New Year's Resolutions

Everyone is talking about New Year's resolutions and for once, I am making one, too.

I resolve to write more. (The secret real resolution is to write daily and post here daily - I'm on the fence about publishing that part for obvious reasons. Ha. We will see if this aside will make the final publishing cut, thus committing me to keeping the resolution or slinking away in self-induced public shame. Double ha)*.

An online friend posted some words of wisdom which I think is appropriate to share (with permission) at this juncture:

"Here is the trick to sticking with resolutions. They involve either making a new good habit or breaking an old bad habit. Research has shown fairly consistently that habit forming and breaking takes roughly 3 weeks to take hold, so if you make it 3 weeks you have a pretty good shot at keeping your resolution. But this is also part of why January 21st is widely regarded as the most depressing day of the year!"  lily cd re

So, there you have it, NiftyUniverse! Don't worry about sticking with your resolutions for a whole year. Simply resolve to do your new thing for three weeks, and the rest will take care of itself!

Isn't that just ducky?  Yes, faithful followers!  Here comes a Ducky photo!

 


                             2017


The New Year comes quietly

puppies sleeping, comfort and joy

Keep on, with courage and love.







And one more poem since I am in a philosophical mood! Remember, kids:

Burning the Old Year

Related Poem Content Details

BY NAOMI SHIHAB NYE

Letters swallow themselves in seconds.   

Notes friends tied to the doorknob,   

transparent scarlet paper, 

sizzle like moth wings, 

marry the air. 

So much of any year is flammable,   

lists of vegetables, partial poems.   

Orange swirling flame of days,   

so little is a stone. 

Where there was something and suddenly isn’t,   

an absence shouts, celebrates, leaves a space.   

I begin again with the smallest numbers. 

Quick dance, shuffle of losses and leaves,   

only the things I didn’t do   

crackle after the blazing dies. 

*(There, I did it.  Ha Ha Ha)

Happy New Year!

New Year's Morning

Only a night from old to new!
Only a night, and so much wrought!
The Old Year’s heart all weary grew,
But said: “The New Year rest has brought.”
The Old Year’s hopes its heart laid down,
As in a grave; but, trusting, said:
“The blossoms of the New Year’s crown
Bloom from the ashes of the dead.”                          
The Old Year’s heart was full of greed;
With selfishness it longed and ached,                          

And cried: “I have not half I need.
My thirst is bitter and unslaked.
But to the New Year’s generous hand
All gifts in plenty shall return;
True love it shall understand;
By all my failures it shall learn.
I have been reckless; it shall be
Quiet and calm and pure of life.
I was a slave; it shall go free,
And find sweet peace where I leave strife.”
Only a night from old to new!
Never a night such changes brought.
The Old Year had its work to do;
No New Year miracles are wrought.

Always a night from old to new!
Night and the healing balm of sleep!
Each morn is New Year’s morn come true,
Morn of a festival to keep.
All nights are sacred nights to make
Confession and resolve and prayer;
All days are sacred days to wake
New gladness in the sunny air.
Only a night from old to new;
Only a sleep from night to morn.
The new is but the old come true;
Each sunrise sees a new year born.

- Helen Hunt Jackson

Snowy Evening...Frost

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

- Robert Frost

Thank Gods It's FreyaDay!

Good Day, Humans.

Autumn is settling in and there is a nip in the air.

Really, I am being too kind.

Most mornings it is frigid out there.

I need a little comfort, a little escape.

I know! I will listen to a favorite poem.

You may watch and listen, too.

You're welcome.

Thank gods it's FreyaDay!

The Owl and the Pussy-Cat

The Owl and the Pussy-Cat went to sea

   In a beautiful pea-green boat:

They took some honey, and plenty of money

   Wrapped up in a five-pound note.

The Owl looked up to the stars above,

   And sang to a small guitar,

"O lovely Pussy, O Pussy, my love,

   What a beautiful Pussy you are,

            You are,

            You are!

   What a beautiful Pussy you are!"

Pussy said to the Owl, "You elegant fowl,

   How charmingly sweet you sing!

Oh! let us be married; too long we have tarried,

   But what shall we do for a ring?"

They sailed away, for a year and a day,

To the land where the bong-tree grows;

And there in a wood a Piggy-wig stood,

   With a ring at the end of his nose,

            His nose,

            His nose,

   With a ring at the end of his nose.

"Dear Pig, are you willing to sell for one shilling

   Your ring?" Said the Piggy, "I will."

So they took it away, and were married next day

   By the turkey who lives on the hill.

They dined on mince and slices of quince,

   Which they ate with a runcible spoon;

And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand,

   They danced by the light of the moon,

            The moon,

            The moon,

   They danced by the light of the moon.

- by Edward Lear

via Carol Rainbow

Thorsday Tonic - On Little Cat Feet

Fog


The fog comes
on little cat feet.

It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.


BY CARL SANDBURG

Thank Gods It's FreyaDay!

Good Day, Humans.

It is lovely and sunny today. Almost like spring.

Almost.

The snow outside is not springlike.

I will remain at home, thank you.

My Human has a cold, so I am keeping her company.

I have left my preferred place by the fire to stay with her.

But do you see this? Do you see who is lying beside MY Human?

Yes, that is Artemis.  I am on the dresser

(shooting freeze-rays at Artemis out of my supercat eyes).

Do you see what I have to put up with?

Thank gods it's FreyaDay!

"his"? "he"? "him"?
Oh, the humanity!

My Best Friend

Each morning I awake,
my best friend beside me,
his eyes are wide with love,
and my heart sores again.

As I go through my day,
expectations on me,
my friend is always near,
to soothe my troubled mind.

When nighttime descends on us,
and the world is through with me,
at last I can meditate,
and give loving thanks for him.

