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I've added a new entry to my book, "slow-release chatoyant energy poems"  : "A Spider Web" |
For those (like me  ) who have no clue what the heck chatoyant means: "(of a gem, especially when cut en cabochon) showing a band of bright reflected light caused by aligned inclusions in the stone." How that relates to poetry will have to wait for another post.  |
ReplyLook, a surprise in my mailbox! ![Merit Badge in Visit WdC 7
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For visiting Writing.Com 7 days in a row.](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/achievements-Visit_WdC_7.gif) |
Congratulations and good luck in your effort to quit smoking! That's big news!  Remember, if you slip up, that's not a failure and a reason to go back to it. It's a natural part of breaking any habit and may also signal that you might need to look at your countermeasures again. Either way, good luck and congratulations on both that decision and the MB.  |
CONGRATULATIONS! That's definitely something to be celebrated!!!  I'm super excited for you and you're now half way through what I'm told is the hardest part--the 1st 2 weeks. YOU GOT THIS!!! |
| Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807-1882) Act! Take Action! Be Active! Tell me not, in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream! For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem. Life is real! Life is earnest! And the grave is not its goal; Dust thou art, to dust returnest, Was not spoken of the soul. Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, Is our destined end or way; But to act, that each to-morrow Find us farther than to-day. Art is long, and Time is fleeting, And our hearts, though stout and brave, Still, like muffled drums, are beating Funeral marches to the grave. In the world’s broad field of battle, In the bivouac of Life, Be not like dumb, driven cattle! Be a hero in the strife! Trust no Future, howe’er pleasant! Let the dead Past bury its dead! Act,—act in the living Present! Heart within, and God o’erhead! Lives of great men all remind us We can make our lives sublime, And, departing, leave behind us Footprints on the sands of time; Footprints, that perhaps another, Sailing o’er life’s solemn main, A forlorn and shipwrecked brother, Seeing, shall take heart again. Let us, then, be up and doing, With a heart for any fate; Still achieving, still pursuing, Learn to labor and to wait. |
| I've added a new entry to my book, "slow-release chatoyant energy poems" : "Baronesse Meow Meow to Mouse" |
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