Home ~ Edgar Albert Guest

 

The road to laughter beckons me,
The road to all that's best;
The home road where I nightly see
The castle of my rest;
The path where all is fine and fair,
And little children run,
For love and joy are waiting there
As soon as day is done.

There is no rich reward of fame
That can compare with this:
At home I wear an honest name,
My lips are fit to kiss.
At home I'm always brave and strong,
And with the setting sun
They find no trace of shame or wrong
In anything I've done.

There shine the eyes that only see
The good I've tried to do;
They think me what I'd like to be;
They know that I am true.
And whether I have lost my fight
Or whether I have won,
I find a faith that I've been right
As soon as day is done.

Edgar Albert Guest

ai art by me

Regrets

 

There are moments in life,

We wish we could change,

But we cannot go back

Time, we cannot rearrange.

Regrets are pointless

They only cause pain

We need to accept the past

And just start again .

There were lessons in the days

When nothing went right

We should not chastise ourselves

For not seeing the light.

There's an order to life

The journey is immense

And one day you will understand

And it will all make sense.

So forgive yourself now

For what you didn't know before

It was designed this way

You couldn't have done any more..

C.E. Coombes

Art via Pinterest

Source: Serendipity Corner on Facebook

Clutter and Junk

Source: Spatial Awareness Home on Facebook

This one hit me hard when I finally saw it.

If you struggle to let go of things you spent money on -like, things you KNOW you’re not using- I want you to know: this is one of the most common psychological phenomenons related to clutter. It’s called “the sunk cost fallacy”

This is when our brains trick us into keeping items because letting go feels painful:

Daniel Kahneman and Amos Tversky discovered that losses feel about twice as painful as gains feel good.

…So when you declutter something expensive, your brain treats it like a fresh loss.

Even though nothing *new* is happening, the sting makes you want to avoid getting rid of it 

And here’s what I learned after years of struggling with this:

A lot of it has to do with feeling like you made a mistake.

“I shouldn’t have bought that”

“I wasted money”

These voices of shame only serve to keep you stuck in a cluttered home.

The bottom line?

My ability to declutter *and actually KEEP my house decluttered* is directly connected to my ability to admit a mistake and move on from it.

The money is already gone. Keeping the item doesn’t bring it back. All it does is add to your mental load, take up space in your home, and remind you of the mistake every single time you see it.

The moment I gave myself permission to say “that was a mistake, and I’m allowed to move on” …I became unstoppable.

I started decluttering faster, and making clearer decisions. I learned to stop the guilt spiral in its tracks.

I give myself grace for impulse purchases and for the phase I was in when I bought it…for not knowing it wouldn’t work for me.

And then I let it go.

And honestly, that grace extended into other areas of my life too. Turns out, letting go is a life skill, and it gets easier the more you practice it.

Source: Spatial Awareness Home on Facebook

Any advice to give

 

One time I met a man

Who only had a month to live

And I asked him if he had

Any advice that he could give

He said “I wake each morning

Knowing I am going to die

So each day must remind me

I am blessed to be alive

You see, my life’s on countdown

As each hour is unfurled

I know the clock is ticking

On my time here in this world

But what you’re overlooking

Is that it’s the same for you -

You know that I am dying

But forget that you are too

So make the most of sunshine

And go dancing in the rain

And sing a little louder

When your favourite music plays

Notice nature’s colours,

Savour everything you taste

Stop waiting for tomorrow

‘Cause you’ve got no time to waste

And could you say convincingly

That you’d have no regrets?

If just the next few days or weeks

Were all that you had left?”

And then my breath caught quickly

When he turned to me and asked

“Could you say that you died happy

If this day had been your last?”

*****

Becky Hemsley 2023

Artwork by Sebastian Bauer Art

This poem is from Letters from Life

Source: Becky Hemsley Poetry on Facebook

Don’t put the key in someone else’s pocket

 

As you walk the road of life

You’ll find it lined with doors

Some that look familiar,

Some you’ve never seen before

One will lead to nowhere

Whilst another leads to growth

One will lead to happiness,

To healing and to hope

Some will lead to sorrow,

Some to roads of discontent

One might lead you to the life

Of which you’ve always dreamt

And as you keep on walking,

You’ll meet people on the way

Some who’ll walk for miles with you

And some who cannot stay

And all along, you’ll have a key

Ornate and rough and old

And there’ll be times you’ll think

It’s meant for someone else to hold

But this key knows your story

One that they don’t truly know

And they won’t understand the way

It must be turned just so

They won’t hear it whispering

The way you often do

And they won’t know by heart

Each little dent and rusted groove

So though it may be tempting,

When life feels a little hard,

Don’t hand over your key to them:

