Friday, April 29, 2016

The Negro Speaks of Rivers by Langston Hughes

I’ve known rivers:
I’ve known rivers ancient as the world and older than the
     flow of human blood in human veins.

My soul has grown deep like the rivers.

I bathed in the Euphrates when dawns were young.
I built my hut near the Congo and it lulled me to sleep.
I looked upon the Nile and raised the pyramids above it.
I heard the singing of the Mississippi when Abe Lincoln 
     went down to New Orleans, and I’ve seen its muddy 
     bosom turn all golden in the sunset.

I’ve known rivers:
Ancient, dusky rivers.

My soul has grown deep like the rivers. 

Thursday, April 28, 2016

Well by Therese Down

 Therese Down is one of my favorite International Christian authors. Aware of her power to make History come alive, I had not read her poetry. This is one of her poems that spoke to my heart. One that I will read and reread once again.

John 4: 15: The woman said to him, “Sir, give me this water
so that I won’t get thirsty and have to keep coming here to draw water.”
An ordinary day. Wake late. Usual tomb-close gloom.
Striped split of light, stale meat stink on my tongue.
Him, still sleeping but the snoring just a goat snort now,
not the camel calls of younger hours.
I twist my hair into a snake and wind it round itself,
stoop to grasp the pitcher, grudge into sandals,
tread through dust, push the door onto more dust,
swat stares like flies. Now I only burn beneath sun.
A man is sitting on the well. It’s too early
for the up down eyes, tongue dart through bearded lips.
I smell. Haven’t washed the sweat away or him.
I just wanted water. Wasn’t planning on living forever.

Friday, April 22, 2016

Book Beginnings

"Hedda Schroeder had no reason to doubt she was content and no idea that Berlin in 1933 was becoming a very dangerous place for thinking people. Her father was extremely wealthy. Her mother wafted about their magnificent nineteenth-century house in the salubrious Tiergarten district in a state of agitation, as though she just knew she'd left something somewhere."

It's a strange time in Germany, 1933. All hell is about to break loose. People like Hedda Schroeder have no idea what will happen. Neither have they experienced what will come. So, life goes on until....This Historical novel is definitely making me think and to remember never to take peaceful times for granted.

Thursday, April 21, 2016

The Children During World War II

I have a favorite character from Everything Brave Is Forgiven by Chris Cleave. Little Zachary is one of the many children who is sent somewhere safe during the bombing and hard times of England. Sadly, Zachary loses touch with his dad and his home and must face the ugliness of racism at such an early age. Chris Cleave puts, it seems, his whole heart into this character and the other children too. Zachary is so innocent. He is Black. His new friends, white, also face a new situation. Who is this child who looks so different from themselves? Their questions to Zachary were painful for me to read. Zachary answers their questions as best as he can without a shred of anger.

Zachary's attitude might seem too goody two shoes or angelic. I don't think so. Like grown-ups all children do not face strange, new situations with anger. However, this attitude could change later as a child grows up. I don't want to give away all of my feelings or the plot in the novel. I just wanted to write about Zachary, the little boy who hasn't met with "colored" questions yet and the children who don't know how to handle "real" life yet either. Oh life! It bats us in the face almost as soon as we leave the other worldly place of our mother's womb. Theme? Innocence, I suppose.

Unfortunately,War children are still with us. The battle ground now is Ireland, Africa, Bosnia or an urban area like Chicago, New York or Philadelphia. Whether bombing or guns shot from passing cars or roving gangs why should children ever face it? It makes me want to ask the age old question 'why suffering?'

I don't know why Psalm 22 comes to mind. Jesus Christ asked "why have you forsaken me, God?" I feel powerfully strange eluding to this scripture verse. They are the Son of God's  own words during excruciating pain. Children, that's my thought, our children, in the voices of Zachary and other children, so young facing the hard question 'why are we different from one another, dad, mom?' Then, mom and dad striving to answer the question in the best way possible. Children, let's think of them in this world  where change is ever with us.

I have no articles to link. I certainly would like to and will read more information about Children of Color during World War II. This scripture has been on my mind lately.

The Gardenia by Cornelius Eady

The trouble is, you can never take
That flower from Billie’s hair.
She is always walking too fast
and try as we might,

there’s no talking her into slowing.
Don’t go down into that basement,
we’d like to scream. What will it take
to bargain her blues,

To retire that term when it comes
to her? But the grain and the cigarettes,
the narcs and the fancy-dressed boys,
the sediment in her throat.

That’s the soil those petals spring from,
Like a fist, if a fist could sing.


Death comes alive in "Everyone Brave Is Forgiven" by Chris Cleave." It is World War II in Britain. No one knows how long a friendship will last or not last at this time. Everything is changing. Like old people use to say, "here today and gone tomorrow."  I think of  understanding one another, the intimacy of conversation and the pure beauty of romance. During such wretched times like war, I think we must love one another with a deeper love. Simply because time is like the wind. You can't see it, but you will experience it if it disappears too quickly. It's rough, ragged like a roaring ocean.  Love past, love gone and the wonder of memories. Perhaps, this is one of the themes I would like to focus on while reading this novel.

Tuesday, April 19, 2016


and suddenly I saw
the heavens
and open,
palpitating plantations,
the darkness perforated,
with arrows, fire, and flowers,
the overpowering night, the universe.

