Who said owls are wise? A reprise . . .

Myth is the public dream, and dream is the private myth. – Joseph Campbell

(Date of original post – 7/12/06)

Who Said Owls Are Wise?

Who said owls are wise?

Is it that birds of size

Are better at thinking?

Maybe they are shrinking

violets. In day to day life,

shy and adverse to strife.

Their hoots make us trust

They know more than us.

The owl is a magnificent bird,

with a call like few I’ve heard.

It is a hoot – or a “who, who?”

Was he calling me or really you?

Mister Owl, my friend; I think you’d be wise

To make sure we look into those big eyes.

We know we must have two big ears as well,

‘Cause we’re shouldn’t miss the tale you’ll tell.

What can we learn from you if you’re smart?

What will you say that we can take to heart?

References:

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Blogs: My news and political blog is at South by Southwest. My general purpose/southwest focus blog is at Southwest Progressive. And Carol Gee – Online Universe is the all-in-one home page for my websites.

Song of the Windmill, a reprise

Myth is the public dream, and dream is the private myth. – Joseph Campbell

(The date of the original post was 3/14/06)

Photo:souldestine-at-cox.net

Cool, water. Cool, clear water. Water. .

remember the song sung by “The Sons of the Pioneers” so long ago.

Not a cowboy poet, I, but one who loves them. I write the

Song of the Windmill.

Sing the song of the windmill’s whirring in the breeze.

Listen to the cattle stirring as they chew and graze

on thin grass blades. The herd’s not long for this place,

Cause the drought is driving ranchers to leave at a pace

that surprises everyone. The empty tank is commonplace.

“Maybe next year,” the neighbors tell each other to save face.

AeroMotor is the name up there. There are other makers too.

A good windmill will outlast a house, barn, and an old buckaroo.

The bad years go by. Then the good years bring in a new crew to

Try again. More cows graze now as the pasture green and new

Makes rich milk, and grows fat calves who rest in the lean-to.

“Next year,” the neighbors tell each other, “the drought is through.”


Copyright by Carol Gee, March 14, 2006

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Blogs: My news and political blog is at South by Southwest. My general purpose/southwest focus blog is at Southwest Progressive. And Carol Gee – Online Universe is the all-in-one home page for my websites.

Announcing the reprise series —

I often write about the state where I was born and raised, or about memories of my childhood, or associated subjects.

For the next few days I will be reposting pieces from the past as a “reprise” series. I have labeled them my “classics.”

I hope you enjoy them all.

Blogs: My news and political blog is at South by Southwest. My general purpose/southwest focus blog is at Southwest Progressive. And Carol Gee – Online Universe is the all-in-one home page for my websites.

Found in the files:

Since I have already confessed to being an incurable collector, you will understand when I publish this post. I found this when I was cleaning out my professional files, brought home when I retired. I assume someone gave it to me when I was managing a program for Retired Senior Volunteers. To quote:

THANK GOD I’M NOT SICK

Author Unknown

Thank God I’m not sick.

I have a wrinkled face and a sagging chin

and these brown spots all over my skin –

but thank God I’m not sick.

I can turn on the TV. . .

Push my recliner back . . .

and before the news is over

I’ve taken a nap.

Then when it’s late and I’m ready for bed

I’m wide awake and wondering what was said.

I know where my brain is,

but that’s not my mind,

and I question my memory from time to time.

I hunt for things, plus the keys to my car,

go in the next room and wonder what for

but thank God I’m not sick.

I can walk every morning, sleep all night,

drive my car, and dress up right,

make my bed, pay my bills, cook my food,

and clean up my spills.

I tire a little faster, rest a little slower. . .

but in spite of all this, I’m still a go-er,

and thank God I’m not sick.

I forget names, remember faces,

remember them and forget the places.

My hearing is dull, my hair is gray.

My eyes are dim, but what can I say?

I can write a letter, answer the phone.

