Vanquished, Vanished

Come, come, come …
Let us ponder the America of our memories:
We sang like the birds of the field; we sang of freedom;
When we sought opportunity, we found it awaiting us.
America was a dream, a vision of seekers;
America was a dream that lasted ten score and thirty years.
The dream that was America encountered the anarchy of liberty;
And was felled by the anarchy of immorality.
We beg forgiveness of our founders, our fathers;
We weep for the blood they shed for us.
The America that was their dream is now our master.
Freemen no longer, we are serfs to toil land that is not ours.
We live the lives of the slaves of old, lives of quiet desperation;
We beat our breasts in despair knowing we sold our posterity into bondage.
We still pray, but not to God; We still sing, but not of freedom.
We tell tales to our children and they laugh,
For, as we recollect our remembrances,
Our children hear fairy tales of long, long ago.
We listen to those who sacrificed for freedom.
They ask: “Did we win or did we lose?
Was God with us or were we against God, in those days?
Was freedom worth the blood we spilt?
Or was freedom but a mysterious nothing,
A mere longing of our souls?”
We will soon go away too, we who have the memories.
When we are gone, will seekers ever dream that dream again?

~~Edna Barney

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The Sands of Assateague

Remembering warmer days on the beach at Assateague Island, whilst hoping for warmer days to return again. Remembering days that will never come again, whilst I “shed a bitter tear.”

The sea was wet as wet could be,

The sands were dry as dry.

You could not see a cloud, because

No cloud was in the sky:

No birds were flying over head—

There were no birds to fly.

The Walrus and the Carpenter

Were walking close at hand;

They wept like anything to see

Such quantities of sand:

“If this were only cleared away,”

They said, “it WOULD be grand!”

“If seven maids with seven mops

Swept it for half a year,

Do you suppose,” the Walrus said,

“That they could get it clear?”

“I doubt it,” said the Carpenter,

And shed a bitter tear.

(“The Walrus and the Carpenter” from “Through the Looking Glass” by Lewis Carroll)

The image, Assateague Island, was originally uploaded by barneykin. It is posted here from Barneykin’s Flickr account.

Visit Neddy’s Archives for more of Edna’s writings.

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Grace’s Broken Heart

I found this musical creation so beautiful that I had to learn more about it and its meaning. I found it as a CD album at Amazon, which I just ordered: The Irish Tenors / McNamara, McDermott, Kearns, Tynan. The following is what I discovered about the song entitled Grace. Give a listen HERE.

“As we gather in the chapel here in old Kilmainham jail,
I think about these past few weeks; Oh, will they say we failed?
From our school days they have told us we must yearn for liberty,
Yet all I want in this dark place is to have you here with me.

[Chorus]
Oh Grace just hold me in your arms, and let this moment linger,
They’ll take me out at dawn and I will die.
With all my love I’ll place this wedding ring upon your finger,
There won’t be time to share our love for we must say goodbye.

Now I know it’s hard for you my love to ever understand,
The love I bear for these brave men, my love for this dear land,
But when Padraic called me to his side down in the G.P.O.
I had to leave my own sick bed, to him I had to go.
[Chorus]

Now as the dawn is breaking, my heart is breaking too,
On this May morn, as I walk out, my thoughts will be of you.
And I’ll write some words upon the wall, so everyone will know,
I loved so much that I could see His blood upon the rose.”

Joseph Mary Plunkett was an Irish nationalist, poet and leader and planner of the 1916 Easter rising. It was largely his plan that was followed in 1916, which ended in military disaster. Plunkett was held in Kilmainham Jail and faced court martial. Hours before his excecution by firing squad, at age 28, he was married in the prison chapel on 4 May 1916, to his sweetheart, a Protestant convert to Catholicism, Grace Gifford.

Grace remained loyal to the republican movement while earning a living as a commerical artist. She voted against the treaty which divided Ireland and during the civil war she was imprisoned in Kilmainham jail for three months. She died in 1955.

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Let the Mystery Be

“Let the Mystery Be” as sung by Iris Dement (music)

Everybody is a’wonderin’ what
And where they all came from.
Everybody is a’worryin’ ’bout where
They’re gonna go when the whole thing’s done.
But no one knows for certain
And so it’s all the same to me.
I think I’ll just let the mystery be.

Some say once you’re gone, you’re gone forever,
And some say you’re gonna come back.
Some say you rest in the arms of the Saviour,
If in sinful ways you lack.
Some say that they’re comin’ back in a garden –
Bunch of carrots and little sweet peas.
I think I’ll just let the mystery be.

