The sadness that follows

>>>>++<<<<

D i s a r m e d

Mount Auburn Cemetery

Cambridge, Massachusetts

>>>>++<<<<

Oh, for the veils of my far away youth,
Shielding my heart from the blaze of the truth,
Why did I stray from their shelter and grow
Into the sadness that follows -- to know!

Impotent atom with desolate gaze
Threading the tumult of hazardous ways --
Oh, for the veils, for the veils of my youth
Veils that hung low o’er the blaze of the truth!

> Georgia Douglas Johnson <

>>>>++<<<<

Happy Friday

We ache in secret

>>>>++<<<<

S k i n   a n d   B o n e s

Green Mount Cemetery

Baltimore, Maryland

>>>>++<<<<

Snow would be the easy
way out -- that softening
sky like a sigh of relief
at finally being allowed
to yield. No dice.
We stack twigs for burning
in glistening patches
but the rain won’t give.

So we wait, breeding
mood, making music
of decline. We sit down
in the smell of the past
and rise in a light
that is already leaving.
We ache in secret,
memorizing

a gloomy line
or two of German.
When spring comes
we promise to act
the fool. Pour,
rain! Sail, wind,
with your cargo of zithers!

> Rita Dove <

>>>>++<<<<

Happy Thursday

Come to my arms

>>>>++<<<<

K e e p   P a l m   A n d   C a r r y   O n

Bonaventure Cemetery

Savannah, Georgia

>>>>++<<<<

'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves

Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:

All mimsy were the borogroves,

And the mome raths outgrabe.

"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!

The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!

Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun

The frumious Bandersnatch!"

He took his vorpal sword in hand;

Long time the manxome foe he sought --

So rested he by the Tumtum tree

And stood awhile in thought.

And, as in uffish thought he stood,

The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,

Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,

And burbled as it came!

One, two! One, two! And through and through

The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!

He left it dead, and with its head

He went galumphing back.

"And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?

Come to my arms, my beamish boy!

O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!"

He chortled in his joy.

'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves

Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:

All mimsy were the borogroves,

And the mome raths outgrabe.

> Lewis Carroll <

>>>>++<<<<

Happy Wednesday

How pure a thing is joy

>>>>++<<<<

C o v e r   S t o r y

Elmwood Cemetery

Charlotte, North Carolina

>>>>++<<<<

WHAT ARE YEARS

What is our innocence,
what is our guilt? All are
naked, none is safe. And whence
is courage: the unanswered question,
the resolute doubt, --
dumbly calling, deafly listening -- that
in misfortune, even death,
encourage others
and in its defeat, stirs
the soul to be strong? He
sees deep and is glad, who
accedes to mortality
and in his imprisonment rises
upon himself as
the sea in a chasm, struggling to be
free and unable to be,
in its surrendering
finds its continuing.
So he who strongly feels,
behaves. The very bird,
grown taller as he sings, steels
his form straight up. Though he is captive,
his mighty singing
says, satisfaction is a lowly
thing, how pure a thing is joy.
This is mortality,
this is eternity.

> Marianne Moore <

>>>>++<<<<

Happy Tuesday

Hark to the voice of Jesus

>>>>++<<<<

W a l k i n g   t h e   W a l k

Kensico Cemetery

Valhalla, New York

>>>>++<<<<

There is no love like the love of Jesus

Never to fade or fall

Till into the fold of the house of God

He has gathered us all.

There is no heart like the heart of Jesus

Filled with a tender love

No throb nor throe that our hearts can know

But He feels it above.

There is no eye like the eye of Jesus

Piercing so far away

Ne'er out of the sight of its tender light

Can the wanderer stray.

There is no voice like the voice of Jesus

Tender and sweet its chime

Like musical ring of a flowing spring

In the bright summertime.

Oh, let us hark to the voice of Jesus

Then we shall never roam

And we shall rest on His loving breast

All the way to our heavenly home.

> W.E. Littlewood <

>>>>++<<<<

I am crucified with Christ: nevertheless I live;

yet not I, but Christ liveth in me:

and the life which I now live in the flesh

I live by the faith of the Son of God,

who loved me, and gave himself for me.

> Galatians 2:20 <

>>>>++<<<<

Happy Sunday

The north began to push

>>>>++<<<<

H e a r t   o f   G o l d

Sleepy Hollow Cemetery

Sleepy Hollow, New York

>>>>++<<<<

The Clouds their Backs together laid

The North began to push

The Forests galloped till they fell

The Lightning played like mice

The Thunder crumbled like a stuff

How good to be in Tombs

Where Nature's Temper cannot reach

Nor missile ever comes

> Emily Dickinson <

>>>>++<<<<

Happy Saturday

So they can be found

>>>>++<<<<

A n d   Y e   S h a l l   F i n d

Green-Wood Cemetery

Brooklyn, New York

>>>>++<<<<

I carry joy as a choir sings,
but quietly as the dark
carols. To keep the wind away
so the hidden ones will come
out into the street and add
themselves to this array of
stars, constellations and moon.
I notice the ones in pain
shine more than the others.
It’s so they can be found,
I think. Found and harbored.

> Linda Gregg <

>>>>++<<<<

Happy Friday

Once more on their travels

>>>>++<<<<

L e a v e   M e   H e r e

Irmo Town Park

Irmo, South Carolina

>>>>++<<<<

Not only sands and gravels

Were once more on their travels,

But gulping muddy gallons

Great boulders off their balance

Bumped heads together dully

And started down the gully.

Whole capes caked off in slices.

I felt my standpoint shaken

In the universal crisis.

But with one step backward taken

I saved myself from going.

A world torn loose went by me.

Then the rain stopped and the blowing,

And the sun came out to dry me.

> Robert Frost <

>>>>++<<<<

Happy Thursday

Within the night

>>>>++<<<<

D e s p a i r   T o   S p a r e

Kensico Cemetery

Valhalla, New York

>>>>++<<<<

How strange, how passing strange, when we awake
And lift our faces to the light
To know that you are lying shut away
Within the night.

How strange, how passing strange, when we lie down
To sleep, to know that you are quite
Alone beneath the moon, the stars, the little leaves,
Within the night.

How strange, how passing strange to know -- our eyes
Will gladden at the fine sweet sight
Of you no more, for now your face is hid
Within the night.

Strange, strange indeed, these things to us appear
And yet we know they must be right;
And though your body sleeps, your soul has passed
Beyond the night.

Ah! friend, it must be sweet to slip from out
The tears, the pain, the losing fight
Below, and rest, just rest eternally
Beyond the night.

And sweet it must be too, to know the kiss
Of Peace, of Peace, the pure, the white
And step beside her hand in hand quite close
Beyond the night.

> Angelina Weld Grimké <

>>>>++<<<<

Happy Wednesday

What I owe the fading day

>>>>++<<<<

C r o s s   M y   H e a r t   a n d   H o p e   t o   D i e

Allegheny Cemetery

Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania

>>>>++<<<<

At almost four in the afternoon, the
wind picks up and sifts through the golden woods.

The tree trunks bronze and redden, branches
on fire in the heavy sky that flickers

with the disappearing sun. I wonder
what I owe the fading day, why I keep

my place at this dark desk by the window
measuring the force of the wind, gauging

how long a certain cloud will hold that pink
edge that even now has slipped into gray?

Quickly the lights are appearing, a lamp
in every window and nests of stars

on the rooftops. Ladders lean against the hills
and people climb, rung by rung, into the night.

> Joyce Sutphen <

>>>>++<<<<

Happy Tuesday