word of the day,,,

commensalism

an association between two organisms in which one benefits from the relationship and the other derives neither harm nor benefit

my morning poem,,,

at the church gate.

Although I enter not,

Yet round about the spot,

Ofttimes I hover,

And near the sacred gate,

With longing eyes I wait,

Expectant of her.

The minster-bell tolls out

Above the city's rout,

And noise and humming;

They've hushed the minster-bell,

The organ 'gins to swell, --

She's coming, -- coming!

My lady comes at last,

Timid and stepping fast,

And hastening hither,

With modest eyes downcast;

She comes, -- she's here, -- she's past;

May heaven go with her!

Kneel undisturbed, fair saint,

Pour out your praise or plaint

Meekly and duly;

I will not enter there,

To sully your pure prayer,

With thoughts unruly.

But suffer me to pace

Round the forbidden place,

Lingering a minute,

Like outcast spirits who wait,

And see, through heaven's gate,

Angels within it.

1. William Makepeace Thackeray

my morning poem,,,

The River Duddon - A Series Of Sonnets, 1820. - VI - Flowers

A poem by William Wordsworth

Ere yet our course was graced with social trees

It lacked not old remains of hawthorn bowers,

Where small birds warbled to their paramours;

And, earlier still, was heard the hum of bees;

I saw them ply their harmless robberies,

And caught the fragrance which the sundry flowers,

Fed by the stream with soft perpetual showers,

Plenteously yielded to the vagrant breeze.

There bloomed the strawberry of the wilderness;

The trembling eyebright showed her sapphire blue,

The thyme her purple, like the blush of Even;

And if the breath of some to no caress

Invited, forth they peeped so fair to view,

All kinds alike seemed favourites of Heaven.

Lollygag (ˈlɒlɪɡaɡ)

What a fantastic verb: to lollygag! Nothing to do with lollies or gags, it actually means to be idle and lazy or to waste time. It’s most common in the USA. It’s not unusual to hear parents shout to their children to “stop lollygagging” – now you’ll know what they’re talking about!

The word has been used since the 1800’s. Nobody really knows where it came from though.

my morning poem,,,

posted this a few times in the past,, but the page just keeps bringing me back to ,,,choices in our lives,,,

imagine if you had taken the other road,????

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 kept 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

Why are you Marching Son - Spoken by John Wayne

That Ragged Old Flag

Nina Simone - Strange Fruit

 Woebegone (ˈwəʊbɪɡɒn)

Another terrific adjective. Can you guess what a woebegone person looks like?

It’s easy to break this word into two parts – woe (extreme sadness) andbegone (an old-fashioned word that means surrounded by something). So,woebegone means “surrounded by sadness.” It comes from Middle English, English that was used during the Middle Ages.

The next time your friend looks sad, you can ask them,

“Why do you look so woebegone?”

my morning poem,,,

nature, the gentlest mother,

Nature, the gentlest mother,

Impatient of no child,

The feeblest or the waywardest,

Her admonition mild

In forest and the hill

By traveller is heard,

Restraining rampant squirrel

Or too impetuous bird.

How fair her conversation,

A summer afternoon,--

Her household, her assembly;

And when the sun goes down

Her voice among the aisles

Incites the timid prayer

Of the minutest cricket,

The most unworthy flower.

When all the children sleep

She turns as long away

As will suffice to light her lamps;

Then, bending from the sky

With infinite affection

And infiniter care,

Her golden finger on her lip,

Wills silence everywhere.

Emily Dickinson

. Lackadaisical (ˌlakəˈdeɪzɪk(ə)l)

How about if you want to describe that someone’s lazy and has no enthusiasm or determination? Lackadaisical (adjective) would be perfect in this situation!

It’s been in use since the 1700’s, although where it came from isn’t clear.

For example,

“My sister has no job and is doing nothing to find one. She is so lackadaisical.”

my morning poem,,,

had to search the net for this one, from a book i have,

days.

Days - Philip Larkin

What are days for?

