The Poetry of Me:

*Just because every post should have a picture*

So I just Google searched my quote by Edgar A. Guest and the only thing that came up was a link to my blog where I sited it! So I went upstairs to get my poetry book to see if I'd misquoted and found that the poem is actually titled "The Home" not just "Home". The poem titled "Home" by Edgar A. Guest is the "It takes a heap o' livin' to make a house a home" poem. Mine is quite different and is not sited anywhere online! But I have a super old book that I "inherited" from my parents when I was in High School It's called "The Harbor Lights of Home" by Edgar A. Guest and in it are some of the greatest poems ever, including that one titled "The Home":

Write it down that here I labored,
Here I sang and laughed and neighbored;
Here's the sum of all my story,
Here's my fortune and my glory;
These four walls and friendly door
Mark the goal I struggled for.
Never mind its present worth,
Here's one hundred feet of earth
Where the passerby can see
Every dream which came to me.

Write it down: my life uncloses
Here among these budding roses;
In this patch of lawn I've tended,
Here is all I've counted splendid;
Here's the goal that's held me true
To the tasks I've had to do.
Here for all the world to scan
Is my secret thought and plan;
Through the long years gone before,
This is what I struggled for.

Write it down, when I have perished:
Here is everything I've cherished;
That these walls should glow with beauty
Spurred my lagging soul to duty;
That there should be gladness here
Kept my toiling, year by year.
Here in phlox and marigold
Is my every purposed told;
Every thought and every act
Were to keep this home intact.

Even though I don't tend roses or have phlox and marigold in my yard, I imagine my children as my garden. Every emotion that this poem evokes describes how I feel about my calling as a Mother. Looking at my children and my home keeps me motivated to do and be and become. I love this poem and I love being a mother!

This next poem I just found tonight. I've read them all several times before since High School but they all mean different things to me at different stages! This one is me right now, tonight. It's called "Our House":

I like to see a lovely lawn
Bediamoned with dew at dawn,
But mine is often trampled bare,
Because the youngsters gather there.

I like a spotless house and clean
Where many a touch of grace is seen,
But mine is often tossed about
By youngsters racing in and out.

I like a quiet house at night
Where I may sit to read and write,
But my peace flies before the tones
Of three brass throated saxophones.

My books to tumult are resigned,
In vain my furniture is shined,
My lawn is bare, my flowers fall,
Youth rides triumphant over all.

I love the grass, I love the rose,
And every living thing that grows.
I love the books I ponder o'er,
But oh, I love the children more!

And so unto myself I say:
Be mine the house where youngsters play.
Oh little girl, oh healthy boy,
Be mine the house which you enjoy!

This describes my house tonight! All except the saxophones which you could just replace with the piano! Madeline had her first lesson yesterday and has been playing excitedly ever since! Tonight she had 2 other musicians sitting on either side of her pounding enthusiastically! Tyler got tickets at school to a Basketball game at UVU and Peter took him to the game tonight while I stayed home with the younger kids. My house it "tossed all about" right now and although it's been clean and tidy for several days in a row, tonight it was all in vain! I didn't have the energy or the desire to pull it back together! So I read this poem and chuckled. I love my house to be super clean, but I love having kids even more! So right now, my house is a house to be enjoyed and lived in by my "Youngsters" and at another stage in life I'll get my tidy home and well kept yard back again. But for now I am content!

This one makes me smile, probably because my little Emily is 3 1/2 right now and as "energetic" as she is she is equally as tender and sweet and she can melt your heart in an instant! It also describes how I feel about all of my kids collectively. It's called "To A Little Girl":

Little girl, just half-past three,
Take this little rhyme from me,
All the joy that gold can bring,
All the songs the birds can sing,
All this world can hold to give
Grown up me the while they live,
Hath not half the charm of you
And the lovely things you do.

Little girl, just half-past three,
When God sent you down to me
Oft I wonder, did He know
Fortune's power would dwindle so?
Did He know that I should find
Such a curious change of mind,
And should some day come to see
Just how trivial pomp can be?

Little girl, just half-past three,
Lost are dreams that used to be.
Now the things I thought worth while
Could not buy your lovely smile,
And I would not give you up
For the golden plate and cup
And the crown a king may boast.
In my life you're uppermost.

Little girl, just half-past three,
This is what you mean to me,
More than all that money buys,
More than any selfish prize,
More than fortune, more than fame,
And I learned this when you came.
Others fathers know it, too.
Nothing matters more than you.

