The Chronicles of Janie

Photo: old postcard Photo: Unknown Four children on a rumbling cart,  A woman trudging beside that load, A lank man leaving the horse to guide A wet road: a dry road: A gravelly road that a woman shall walk And a lank man leave the horse to guide;  The tinker's children take their chance, and bide. A lane leads on to one more lane,  Photo: Unknown An uphill to one more hill: Photo: Syrie Kovitz A potato patch to thin on the way, a hen to kill, And hunger again: and sleep again: And a moonlight flit while the salmon leaps From a smouldering spot by the riverside; The tinker's children take their chance, and bide. When Wicklow woods first seemed to wait, As still they wait tonight; I heard that creaking, rumbling cart, And stars the same were out.  Photo: Wayne Tippetts When you gave  pennies to the younger child, A silent child: a tawny child: Photo: Augustus Sherman The tinker's child...

Hast thou named all the birds without a gun? Loved the wood-rose and left it on its stalk? At rich men's tables eaten bread and pulse? Unarmed, faced danger with a heart of trust? And loved so well a high behavior, In man or maid, that thou from speech refrained, Nobility more nobly to repay? Oh, be my friend, and teach me to be thine! - Ralph Waldo Emerson 

One of the most beautiful, true, and inspiring poems I have read in a long time. Have you gazed on naked grandeur where there’s nothing else to gaze on, Set pieces and drop-curtain scenes galore, Big mountains heaved to heaven, which the blinding sunsets blazon, Black canyons where the rapids rip and roar? Have you swept the visioned valley with the green stream streaking through it, Searched the Vastness for a something you have lost? Have you strung your soul to silence? Then for God’s sake go and do it; Hear the challenge, learn the lesson, pay the cost. Have you wandered in the wilderness, the sagebrush desolation, The bunch-grass levels where the cattle graze? Have you whistled bits of rag-time at the end of all creation, And learned to know the desert’s little ways? Have you camped upon the foothills, have you galloped o'er the ranges, Have you roamed the arid sun-lands through and through? Have you chummed up with the mesa? Do you know its moods and...

The day is done, and the darkness Falls from the wings of Night, As a feather is wafted downward From and eagle in his flight. I see the lights of the village Gleam through the rain and the mist, And a feeling of sadness comes o'er me That my soul cannot resist. A feeling of sadness and longing, That is not akin to pain, And resembles sorrow only As the mist resembles rain. Come, read to me some poem, Some simple and heartfelt lay, That shall soothe this restless feeling, And banish the thoughts of day. Not from the grand old masters, Not from the bard sublime. Whose distant footsteps echo Through the corridors of Time. For, like strains of martial music, Their mighty thoughts suggest Life's endless toil and endeavor; And to-night I long for rest. Read from some humbler poet, Whose songs gushed from his heart, As showers from the clouds of summer, Or tears from the eyelids start; Who, through long days of labor, And nights devoid of ea...