Days are where we live.

They come, they wake us

Time and time over.

They are to be happy in:

Where can we live but days?

Ah, solving that question

Brings the priest and the doctor

In their long coats

Running over the fields.

With great humor, Philip Larkin addresses the rather serious question of what happens when we die? What happens when we are quite literally out of time? Not out of time just in the sense of being dead, but being outside of time, outside of days. As Larkin says, where can we live but days? Days are all we have. What's outside of them? Well, the doctor will rush over to see if you are indeed out of days, and the priest will come to pray over you and see that your time outside of days is blessed.

high speed - bald eagle in slow motion

Tower of London Concert - Feb 10th 2016

Curmudgeon (kəːˈmʌdʒ(ə)n)

Are you trying to find just the right word for someone who’s very bad-tempered and grumpy? Curmudgeon (noun) might be just the word that you’re looking for!

Dating back to at least the 16th century, this word has been used for a long time.

If you hear someone say,

“I don’t like our English teacher … he is a real curmudgeon!”

you can agree (or hopefully disagree!) and know what it means.

my morning poem,,,

thanksgiving,

Gettin' together to smile an' rejoice,

An' eatin' an' laughin' with folks of your choice;

An' kissin' the girls an' declarin' that they

Are growin' more beautiful day after day;

Chattin' an' braggin' a bit with the men,

Buildin' the old family circle again;

Livin' the wholesome an' old-fashioned cheer,

Just for awhile at the end of the year.

Greetings fly fast as we crowd through the door

And under the old roof we gather once more

Just as we did when the youngsters were small;

Mother's a little bit grayer, that's all.

Father's a little bit older, but still

Ready to romp an' to laugh with a will.

Here we are back at the table again

Tellin' our stories as women an' men.

Bowed are our heads for a moment in prayer;

Oh, but we're grateful an' glad to be there.

Home from the east land an' home from the west,

Home with the folks that are dearest an' best.

Out of the sham of the cities afar

We've come for a time to be just what we are.

Here we can talk of ourselves an' be frank,

Forgettin' position an' station an' rank.

Give me the end of the year an' its fun

When most of the plannin' an' toilin' is done;

Bring all the wanderers home to the nest,

Let me sit down with the ones I love best,

Hear the old voices still ringin' with song,

See the old faces unblemished by wrong,

See the old table with all of its chairs

An' I'll put soul in my Thanksgivin' prayers.

Edgar Albert Guest

When I die...RUMI

Rumi - The Alchemy of Love

Rumi: Say I Am You (Sufi poem)

Rumi: You Will Not Know Me

Flummox (ˈflʌməks)

If you’re now feeling very discombobulated you are also flummoxed(adjective)!

To flummox a person (verb) means to confuse them a lot.

It came into the English language in the middle of the 19th century. It was taken from dialects used in some parts of the UK.

my morning poem,,,

cant remember if i posted this lovely poem or not,,

I ASK YOU,

What scene would I want to be enveloped in

more than this one,

an ordinary night at the kitchen table,

floral wallpaper pressing in,

white cabinets full of glass,

the telephone silent,

a pen tilted back in my hand?

It gives me time to think

about all that is going on outside--

leaves gathering in corners,

lichen greening the high grey rocks,

while over the dunes the world sails on,

huge, ocean-going, history bubbling in its wake.

But beyond this table

there is nothing that I need,

not even a job that would allow me to row to work,

or a coffee-colored Aston Martin DB4

with cracked green leather seats.

No, it's all here,

the clear ovals of a glass of water,

a small crate of oranges, a book on Stalin,

not to mention the odd snarling fish

in a frame on the wall,

and the way these three candles--

each a different height--

are singing in perfect harmony.

So forgive me

if I lower my head now and listen

to the short bass candle as he takes a solo

while my heart

thrums under my shirt--

frog at the edge of a pond--

and my thoughts fly off to a province

made of one enormous sky

and about a million empty branches

.

Billy Collins