Category Archives: Poetry

Song of Hiawatha

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In my article of a month ago, I wrote of my beloved uncle. He introduced me to the world of poetry in all its portrayals of love, poverty, laughter, and despair. I also included two poems from the poetry book The Thousand Best Poems In the World.

I would now like to introduce a beloved poem that is world famous. The Song of Hiawatha. This poem was and still is among my favorites. It is in Wikipedia and also in the above book.

Hiawatha

The Song of Hiawatha

On the shores of Gitche Gumee,
Of the shining Big-Sea-Water,
Stood Nokomis, the old woman,
Pointing with her finger westward,
O’er the water pointing westward,
To the purple clouds of sunset.
Fiercely the red sun descending
Burned his way along the heavens,
Set the sky on fire behind him,

As war-parties, when retreating,
Burn the prairies on their war trail;
And the moon, the Night-sun, eastward,
Suddenly starting from his ambush,
Followed fast those bloody footprints,
Followed in that fiery war-trail,

With its glare upon his features.
And Nokomis, the old woman,
Pointing with her finger westward,
Spake these words to Hiawatha:
“Yonder dwells the great Pearl-Feather,
Megissogwon, the Magician,
Manito of Wealth and Wampum,
Guarded by his fiery serpents,
Guarded by the black pitch-water.
You can see his fiery serpents,
The Kenabeek, the great serpents,
Coiling, playing in the water;
You can see the black pitch-water
Stretching far away beyond them,
To the purple clouds of sunset!
“He it was who slew my father,
By his wicked wiles and cunning,
When he from the moon descended,
When he came on earth to seek me.
He, the mightiest of Magicians,
Sends the fever from the marshes,
Sends the pestilential vapors,
Sends the poisonous exhalations,
Sends the white fog from the fen-lands,
Sends disease and death among us!
“Take your bow, O Hiawatha,
Take your arrows, jasper-headed,
Take your war club, Puggawaugun,
And your mittens, Minjekahwun,
And your birch canoe for sailing,
And the oil of Mishe-Nahma,
So to smear its sides, that swiftly
You may pass the black pitch-water;
Slay this merciless magician,
Save the people from the fever
That he breathes across the fen-lands,
And avenge my father’s murder!”………..

The Song of Hiawatha by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, American poet (1807-1882)

Longfellow

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Thousand Best Poems in the World
Selected and Arranged by E.W. Cole
London
Hutchinson & Co.9 Publishers) Ltd.
Paternoster Row. F.C.
Melbourne: Coles Book Arcade

In next month’s article, I would like to introduce poetry that centers on the poverty, love, and history of Victorian times in the U.K.

Looking for books and bundles by Authors’ Billboard authors? Click here.

 

Cherished Poems by @KatyWalters07

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I took these poems from a very old book of poetry published in 1891. It is a favorite book for me as it was given to me by my late great uncle. He read them to me of an evening as we sat by an open coal fire.

I am sure my love of literature & poetry was born through him.  He always said he would leave the book to me, and on his sad passing, I received the cherished poems. Some of the poets included in the book do date further back than the nineteenth century.

Book Title: The Thousand Best Poems

Selected and arranged by E. W. Cole.

Publishers: London – Hutchinson & Co. Ltd. Paternoster Row, Melbourne: Coles Book Arcade

The Little Darling’s Shoe

There is a sacred secret place,

Baptized by tears and sighs,

Where little half-worn shoes are kept,

From cold unfeeling eyes.

They have no meaning, save to her

Whose darling’s feet have strayed

Far from the sacred folds of love,

Where late in joy they played.

The impress of a little foot,

How can it be so dear!

How can a little half-worn shoe

Call forth a sigh or tear!

‘Tis more than dear,’ tis eloquent

Of grace and beauty fled;

It waits the sound of little feet –

Sweet sound forever fled.

It whispers to the mother’s ear

A tail of fondest love;

It tells that the little feet –

Now tread the fields above.

Oft has she bathed it with her tears,

Oft kiss’d it o’er and o’er;

If it were filled with costliest gems,

She could not love it more.

Poems

My Bud in Heaven

One bud the Gardener gave me,

A fair and only child,

He gave it to my keeping,

To cherish undefiled;

It lay upon my bosom,

It was my hope, my pride;

Perhaps it was an idol

Which I must be denied.

