Happy Birthday William Shakespeare

His life was gentle; and the elements
So mixed in him, that Nature might stand up,
And say to all the world, THIS WAS A MAN!

Congratulations William Shakespeare on your 450th birthday! You are still the most important voice in the English language after all these days, fortnights, years, decades, and centuries.

My crocuses have croaked

A crocus that greeted me on Saturday. Now buried in snow.

Welcome to New England. Where it’s spring one minute and winter the next.

John F. Kennedy: 50 Years On

50 Years On

He gave us hope, a shining voice
A man of courage and pride
But when he was taken, far too soon
He left us all behind
A little dead inside

Vietnam might not have claimed
A generation’s life
Colleges might have focused on learning
Instead of riots and political strife

We could have had it all, as Adele would aptly say
Rolling in the deep
But instead we got a nightmare
And a country that can never sleep

What might have been
What could have been
— Isn’t

A dream is broken, gone
And so we move forward, with repentant tears
50 years on

 —Patricia Gay

Breaking Bad: Ozymandias, actions have consequences

Hank Schrader and Steve Gomez, in happier days. Perhaps discussing a fish Hank almost caught, a mineral he nearly found, or something slightly obscene about Hank’s manhood.

`My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings:
Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!’
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,
The lone and level sands stretch far away.

The words of Percy Bysshe Shelley, from his poem Ozymandias, the title of last night’s episode of Breaking Bad.

HEAR BRYAN CRANSTON READ OZYMANDIAS

On Monday we e-mailed jokes

On Monday we e-mailed jokes.
On Tuesday we did not.

On Monday we thought that we were secure.
On Tuesday we learned better.

On Monday we were talking about heroes as being athletes.
On Tuesday we relearned who our heroes are.

On Monday we were irritated that our rebate checks had not arrived.
On Tuesday we gave money away to people we had never met.

On Monday there were people fighting against praying in schools.
On Tuesday you would have been hard pressed to find a school where someone was not praying.

On Monday people argued with their kids about picking up their room.
On Tuesday the same people could not get home fast enough to hug their kids.

On Monday people were upset that they had to wait 6 minutes in a fast food drive through line.
On Tuesday people didn’t care about waiting up to 6 hours to give blood for the dying.

On Monday we waved our flags signifying our cultural diversity.
On Tuesday we waved only the American flag.

On Monday there were people trying to separate each other by race, sex, color and creed.
On Tuesday they were all holding hands.

On Monday we were men or women, black or white, old or young, rich or poor, gay or straight, Christian or non-Christian.
On Tuesday we were Americans.

On Monday politicians argued about budget surpluses.
On Tuesday grief stricken they sang ‘God Bless America’.

On Monday the President was going to Florida to read to children.
On Tuesday he returned to Washington to protect our children.

On Monday we had families.
On Tuesday we had orphans.

On Monday people went to work as usual,
On Tuesday they died.

On Monday people were fighting the 10 commandments on government property.
On Tuesday the same people all said ‘God help us all’ while thinking ‘Thou shall not kill’.

It is sadly ironic how it takes horrific events to place things into perspective, but it has. The lessons learned this week, the things we have taken for granted, the things that have been forgotten or overlooked, hopefully will never be forgotten again.

This poem was written three days after 9/11 by Paul Spreadbury.

Bryan Cranston reads Ozymandias

Bryan Cranston recites Ozymandias by Percy Bysshe Shelley. A gracious ode to Walter’s White’s crumbling empire.

Perfect for us poetry lovers/Breaking Bad fans.

I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: “Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown
And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed.
And on the pedestal these words appear:
`My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings:
Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!’
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,
The lone and level sands stretch far away”.

Poetry Friday: Here’s to The Great White Way

Spider-Man is just one of the many offerings that’s still here on Broadway.

There’s something magical about Broadway. The first time you stand in Times Square your jaw drops. Talk about not being in Kansas anymore. Bright lights, big New York City, a place for dreamers and schemers.

On the surface, Broadway is a fun place, a happy place, street after street of lit theater after lit theater, full of life and people, an entertainment paradise.

Behind the scenes the gears are turning. High hopes are sometimes realized and sometimes dashed. It’s not personal, it’s just business.

Poetry Friday: Play ball!

Friends Tatsu (left), and Len and Mary (right), join my husband in Chicago to watch the Red Sox play the Cubs.

Every year I say I’m not going to watch so much baseball, I have better things to do, and every year I break that promise. As a kid and young adult I played softball, but except for a company game here and there, my playing days are over. But I still love the game. My team of choice is the Boston Red Sox, but I’ll happily watch and cheer other teams too.

And what about the New York Yankees, our bitter foes? The way I see it, we all need a worthy contender and rival to motivate us to do our best and keep us on our toes. The Red Sox and Yankees are true rivals. Their games are arduous and long, with each team working hard to tire out the other pitcher and hit that long ball. Without the Yankees, the baseball season wouldn’t be nearly as exciting. So I celebrate the rivalry.

Here are a few selected baseball poems written from different points of view and perspectives. Also, here is a link to perhaps the most beloved baseball poem of all time, Casey at the Bat by Ernest Lawrence Thayer. Batter up!

Happy Father’s Day

My sister, my daughter and I surprise dad with a visit.

Happy Father’s Day to everybody who has a father or is a father.

Parent’s Murphy’s Law

1. Parenting is a 24-hour-a-day job with no salary, no raises, no promotions and very few
vacations.
2. Parents are responsible for everything that happens to their children.
3. Guilt and self-blame are occupational hazards.
4. Parents don’t get worker’s compensation or any other fringe benefits.
5. Parents can never retire — even when their kids ask them to.
6. Parents “don’t get no respect” —until they die— and then it’s too late.
—Bruce Lanksy

Poetry Friday: William Butler Yeats

William Butler Yeats

The poetry of William Butler Yeats inspired a nation and the world. Born in Dublin on June 13, 1865, (Happy Birthday!) Yeats was an Irish nationalist, who became the leader of the Irish literary renaissance.

Yeats is considered a Romantic poet who evolved into a Modern poet. His poetry has such a brilliant intensity it hits home and haunts me.

Yeats drew heavily on Irish mythology and history, which he would later interweave with his interest in mysticism and occultism. He shared those spiritual interests with Maud Gonne, a 23-year old heiress and Irish revolutionary he met in 1889. Obsessed with Maud, he proposed marriage to her four times, and each time was turned down.