Oh To Be A Book!

A wonderful reader of novels that glow
Swept through the pages of Gone With The Wind,
A galloping reader who’s gone with the flow,
Sweeping the pages of Gone With The Wind!
Up this page, down that one, the characters sees,
Their actions and thoughts taken up in her breeze;
Lovely perfection of prose whips along
As she gathers a tale from high hills of song;
A song, an ideal, of that Tara, sweet home,
That lives in the wind where ever men roam!
If I were a book and if she read me
I, too, would be going to Tara so free!
But I’m not a book, I am only a Lord;
If I were long pages I might be adored.
Alchemist, alchemists, forget all your gold;
Turn Lords into novels, be bolder than bold!

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The Genius Sewer

The Queen of Fashion gave Mr. Thread a smile,
Then told him, “Go dance with Miss Needle awhile
Before my clothes go out of style.”
So Needle and Thread, they danced as one
And made a new dress ere the day was done!
The Queen of Fashion came in and saw,
But liked it not, and laid down the law!
“Now you, Mr. Thread, and you, Miss Needle,
Must use your minds in a genius way
And make me happy, or I’ll throw you away!”
Both Needle and Thread were worried sore,
“Oh, what can we do? Our ideas are poor!”

Then Linda came in with a gleam in her eye;
Her fingers were nimble, and quick and spry!
She gathered up Needle and Thread with care,
Kissed them together with love that was rare,
And before a raindrop could splash from a cloud,
A new dress stood there, gold-winged and proud,
As if a model had flown round the earth
With all of her beauty and glamorous worth!
The Queen of Fashion came in, stood amazed.
“Miss Needle, Mr. Thread, what new pathway you’ve blazed.”
But they were both bowing to Linda so true,
For they knew the bright genius of sewing was you!

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It Comes

The storm of the heart
Is a storm that won’t end;
the sunrise of thought
Takes it in as a friend;
Its flashes of lightning
Are smiles of a dawn
Which thunders with wonders
That never is gone.

Volcanic eruptions
Abound everywhere;
Joy’s seas are up-heaving,
Fears rivers run bare!
The love of a lifetime
Comes slow, but not late,
And the strength of desire
Knows triumph o’er fate!

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There’s happiness that opens like a flower,
Growing beautiful hour after hour;
There’s happiness that leaps up like a frog
Who croaks for joy and winks upon a log.
There’s snappy light flickering leaves a-swing
And keener light of lightning’s zap and zing!
Such happiness and light-of-life are found
By they whose pledge to freedom is most sound.
Then let us all together flower, wink,
And zap into our lives the things we think;
Give actions to our dreams and make them soar
Up to the heights of “this-is-what-we’re-for!”
Let Sorrow go off lonely, drown and sink,
While Happiness leaps laughing with a wink!

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Happy Praise Day!

To feel a silent laughter ring into my mind
From she I cannot see, although I am not blind,
Yet all her words are tinkling bells swung free and light,
That leap and skip, and ring and sing with her sweet might.
For you, Clarinda, I type in my happy praise,
And though I see you not, imagination says
That your free spirit beautifies all nights, all days,
With high integrity and love of joyous truth,
Which keep your mind aligned with fountainheads of youth.
And so I write so proudly to know you just a bit—
Your clear thoughts laughing in the ink of your bright wit;
Your choice of pictures wonderful that on the earth are It!—
Yet last (not least) I praise pink hair, blue thumb,
That top the chart in my light heart with gay and playful sum!

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On Beauty

Did you ever think what is the cause of beauty? First, note that “beauty” is a human concept. Obvious, but so many people seem to forget it. No cow or goat or lion looks at a flower or a sunset and sighs, “Oh, how beautiful.” Nor do babies do this. The idea of beauty grows bit by bit in a human’s mind as he observes the harmony of parts of things and the harmony and contrasts of wholes, which eventually gives him pleasure and which he calls beautiful. Also, the coloring of sunsets, of lakes and mountains, he gradually learns to value for their own sake, feels a value response within himself, and calls these, too, beautiful.

The beauty of nature is not something which is in nature by itself—it takes a human consciousness, observing, evaluating, and judging (and in adults this happens at lightning speed) to create the idea of “beauty.” In other words, without man there is no beauty anywhere. And, if man did not exist, what would be the point of beauty? The “point” for whom? “Points” or meaning or purpose, have significance only for a human consciousness. It is not that without humans all would be ugly, but that nothing would have any aesthetic meaning whatsoever. It is only because of man, for man, and in man that beauty is and can be, just as freedom must be of man, for man, and in man to be real freedom.

Note also that when we say of a flower or a deer, or other animal, that it looks so innocent, we are acknowledging human innocence. For “innocence” is a moral term, and nature is neither innocent nor guilty. What we have done is assimilated certain facial expressions of children, youth and some adults, then seen a visual resemblance to these in nature, and out sub-conscious has offered up the concept “innocent”. Again, as with “beauty”, there is no innocence without human beings. This is a strong argument against those environmentalists who think that the earth would be better off without human beings. But “better off” is a human, moral idea, which would not exist without those thinking human beings who discovered it and used it in their writings and speeches. So much for environmentalists, who haven’t risen to the human level of thinking.

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Laughing Independence

A child is born with his own mind,
Independence his goal assigned.
When others’ thoughts come crowding in
His own must steel if he’s to win.

For, independence lost, lost is all,
He’s just another number on a wall.
A million numbers adding up to nil,
Soul-less nothing, with no sovereign will.

Yes, many eyes will see that number there,
But these, too, soul-less as the empty air,
Unless one, full of his life’s joy,
With hammer-blows that faceless wall destroy!

It’s done; the dust lies at his feet;
The sun seems brighter, the winds more sweet.
The child in him winks as he looks above—
His laughing independence his whole love.

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