This one isn't in my book (that I love so much partly because it's pages are yellowed and stained and has that old book smell) but I love it just the same. This is my sweet husband. He does so much for our family and I just think this describes him so well! It's called "Only a Dad":

Only a dad with a tired face,

Coming home from the daily race,

Bringing little of gold or fame

To show how well he has played the game;

But glad in his heart that his own rejoice

To see him come and to hear his voice.

Only a dad with a brood of four,

One of ten million men or more

Plodding along in the daily strife,

Bearing the whips and the scorns of life,

With never a whimper of pain or hate,

For the sake of those who at home await.

Only a dad, neither rich nor proud,

Merely one of the surging crowd,

Toiling, striving from day to day,

Facing whatever may come his way,

Silent whenever the harsh condemn,

And bearing it all for the love of them.

Only a dad but he gives his all,

To smooth the way for his children small,

Doing with courage stern and grim

The deeds that his father did for him.

This is the line that for him I pen:

Only a dad, but the best of men.

This is the one called "Home" that is so commonly quoted. They way it's written reminds me of Pirate babble! It almost bothers me to read it that way. I like the message though, enough that I might change it so it reads like normal... but now that I've called it Pirate babble I'm sure you'd all be disappointed not to read and judge for yourself!

It takes a heap o’ livin’ in a house t’ make it home,

A heap o’ sun an’ shadder, an’ ye sometimes have t’ roam

Afore ye really ’preciate the things ye lef’ behind,

An’ hunger fer ’em somehow, with ’em allus on yer mind.

It don’t make any differunce how rich ye get t’ be,

How much yer chairs an’ tables cost, how great yer luxury;

It ain’t home t’ ye, though it be the palace of a king,

Until somehow yer soul is sort o’ wrapped round everything.

Home ain’t a place that gold can buy or get up in a minute;

Afore it’s home there’s got t’ be a heap o’ livin’ in it;

Within the walls there’s got t’ be some babies born, and then

Right there ye’ve got t’ bring ‘em up t’ women good, an’ men;

And gradjerly, as time goes on, ye find ye wouldn’t part

With anything they ever used—they’ve grown into yer heart:

The old high chairs, the playthings, too, the little shoes they wore

Ye hoard; an’ if ye could ye’d keep the thumbmarks on the door.

Ye’ve got t’ weep t’ make it home, ye’ve got t’ sit an’ sigh

An’ watch beside a loved one’s bed, an’ know that Death is nigh;

An’ in the stillness o’ the night t’ see Death’s angel come,

An’ close the eyes o’ her that smiled, an’ leave her sweet voice dumb.

Fer these are scenes that grip the heart, an’ when yer tears are dried,

Ye find the home is dearer than it was, an’ sanctified;

An’ tuggin’ at ye always are the pleasant memories

O’ her that was an’ is no more—ye can’t escape from these.

Ye’ve got t’ sing an’ dance fer years, ye’ve got t’ romp an’ play,

An’ learn t’ love the things ye have by usin’ ’em each day;

Even the roses ’round the porch must blossom year by year

Afore they ’come a part o’ ye, suggestin’ someone dear

Who used t’ love ’em long ago, an’ trained ’em jes’ t’ run

The way they do, so’s they would get the early mornin’ sun;

Ye’ve got t’ love each brick an’ stone from cellar up t’ dome:

It takes a heap o’ livin’ in a house t’ make it home.

This I just love! It's very motivating and I love it! It's called "It Couldn't Be Done":

Somebody said that it couldn’t be done

But he with a chuckle replied

That “maybe it couldn’t,” but he would be one

Who wouldn’t say so till he tried.

So he buckled right in with the trace of a grin

On his face. If he worried he hid it.

He started to sing as he tackled the thing

That couldn’t be done, and he did it!

Somebody scoffed: “Oh, you’ll never do that;

At least no one ever has done it;”

But he took off his coat and he took off his hat

And the first thing we knew he’d begun it.

With a lift of his chin and a bit of a grin,

Without any doubting or quiddit,

He started to sing as he tackled the thing

That couldn’t be done, and he did it.

There are thousands to tell you it cannot be done,

There are thousands to prophesy failure,

There are thousands to point out to you one by one,

The dangers that wait to assail you.

But just buckle in with a bit of a grin,

Just take off your coat and go to it;

Just start in to sing as you tackle the thing

That “cannot be done,” and you’ll do it.

Alright, so that was a long post of poetry but I LOVE poetry! In fact, I think I'll post more every once in awhile! Sometimes a good poem describes things better than you can say them. It's like music. Music can bring the spirit faster than almost anything. And music can touch you in ways that often spoken words can't. Poetry and Music are that way for me! So now you know!