It isn’t theirs to guard

Because one day you’ll find yourself

Standing before a door

That might just lead to all the things

That you’ve been hoping for

But only you can turn that key

To realise what’s behind it

The happiness you’re seeking

Waits for you to come and find it

So trust that you’re enough,

Believe in all that you can do

Remember you have everything

You need inside of you

And when you reach that door

To happiness, you can unlock it

Just as long as you don’t put the key

In someone else’s pocket

*****

Becky Hemsley 2024

This is from her collection, Words to Remember

Source: Becky Hemsley Poetry on Facebook

Artwork: The Doors of Dublin - Public Domain

Tyler Childers‬ + Del McCoury + ‪Ricky Skaggs – Old Country Church LIVE

 

Colour My World - Chicago - Vocals by Terry Kath

 

Things Work Out ~ Edgar Albert Guest

 

Things Work Out

Because it rains when we wish it wouldn't,
Because men do what they often shouldn't,
Because crops fail, and plans go wrong-
Some of us grumble all day long.
But somehow, in spite of the care and doubt,
It seems at last that things work out.

Because we lose where we hoped to gain,
Because we suffer a little pain,
Because we must work when we'd like to play-
Some of us whimper along life's way.
But somehow, as day always follows the night,
Most of our troubles work out all right.

Because we cannot forever smile,
Because we must trudge in the dust awhile,
Because we think that the way is long-
Some of us whimper that life's all wrong.
But somehow we live and our sky grows bright,
And everything seems to work out all right.

So bend to your trouble and meet your care,
For the clouds must break, and the sky grow fair.
Let the rain come down, as it must and will,
But keep on working and hoping still.
For in spite of the grumblers who stand about,
Somehow, it seems, all things work out.

by Edgar Albert Guest

ai art by me

Gone Fishing ~ Chris Rea

 

I'm gone fishing
I got me a line
Nothing I do is gonna make the difference
So I'm taking the time

And you ain't never gonna be happy
Anyhow, anyway
So I'm gone fishing
And I'm going today

I'm gone fishing
Sounds crazy I know
I know nothing about fishing
But just watch me go

And when my time has come
I will look back and see
Peace on the shoreline
That could have been me

You can waste a whole lifetime
Trying to be
What you think is expected of you
But you'll never be free

May as well go fishing

Ode 314

Ode 314   

Those who don't feel this 

Love pulling them like a river,   

those who don't drink dawn 

like a cup of spring water 

or take in sunset like supper, 

those who don't want to change, 

let them sleep.

~ Rumi

ai art by me

Acceptance

 

Acceptance holds great power,

A key to setting free,

No longer tethered by the chains

Of what we cannot see.

In life, we each must navigate

The paths that twist and bend,

Understanding that to fight the flow

Is not the means to an end.

No one owns another soul,

And only the moon controls the tide,

So to question what fate has drawn

Simply leads to damaged pride.

Acceptance is not losing hope,

It’s wisdom born of grace,

Embracing all that life presents

Within our sacred space..

C.E. Coombes

Art by Olamik

Source: Serendipity Corner on Facebook

'Just'

 

'Just' implies it's little

'Just' implies it's small

'Just' suggests it's really

Nothing very much at all

Just a joke, just one bad day

And just a drop of rain

"It's just a cut, a tiny scratch

So why are you in pain?"

"It's just a little game"

And "can you talk for just a minute?"

But 'just' can be the thing

That pushes something to its limit

'Cause drops of rain are more than 'just'

When there are millions more

When every drop keeps inching water

Closer to your door

A cut is always more than 'just'

When you're already bleeding;

When every scratch reminds you

That you're further now from healing

A minute's never just a minute

When you're running late

And when expecting news

But all that you can do is wait

It's not just one bad day

When it has been a month or two

And it's not just a joke

When you find out the joke's on you

'Cause 'just' sounds oh-so-little

So it often serves to shrink,

To lessen what we feel,

What we experience and think

But if we're not familiar

With another person's feelings;

