outs of biochemical responses to situations. Even my psychological training was limited to family counselling and low level talking therapies. I can add to that that I am a classic type B personality, and elation and depression are low key in my own life.
That all said, even with this Christmas-tide upon us, and it being the first since Dianne’s passing, I still have no depression. Yes, the weather and season are dark and drizzly. Yes, I spend a lot of time physically alone. But I still have faith in not ever being totally alone. Jesus said, “I will be with you always,” and I find comfort in that, and my ad hoc conversations with Him are frequent. I also trust in His promise that Dianne and I are not permanently separated, but we will be reunited in the place Jesus has gone ahead to prepare.
Christina Rossetti’s poem In the Bleak Midwinter reminds us though of the promise of the season. Despite all of the gloom and social stresses, it is the arrival of Emmanuel which we should cling to. He came that all concerns could be lifted from us. He has come to bring us peace.
Some might take exception to such views. Marx is credited with saying religion, and by implication faith, is the opiate of the masses. If that is the case, the all I have to say is bring on the spiritual pharmaceuticals! I want “the peace that exceeds all understanding,” and I wish you find it as well.
Home fires burn with welcoming glow
‘Tis the season for harmony to grow.
Cares and strife for a time set aside
In a spirit of good will – for us to abide
Warm regards – though winter winds may blow
Affinity for all – our hearts aglow
written for d’Verse
Who are you?
I’m sure I should know.
Your name is on the tip of my tongue.
We met last year,
But it’s very vague now.
But to name you, I now will plunge.
“You are Sally, no Sue,”
“Something I’m sure with a ‘S.'”
“Tracy, really? Who would guess.”
“So Tracy, how are you?”
Please tell me something
To get me out of this mess.
Loud Christmas carols filling air
Loud decorations everywhere
Loud requests made on Santa’s knee
Loud are our childhood memories
On this most holy silent night
#SoCS Dec. 14/19
I found the stream of consciousness prompt to write about “loud,” fascination. In following the guidelines and with only the prompt word “loud” and the idea of Christmas the poem above began to form. Without any intention of doing so, the first nine lines fell into a 1-3-8-1-3-8 . . . syllable pattern. The final line (also 8 syllables) came naturally, but the 10th line did, I admit require one edit to bring it to 3 syllables.