For just as it was opening,

In glory to the day,

Came down the heavenly Gardener

And took the bud away.

Yet in wrath He took it,

A smile was on His face;

And tenderly and kindly

He bore it from its place.

Fear not, methought He whispered,

Thy bud will be restored,

I take it but plant it

In the garden of my Lord.

Then bid me not to sorrow.

As those who hopeless weep,

For He who gave hath taken,

And He who took can keep.

And night and morn together,

By the open gate of prayer,

I’ll go unto my darling,

And sit beside him there

I know ‘twill open for me,

Poor sinner ‘tho, I be,

For His dear sake who keeps it

And keeps my bud for me.

Mother and Babe 2

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No Requiem, a #poem by @KatyWalters07

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No Requiem

A Newhaven Fishwife By Alexander Ignatius Roche – oil on canvas, Public Domain

No Requiem

Moonstone mounds of herring,

Quiver,

Torn from the belly

Of the Sea Mother.

Her baldy rolling, groaning,

Bleeds,

Foam fingers clawing,

Plead.

 

The herring girl,

Slits the guts.

Fish eyes pale,

Beseech,

Steel flick of entrails –

Fish eyes flat.

No requiem for them.

 

The stench of fish, her breath.

Beauty weathered.

Bright eyes tired –

Girl’s eyes flat.

 

Her dreams float with

Dead fish in parsley sauce.

No requiem for her.

 

Copyright Kathleen Ayres/Katy Walters.

In the 1800s and early 1900s, 1000s of girls were employed as fish gutters, following the fishing fleet from Shetland to Yarmouth and Lowestoft. These women knitted whenever they had free time and incorporated patterns they saw in other areas. A former herring girl told of the rivalry between knitters and the one-upmanship of using a new pattern that no-one else in the village had.

The Fisher girls traveled to the fishing ports each season.“

The work was long and hard, the girls were into the “farlin” to be gutted and the “guts were taken out with a very sharp gutting knife”. The girls doing the gutting had their fingers wrapped in “clooties” – bandaged cloths to prevent any knife nicks.

Above info. From Wikipedia

Have a lovely week.

Return to Rhonan

1810: The Scottish Highlands. Secret lovers Muriall Mondell and Lord Duncan of Rhonan fight for the lives of evicted tenants. Lord Maximillian, member of the infamous Hell Fire Club preys on young women to take part in rituals. His intent is to conjure a demon – the prize Muriall’s soul. Present day: New York. American psychotherapist Jessica McGregor dreams are haunted by the lovers of two hundred years ago. Jess travels to Scotland in search of them. Drawn by the ruined castle in the grounds, she books into the ghostly Rhonan Manor Hotel. Shocked, she recognizes the owner of the hotel, the brooding Lord Douglas of Rhonan as the dream lover. Deep in the bowels of the ruined castle, a demon gathers strength.

Diary of a Therapist

Dr. Sophie Lampton’s fiance disappears without any trace. He is still missing after a year of extensive searches by the police, family, and friends. Overwhelmed with grief, Sophie succumbs to a social anxiety disorder that threatens her new practice as a psychologist. Her best friend, Dr. Rachael, a sexual psychologist, urges her to seek the help of a renowned professor of psychology, Seth Hunter. Yet the phobia is stopping her from seeking his help. Rachael is determined Sophie should be treated not only for the disorder but for the overwhelming grief. She goes ahead and books an appointment with the professor.
Sophie reluctantly attends a session with Seth, only to break down as a panic attack overwhelms her. Can Seth help her? Can he cut through the paralyzing tentacles of the disorder?

To Love a Cyborg

It is 2065, No-one knows the true identity of Detective Chief Superintendent Ben Tobin or where he came from. His world turns into a nightmare with a spate of shocking homicides and abductions. Determined to solve the sinister notes left with the bodies, he turns to American psychologist Lucy Roberts. Working together they begin a passionate affair that turns into a nightmare.
The clock is ticking, as the crimes take them across the world, and out to the Asteroid Belt.
As Ben races to save the victims, Lucy disappears.
Fast-paced and gritty, this is an electrifying read. A dark thriller that will take you into the night.