If we can't say for sure

If they are hurting or they're healing

If we don't know the nature

Of the things that have drawn blood

If we assume they're swimming

Whilst they're drowning in the flood

If we do not know how much time

Somebody else has got

Or how deep all their wounds might run

From all the things they've lost

It might be wise to listen

Whilst they're crying through the rain

And not dismiss their bleeding

When they're talking through their pain

And it might be wise to recognise

That 'just' for us is small

Whilst it might be 'just' the thing

That pushes them so far,

they fall

*****

Becky states she is currently trying to write a variation of this (as in it's not 'just' a smile - it could be the thing that saves someone that day) - but whilst it's still a work in progress, she shared this version

Becky Hemsley 2025

Artwork by Brooke Shaden

This poem is from her latest book, If The Stars Could Speak

Source: Becky Hemsley Poetry on Facebook

Will The Circle Be Unbroken ~ NGDB

 

Will The Circle Be Unbroken 

Nitty Gritty Dirt Band

This Precious Life

This Precious Life

There is no greater blessing

than to simply be alive,

to awaken once more

within the quiet miracle

of breath.

To witness the beauty

woven into each and every day,

whether it arrives

wrapped in sunlight,

or hidden

beneath storm clouds.

No matter the circumstances,

I choose to meet this moment

with an open heart.

For every experience

is a teacher.

Every breath

an invitation.

Every step

a homecoming.

I do not wait

for life to become perfect

before I give thanks.

For this precious life

is already enough

to fill my heart

with wonder.

I find grace

in the ordinary,

the warmth of morning light,

the song of distant birds,

the rhythm of rain,

the silence between thoughts,

the smile of a stranger,

the steady beating

of my own heart.

I belong

to this living world,

and this living world

belongs within me.

Today

I release resistance

and rest

in simple presence.

I welcome joy

without grasping,

sorrow

without fear,

change

without clinging,

and love

without condition.

This moment

is enough.

This breath

is enough.

This life

is enough.

Simply happy to be alive,

I bow

to the beauty

that reveals itself

again

and again,

in each and every day,

no matter the circumstances.

And in that quiet knowing,

I discover

that gratitude

is not a destination,

it is the way

I walk

through the world.

~ 'This Precious Life' by Spirit of a Hippie
~ Mary Anne Byrne
~ Art By BinaS.Art

Source: Spirit of a Hippie on Facebook

How many things in this world hold a part of your soul?

 

Have you ever thought about how many things in this world hold a part of your soul? About all of the ways in which you have altered the way other people see and feel things?

Have you ever thought about how quickly you can be summoned into someone’s mind – their consciousness – because something seemingly insignificant has sparked a memory of you?

Because there are whispers of you in certain songs and special places.
Your smile is folded into specific words and particular phrases.
There are echoes of you wrapped up in certain clothes and random objects and your light lingers around you everywhere you go,
in ways you could never imagine.

And if you ever doubt it,
look back to all the times that anyone has ever sent you a letter or a message or a photograph, accompanied by the phrase

“this reminded me of you”.

It means your soul has left a mark on theirs. 

And it means that their life and their soul and their heart,
are all a little fuller,
simply because
they’ve known you.

*****

Becky Hemsley 2024
Artwork by Steve Henderson
This poem is from the collection, Words to Remember by Becky Hemsley

Source: Becky Hemsley Poetry on Facebook

Frank Zappa knew it.

𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐘 𝐒𝐀𝐈𝐃 𝐊𝐄𝐄𝐏 𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐑𝐈𝐀𝐑𝐒 𝐎𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐆 𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐒𝐄𝐓 𝐈𝐍

 

𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐘 𝐒𝐀𝐈𝐃 𝐊𝐄𝐄𝐏 𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐑𝐈𝐀𝐑𝐒 𝐎𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐆 𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐒𝐄𝐓 𝐈𝐍

Granny always said to keep out of the briars and high weeds once the Dog Days set in. She’d lean her elbow on the porch rail, squint toward the treeline, and say the world got touchy this time of year. Said the air turned heavy enough to press on your chest, and the creeks went still like they were holding their breath.

Old‑timers believed the heat made things go wrong in quiet ways. Wounds wouldn’t heal clean. Dogs lost their good sense. And the snakes, Lord help us, the snakes went blind. A copperhead that can’t see will strike at the sound of a footstep, a breath, even the brush of your shirt against a leaf.

