If there is something to desire,
there will be something to regret.
If there is something to regret,
there will be something to recall.
If there is something to recall,
there was nothing to regret.
If there was nothing to regret,
there was nothing to desire
What Cancer Cannot Do
It cannot cripple love,
It cannot shatter hope,
It cannot corrode faith,
It cannot eat away peace,
It cannot destroy confidence,
It cannot kill friendship,
It cannot shut out memories,
It cannot silence courage,
It cannot reduce eternal life,
It cannot quench the Spirit,
It cannot lessen the power of the resurrection.
copied from: Virtual Christian Magazine
The Yogi Green Tea bag I used this morning, said, “Let good things come to you.” Wow, I thought to myself, as I ripped off the little tag to cherish and to use as a reminder. I forget to practice patience sometimes and this was an interesting way to say, “Be patient.” I was told once, that even though we hear things over and over again, until we stop and say, “Ah-ha, I GET IT NOW,” we’ll keep getting reminders. Several years ago, I found a poem, about patience, that really inspired me. The tag from the tea bag, prompted me to find it. I realized when I found it on the internet, that I had read an abbreviated version. I was so grateful to discover the last section. The entire poem is truly, divinely inspired.
“The Lake of Beauty”
by Edward Carpenter
Let your mind be quiet, realizing the beauty of the world,
and the immense, the boundless treasures that it holds in store.
All that you have within you, all that your heart desires,
all that your nature so specially fits you for -
that or the counterpart of it waits embedded in the great Whole, for you.
It will surely come to you.
Yet equally surely not one moment before its appointed time
will it come. All your crying and fever and reaching out of
hands will make no difference.
Therefore do not begin that game at all.
Do not recklessly spill the waters of your mind
in this direction and in that,
lest you become like a spring lost and dissipated in the desert.
But draw them together into a little compass, and hold them still, so still;
And let them become clear, so clear - so limpid, so mirror-like;
at last the mountains and the sky shall glass themselves in peaceful beauty,
and the antelope shall to descend to drink and to gaze at her reflected image,
and the lion to quench his thirst,
and love himself shall come and bend over and catch his own likeness in you.
“Mom, what did you do to the pool?”
“Why is the water so cool?”
“I didn’t do a thing”
“It’s September, not spring”
“The Harvest Moon is so bright”
“See it over there, on the right”
“It’s so big and round”
“Wanna just look and not make a sound?”
“Ok, Mom, that idea is good”
“I’m so glad you understood”
“Aren’t the blessings of autumn delightful?”
“For Halloween can I be something frightful?”
“You can be anything you like”
“Can I be a monster with a bunch of spikes?”
“Of course, I’m looking forward to fall this year”
“Apple cider, pretty colors and lots of cheer”
“Aren’t you?”
(by Linda Latta)
The moon is orange and plump like the tabby, outside kitty,
Threatening to fall into the ocean,
If I weren’t here to see it, would it still be so pretty?
Like a tree falling in the forest with no one to hear it,
It’d be a shame to miss it, an outcry and a pity.
Will he go for a night, night swim?
“Go on, just do it, take the Nestea plunge,
You go first and we’ll come right in,”
The stars encircling him cry.
I beg him, “Don’t listen, stay strong and you’ll win.”
Selfishly I can’t bear to have a fat cat douse the silvery highway,
A mirrored road that leads to where ever I want to go,
He hangs on with imaginary claws, batting at the stars to play,
Illuminating the sky with an apricot glow,
He purrs and gives me a wink assuring me like all true things, he’s here to stay.
(by Linda Latta)
Photo Courtesy of Michael Brenton
Bathing in its radiant, white glow,
The light of the moon with its halo,
Shines down, a spotlight on the black hills,
A memory in the corner of her mind still,
Spirit and flesh both agreeing,
Her innocence, white as the moon,
Is intact, not torn up and strewn.
The spotlight guides her, as she crosses the black hills,
Searching and yearning for love all the while still.
Many miles she’s traveled with the moon as her guide,
Only to find the love she’s looking for is on the inside.
(by Linda Latta)
Photo Courtesty of: C.T. Bowens
Train tracks, my favorite neighbor for thirteen years,
Startled the first time a freight train caught my ears,
ROARING, did it run through the attic above?
I never thought the sound I’d grow to love,
At times is taken for granted and the thunder is tuned out,
Sweet, first time was long and loud,
I feel alive when I hear the train coming, listening to its approach,
Memories of places I’ve never been before, memories like ghosts,
Towns I’ve seen in my mind as I read books, places in make believe,
Hearken hard and imagine the haunting sound long after it leaves,
The track is laid from point A to point B,
Yet the adventure experienced is never the same guaranteed,
Johnny Cash retelling a story about a train rollin’ round the bend,
Passenger, freight train the track is their path as well as my neighbor, my friend.
(by Linda Latta)