A Lady in DistressAn exciting Regency Suspense Romance Theodore Penarth, the Duke of Hampton newly, returned from the Battle of Waterloo wants nothing more than to relax at his hideaway, a Fort on the edge of his estate. But his mother, the Dowager Duchess, has other ideas, one is to secure the family line with an heir and a spare. Without Theodore’s knowledge, she arranges an afternoon tea party on his behalf and invites certain eligible young ladies and their mamas to attend. But she reckoned without the strong will of Lady Annabel Darlington. Much to her parents dismay, Lady Annabel has no intention of marrying now or in the foreseeable future.

The Christmas Coat

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A Sweet Christmas Story to share

I’m not sure who wrote this – a friend sent it to me in an email – but it’s worth passing forward. Whether it’s fiction or fact, it brought happy tears to my eyes. If you know who the author is/was, please let me know in the comments. In the end, all we have is our story, our name, and what we gave away.
An old boy was fumbling around one day
In a women’s clothing store.
He’d found his wife a Christmas coat
And was headed for the door
When he bumped into a little boy
That looked like he was lost
And he said “Mister can you help me
Find out how much something costs?
Here it is almost Christmas
And the nights are gettin cold
Winter time is on us
And my mom don’t have a coat
I’ve been workin for the neighbors
And saving for a time.”
And in his tiny, outstretched hand
Was a dollar and a dime.
His gaze went from that big eyed boy
To that pretty Christmas coat
And he finally cleared away the lump
That had gathered in his throat.
He said, “Son,
that’s just what this coat costs.
We’re lucky that we found ‘er.”
And he turned around and gave a wink
To the lady at the counter.
She put it in a pretty box
And wrapped it up just so
And went off in the back
And found a big red Christmas bow.
He said “I thank you for your help, sir
And I kindly thank you, ma’am.
I hope y’all are gonna have a big Christmas
‘Cause now I know I am.”
Well, the old boy walked home busted
Except for the dollar and the dime
Thinking he’d just have to buy
The coat another time.
He told his wife that Christmas this year
Wouldn’t be much fun.
He gently took her in his arms
And told her what he’d done.
She said, “Why you old softie.
I wouldn’t trade you for a farm.
I’ve got two or three old coats
And your love to keep me warm.”
She put that money in a matchbox
And placed it beneath their tree
And said “That is the grandest gift
You’ve ever given me.”
The years went by like years will do
When people are in love.
Their marriage was a golden bond
That was forged by God above.
Then one day came some bitter news
That filled his heart with fright.
The doctor told the old man’s wife
That she was going to lose her sight.
He said, “There’s an operation we can do
But it puts me on the spot
‘Cause it’s a quite complex procedure
And it’s going to cost a lot.”
The old man said, “Doctor, I’m a failure.
I’ve made no preparation.
We don’t have the money
For that kind of an operation.”
The doctor got the strangest look
And he sat there for a while.
And then he slowly nodded,
And he broke out in a smile
He said, “Why sir, you can’t fool me.
You’re a very wealthy man.
You long ago invested
In the world’s best savings plan.
I’ll see she gets the best of care.
She’s going to be just fine.
And the total cost to you, old friend
Is a dollar and a dime.”
The old man stared in disbelief
Then he recognized that smile,
The one he’d seen those years ago
On a loving, thoughtful child.
He said, “What you gave to me that day
Was more than just a coat.
You gave me the gift of giving
And you gave my mother hope.
My mother’d been mistreated,
Neglected and abused.
But she gave life just one more chance
And it was all because of you.
Now every year she takes that coat
And lays it beneath our tree.
It represents to us the things
That Christmas ought to be.
She says that when we leave this world
For a better home someday,
The only things that we’ll take with us
Are the things we gave away.”

Now it’s time for LAUGHS! Just released: Another CUTE BUT CRAZY Rom-Com set!

Did you get happy tears from the story of the boy and the Christmas Coat? Ready for tears of laughter? Check out the Quirky Careers of this odd lot of characters. Can they stop from falling in love? Nope. Get acquainted with these love-challenged guys and gals today. Read for #FREE with Kindle Unlimited or buy for 99cents. Another great set by the ladies from THE AUTHORS’ BILLBOARD.