So when Dog Days settled over the holler, folks minded themselves. You stayed close to the porch where the boards knew your weight. You walked the same worn paths your people walked before you. You didn’t go rustling through weeds taller than your knees, and you sure didn’t go poking around in briar patches where the heat pooled thick.

Granny said caution was its own kind of ritual. A way of showing respect when the world got unsettled. Keep your eyes sharp. Keep your steps light. Keep your ears open for that dry whisper in the grass.

Because once the Dog Days take hold, even the shadows get short‑tempered. And a blind copperhead don’t care who you are. It’ll strike at anything that stirs the stillness.

Source: Appalachian Root & Ritual on Facebook

Act of Friendship

 

At precisely 3:15 p.m. on May 14, 1965, a Rolls-Royce carrying Queen Elizabeth II rolled to a stop on the damp grass of Runnymede, and waiting beside the temporary platform, dressed in a dark suit and holding the hands of her two children, stood Jacqueline Kennedy, the woman who had crossed the Atlantic not to receive condolences but to accept a gift no American president had ever been given before.

The acre of meadowland stretching behind her, the very ground where King John had affixed his seal to Magna Carta in 1215, had been permanently transferred by an act of the British Parliament to the people of the United States, and in less than an hour the Queen would speak words that turned that legal document into a living memorial.

John, Jr just four years old, tugged at his mother's sleeve while Caroline, seven, stared silently at the rows of dignitaries, and the Queen, upon stepping from her car, walked directly to the small family without ceremony, her first gesture a quiet word spoken close enough that only Jackie could hear.

The memorial itself, a simple Portland stone tablet designed by Sir Geoffrey Jellicoe, sat at the edge of the sloping field, chiseled with the inscription from the inaugural address of the president whose voice had been silenced seventeen months earlier in Dallas.

When the Queen rose to deliver her dedication, her voice carried across the assembled crowd of statesmen and citizens, and she declared that this acre of English soil was given in perpetual memory, a phrase that carried the full weight of sovereignty, because what she was actually doing was ceding a tiny pocket of her realm to a foreign nation in an act of friendship that had no modern precedent.

The Union Jack was lowered, the Stars and Stripes rose on a freshly planted pole, and for a single suspended moment a corner of England became, legally and irrevocably, American territory. Jackie did not speak publicly that afternoon, but a British newsreel camera captured her fingers brushing the stone after the ceremony had ended, tracing the carved letters with the same deliberate tenderness she had shown when editing her husband's speeches in the White House solarium.

The crowd dispersed slowly, and the children were permitted to run across the grass, their footsteps crossing back and forth over the invisible boundary line that now separated two allied nations, a border drawn not by conflict but by collective sorrow.

The stone still stands, weathered now by more than fifty winters, and the National Park Service maintains it as American soil to this day, a quiet patch of English countryside where the simple act of passing through a wicket gate carries a traveler into the jurisdiction of the United States.

Source: US History on Facebook

Overthink the Best

 

Source: Learning and Exploring Through Play on Facebook

All My Tears Be Washed Away Mark Bishop

 

Dean Martin & Ricky Nelson - My Rifle, My Pony & Me

 

Weathering the Storm

 

Weathering the Storm

There are days
when grief moves quietly beneath the surface,
waiting in the smallest details
to be felt again.

A familiar sound.
A passing moment.
A memory that arrives
without warning.

When the tears come,
do not resist them.

They are not signs
that you are moving backward,
but reminders
that love has left
its sacred imprint.

Pause.
Breathe.

Let the wave
rise and fall.

You need not chase it away,
nor surrender
to its depths.

Simply be gentle with yourself,
until the storm
becomes
a gentle rain.

Every trigger
carries two voices.

One whispers,
"Someone precious is gone."

The other replies,
"Someone precious was here."

Hold them both.

For grief
is the echo of love,
and love
does not disappear
when a life ends.

In time,
the storm grows quieter.
The winds begin to ease.
The clouds slowly part.

The tears remain,
but they are joined
by gratitude.

The ache remains,
but so does
the quiet strength
to carry it.

Walk gently.
Rest often.
Trust your heart
to find
its own rhythm.

For healing
is not forgetting.

It is learning
to meet each memory
with compassion,
to welcome each echo
without fear,
and to discover,
again and again,
that even after the storm,
love
still speaks.

~ 'Weathering the Storm' by Spirit of a Hippie on Facebook

 Mary Anne Byrne

~ Art by Olami