And I, tiny being,
drunk with the great starry
likeness, image of
felt myself a pure part
of the abyss.
I wheeled with the stars.
My heart broke loose with the wind. Pablo Neruda

It's About Beauty In Differences

You are why I love diversity.

It's About Orange Blossoms

This morning a quote took my fancy. Sadly, I went some where else on the internet first. Came back for the quote, and it had disappeared. My heart fell. I wanted to name the author of the quote and give my blog readers a chance to read the quote. Have you ever had that to happen to you? One thing delights you on the web, another item or idea takes your interest, then you lose one or both or....
So, I have a photo of orange blossoms;I hope. These are so pretty. I didn't really know what orange blossoms looked like. They are very pretty. The orange color reminds me of autumn.

Now, I've tried to get the photo out of my folder. For some reason, I can't retrieve it. Oh, oh, oh, oh, I feel like crying. However, I am determined to have a good day. Cross your fingers. I hope you have a good day as well.

Sunday, April 17, 2016

It's About Cat Love

As a cat, I am happiest.
Please do not make me sour.
Regular naps on my rug I take.
I promise not to drool and snore.
Love me or leave me, I'm here until the end.(hn)

The End of Law by Therese Down A novel of Hitler's Germany

At this moment, I have so many good books to read. So, I had to settle my mind and focus on reading one.Because of a blog date I have chosen to read The End of Law by Therese Down. Thankfully, I had already started it. So, I just picked it up and began reading again. No matter how much I read or hear or see about Hitler's Germany, WWII I am still stunned by the horrors that took place during that time. I am also grateful that this novel is written by Therese Down. She really knows how to write  Historical Fiction. If it seems like I am going all over the map to make one small point, it's because this isn't a review. It's a comment about what I'm thinking about while reading the book.

Saturday, April 16, 2016


Blake is a disturbing poet.
Over whom I haven't wasted a night.
Over his drawings I've agonized.
Kicked away a book or two. (hn)

Friday, April 15, 2016

Book Beginnings

"Hedda Schroeder had no reason to doubt she was content and no idea that Berlin in 1933 was becoming a very dangerous place for thinking people. Her father was extremely wealthy.'

This is the frightening part. So many people in Germany had no idea that horrible impossibilities were about to happen in their

Niagra by Emma Lazarus

Thou art a giant altar, where the Earth
Must needs send up her thanks to Him above
Who did create her. Nature cometh here
To lay its offerings upon thy shrine.
The morning and the evening shower down
Bright jewels, -- changeful opals, em'ralds fair.
The burning noon sends floods of molten gold,
The calm night crowns thee with its host of stars,
The moon enfolds thee with her silver veil,
And o'er thee e'er is arched the rainbow's span, --
The gorgeous marriage-ring of Earth and Heaven.
While ever from the holy altar grand
Ascends the incense of the mist and spray,
That mounts to God with thy wild roar of praise  Emma Lazarus

 I only think of her poem about The Statue of Liberty. How unfortunate, the woman wrote so many poems that we can read and remember.

Thursday, April 14, 2016


I am dull.
Can't follow your lead.
What are you saying?
Whisper louder! (hn)

Wednesday, April 13, 2016

Teaser Tuesday

"He had wanted to write a note back to Simone but he had been ashamed. He didn't know whether he likked, likede or lyked her, to too or two. Instead he had slowed by her desk, just for a moment, when he came into class the next day."

These three sentences remind me of the love letters I wrote and that were written to me in elementary school. Wonderful lines.

Monday, April 11, 2016

Book Beginnings

Everyone Brave is Forgiven a novel by Chris Cleave ARC

 War was declared at eleven-fifteen and Mary North signed up at noon. She did it at lunch, before telegrams came, in case her mother said no. She left finishing school unfinished. Skiing down from Mont-Choisi, she ditched her equipment at the foot of the slope and telegraphed the War Office from Lausanne. Nineteen hours later she reached St. Pancras, in clouds of steam still wearing her alpine sweater. The train's whistle screamed. London, then. It was a city in love with beginnings.


Sun shines on the lake in the morning.
Prunes and orange juice are eaten by the patient.
Rainy afternoons splash a soul in water.
In the afternoons, ships ply the Atlantic ocean.
Night-time the stars rest upon shoulders.
Glass crashes to the floor, falls backward. (hn)

Sunday, April 10, 2016

Forgiving My Daughter's Killer by Kate Grosmaire

The author, Kate Grosmaire, is truly heroic to write about a very painful situation. Kate and Andy's life changed dramatically. For me, the book had twists and turns. At first,  I read over the words "killer." Perhaps, I couldn't fit the two words together, forgiveness and "daughter's killer." Now, after reading this book, I question my ability to forgive more than ever. I also hope to walk more carefully through each day. Not knowing what might happen next. The book, memoir, is so honest and heartfelt. Thank you for sharing your grief with me. I hope to never forget your daughter,

The Debt by Paul Laurence Dunbar

This is the debt I pay
Just for one riotous day,
Years of regret and grief,
Sorrow without relief.

Pay it I will to the end —
Until the grave, my friend,
Gives me a true release —
Gives me the clasp of peace.

Slight was the thing I bought,
Small was the debt I thought,
Poor was the loan at best —
God! but the interest!