My friend is very special,
a truly amazing soul,
he's very soft and gentle,
for he's my cat, after all!

Sunday Inspiration - The Road Not Taken

The Road Not Taken

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,

And having perhaps the better claim

Because it was grassy and wanted wear,

Though as for that the passing there

Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I marked the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way

I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference. 

Robert Frost

Click on the video below for a simply beautiful rendition of Robert Frost's famous poem.

via Vikas Tripathi

Isn't That Just Ducky!

Hello There!  Happy Holidays!

I am getting very excited for the holidays!

My Human will be home in just four more days and then the holidays will be really and truly happy!

I can't wait! I am so excited!

See this ball?  ------>

It has a picture on it of where my Human is right now.

See how far she will travel to come home to me?

My Human is coming home in four days

and I am getting very excited for the Happy Holidays!

Isn't that just Ducky!



Christmas Dog By Shel Silverstein

Tonight’s my first night as a watchdog,
And here it is Christmas Eve.
The children are sleepin’ all cozy upstairs,
While I’m guardin’ the stockin’s and tree.

What’s that now--footsteps on the rooftop?
Could it be a cat or a mouse?
Who’s this down the chimney?
A thief with a beard--
And a big sack for robbin’ the house?

I’m barkin’ I’m growlin’ I’m bittin’ his butt.
He howls and jumps back in his sleigh.
I scare his strange horses, they leap in the air.
I’ve frightened the whole bunch away.

Now the house is all peaceful and quiet again,
The stockin’s are safe as can be.
Won’t the kiddies be glad when they wake up tomorrow
And see how I’ve guarded the tree.

Thorsday Tonic - The War on Christmas!

Those damned atheists are threatening poor, persecuted Christians again!  (via The Carapace)

From my favorite cephalopoet, The Digital Cuttlefish:

The War on Christmas

From the Cape of Good Hope to the Newfoundland islands,
The sands of Iran to the Panama isthmus;
From Outback Australia to Inverness Highlands
It’s time to take arms in the War Against Christmas!

My weapons are mistletoe, Christmas trees, holly,
A yule-log, and caroling out in the snow;
Sleigh-rides and snowball-fights, eggnog and Jolly
Old Santa Claus, laughing his loud “Ho! Ho! Ho!”

We’ll make them forget all the Truth of the season—
The sacrifice planned by a god up above—
And have them believing some bastardized reason
Like giving, or kindness, or caring or love!

I’ll cruelly and callously help out a stranger
Who’s down on his luck or has suffered some loss,
I won’t even speak of the babe in the manger
Whom God sent to Earth to get nailed to a cross;

When the winds of December conspire to freeze us
I’ll help collect sweaters and coats for the poor,
Neglecting to make any mention of Jesus,
Whose torture is really what Christmas is for.

My hatred of Christmas will focus my labors
On weaving an atheist fabric of lies—
For instance, I’m giving to all of my neighbors
Gift baskets, cookies, and fruitcakes and pies!

I’ll say “Merry Christmas!” I’ll say “Season’s Greetings!”
I’ll say “Happy Holidays—Joyous Noel!”
Intending of course, that with each of these meetings
The Truth About Christmas can just go to hell.

The truth is that Christmas is not about presents
It’s no time for songs, It’s not time to be nice
It’s not time for feasting on turkeys or pheasants—
It’s sin, and redemption by blood sacrifice.

No time to be jolly; no time to be merry
It’s time to be solemn, and grim, and devout!
The heathens might find it depressing or scary
But that is what Christmas is truly about.

Yes, Jesus is really the ultimate reason
And Christmas is really redemption and sin;
The war against Christmas is early this season—
For God’s sake, let’s hope that the atheists win!

'Tis always the season for heart-warming CuttleVerses!  Happy Holidays!

Thorsday Tonic - Seascape

Seascape by W. H. Auden

Look, stranger, at this island now
The leaping light for your delight discovers,
Stand stable here
And silent be,
That through the channels of the ear
May wander like a river
The swaying sound of the sea.

Here at the small field's ending pause
Where the chalk wall falls to the foam, and its tall ledges
Oppose the pluck
And knock of the tide,
And the shingle scrambles
after the sucking surf, 
and the gull lodges
A moment on its sheer side.

Far off like floating seeds the ships
Diverge on urgent voluntary errands;
And the full view
Indeed may enter
And move in memory as now these clouds do,
That pass the harbour mirror
And all the summer through the water saunter.

Thorsday Tonic - Doe and Fawn

Right outside Nifty Manor, right now.

This is the beauty and magic of reality.  A tonic for a tired writer on a hot, humid Thorsday.


The Fawn

There it was I saw what I shall never forget
And never retrieve.
Monstrous and beautiful to human eyes, hard to
believe,
He lay, yet there he lay,
Asleep on the moss, his head on his polished cleft
small ebony hoves,
The child of the doe, the dappled child of the deer.

Surely his mother had never said, "Lie here
Till I return," so spotty and plain to see
On the green moss lay he.
His eyes had opened; he considered me.

I would have given more than I care to say
To thrifty ears, might I have had him for my friend
One moment only of that forest day:

Might I have had the acceptance, not the love
Of those clear eyes;
Might I have been for him in the bough above
Or the root beneath his forest bed,
A part of the forest, seen without surprise.

Was it alarm, or was it the wind of my fear lest he
depart
That jerked him to his jointy knees,
And sent him crashing off, leaping and stumbling
On his new legs, between the stems of the white
trees?

Edna St. Vincent Millay

Sea Fever

photo credit: YachtPals

Sea Fever -  by John Masefield

I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea's face, and a grey dawn breaking.

I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull's way and the whale's way, where the wind's like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.