Read my mail, and live alone.

It’s a God-Given privilege to be alive,

So whatever the day brings, I’ll survive.

And thank God I’m not sick.

I’m cooking less, my cooking’s not good.

I chew a little longer when eating my food.

I make myself a list and check it twice. . .

write myself a note — now take my advice. . .

when you look at the calendar to check a day,

make sure it’s the right week to be OK.

Then laugh a lot and pray a little

and keep on plowing down the middle.

Than be thankful you’re not sick.

My brand new blog is called “Behind the Links.

Carol Gee – Online Universe is the all-in-one home page for my websites.

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Risking this —

Haiku:

Japanese verse in three lines. Mood poem – doesn’t use metaphors or similes.

Classic form: Line 1 – 5 syllables. Line 2 – 7 syllables. Line 3 – 5 syllables.

I am experimenting here:

**********

Present, but gone now

You remembered and then not

So I must know night

**********

Raspberry canes bend

over to bear the sweet fruit.

Red lips pucker up.

**********

My brand new blog is called “Behind the Links.

Carol Gee – Online Universe is the all-in-one home page for my websites.

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Landing On the Hudson

Landing On the Hudson

The birds had ended the engines’ song.
The plane’s still flying but not for long.
Not land, but liquid. This place that beckoned,
All cold and swift.

The only lane left, and it’s not right.
The path means a turn-around tight.
Here we go. “Brace for impact,” Sully said.
Oh no. Cold and swift.

Heads down the riders gave no cry.
Perfect was the line down from the sky.
Thin tail in. Fat nose out. Hold it, hold it.
Blam! Cold and swift.

Are we there yet? Oh, yes, we are.
Heads up. Look around. Landed, 5-star.
Wheels up, the winged boat floated
Downstream, cold and swift.

Window-doors loosed. Out, out. Get out!
Women and children first, came the shout.
All headed forward after trying aft.
Outside. Currents cold and swift.

Wet wings floated just long enough. Not wide.
Slides turned to boats. Sit or stand side by side.
Twice Sully patrolled the bird. Quickly all out.
Water rose inside, cold and swift.

Boats everywhere. Angels gathering souls.
All hands safe. First responders consoled.
It was the Miracle on the Hudson,
So cold and swift. Impossible.

They all said ditching could not be done.
All points in place. White head, plan begun.
Steady hands, he’d trained all his life for this.
Calculations were cold and swift.

It all came together, landing on the city river.
And it worked. Riders in blankets all a-shiver.
Amazing. Grace. It was a song
On the Hudson, cold and swift.

Copyright by Carol Gee
January 23, 2009


Update —
** Hero’s welcome for Hudson pilot **

BBC News (1/25/09): “The pilot who safely landed a jet in New York’s Hudson River gets a hero’s welcome in his home town in California.”

A Writing on Right’s Might


The Might of Right
— The Rule of Law as opposed to Injustice.
Right as opposed to Wrong.
Wronged as opposed to Righteous.
Righteous as opposed to Immoral.
Moral as opposed to Political.
Political as opposed to Right.
Right as opposed to Left.
Left wing as opposed to Right wing.
Rights upheld as opposed to Injustice.

The Might of Write — Freedom of Speech as opposed to No Rule of Law.
Write as opposed to Speak.
Speak as opposed to Right.
Write as opposed to Phone.
Phone as opposed to Letter.
Write as opposed to Print.
Print as opposed to Digital.
Write as opposed to Talk.
Talk as opposed to Shout.

The Might of Rite — The Rule of Law as opposed to Lawlessness.
Rite as opposed to Consent.
Consent as opposed to Rebellious.
Rite as opposed to Chaos.
Chaos as opposed to Organized.
Rite as opposed to Informal.
Informal as opposed to Formal.
Rite as opposed to Secular.
Secular as opposed to Righteous.

My topical post today at South by Southwest and The Reaction is about politics.

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