Some say they’re goin’ to a place called Glory,
And I ain’t saying it ain’t a fact.
But I’ve heard that I’m on the road to purgatory,
And I don’t like the sound of that.
I believe in love, and I live my life accordingly.
But I choose to let the mystery be.

As Sung By Iris Dement (music)

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Ghosties, Ghoulies and Goblins

This one is my granddaughter.

Little Orphant Annie’s come to our house to stay,
An’ wash the cups and saucers up, an’ brush the crumbs away,
An’ shoo the chickens off the porch, an’ dust the hearth, an’ sweep,
An’ make the fire, an’ bake the bread, an’ earn her board-an’-keep;
An’ all us other children, when the supper things is done,
We set around the kitchen fire an’ has the mostest fun
A-list’nin’ to the witch-tales ‘at Annie tells about,
An’ the Gobble-uns ‘at gits you
Ef you
Don’t
Watch
Out!

Onc’t they was a little boy wouldn’t say his pray’rs–
An’ when he went to bed at night, away up-stairs,
His mammy heerd him holler, an’ his daddy heerd him bawl,
An’ when they turn’t the kivvers down, he wasn’t there at all!
An’ they seeked him in the rafter-room, an’ cubby hole, an’ press,
An’ seeked him up the chimbly flue, an’ ever’-wheres, I guess;
But all they ever found was thist his pants an’ roundabout!
An’ the Gobble-uns’ll git you
Ef you
Don’t
Watch
Out!

An’ one time a little girl ‘ud allus laugh an’ grin,
An’ make fun of ever’ one, an’ all her blood-an’-kin;
An’ onc’t when they was “company,” an’ ole folks was there,
She mocked ’em an’ shocked ’em, an’ said she didn’t care!
An’ thist as she kicked her heels, an’ turn’t to run an’ hide,
They was two great big Black Things a-standin’ by her side,
An’ they snatched her through the ceilin’ ‘fore she
knowed what she’s about!
An’ the Gobble-uns’ll git you
Ef you
Don’t
Watch
Out!

An’ little Orphant Annie says, when the blaze is blue,
An’ the lampwick sputters, an’ the wind goes woo-oo!
An’ you hear the crickets quit, an’ the moon is gray,
An’ the lightnin’-bugs in dew is all squenched away,–
You better mind yer parents, an’ yer teachers fond an’ dear,
An’ churish them ‘at loves you, an’ dry the orphant’s tear,
An’ he’p the pore an’ needy ones ‘at clusters all about,
Er the Gobble-uns’ll git you
Ef you
Don’t
Watch
Out!

~~James Whitcomb Riley

The image, False Face, was originally uploaded by barneykin. It is posted here from Barneykin’s account.

Visit Neddy’s Archives, for more of Edna’s writings.

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Forever Young at 38

Happy Birthday Jamey. 

May God bless and keep you always,
May your wishes all come true,
May you always do for others
And let others do for you.
May you build a ladder to the stars
And climb on every rung,
May you stay forever young,
Forever young, forever young,
May you stay forever young.

May you grow up to be righteous,
May you grow up to be true,
May you always know the truth
And see the lights surrounding you.
May you always be courageous,
Stand upright and be strong,
May you stay forever young,
Forever young, forever young,
May you stay forever young.

May your hands always be busy,
May your feet always be swift,
May you have a strong foundation
When the winds of changes shift.
May your heart always be joyful,
May your song always be sung,
May you stay forever young,
Forever young, forever young,
May you stay forever young. ~~Bob Dylan

My youngest child will turn thirty-nine on Saturday of this week. I told him that this will be his “Jack Benny Birthday”, however, he had never heard of Jack Benny. As it happens, he will really be “Forever Thirty-eight”, as he will be crossing the International Date Line in his travels to the Far East, and will completely miss his thirty-ninth birthday. There will be no October 13th this year for him.

I am happy that he will stay thirty-eight for the rest of “my” life, as he must stay forever young as long as I am living, for he is my baby. And what a child he has already been for his father and me, as he has accomplished all the wishes, hopes and dreams that Bob Dylan sang about in this song “Forever Young.”

The image, Happy Birthday, Jamey, was originally uploaded by barneykin. It is posted here from Barneykin’s account.

The “real” Bob Dylan may be viewed on YouTube in a brilliant performance unenhanced by choreography, fashion designers, or lighting and audio engineers, in the way it was, once upon a time, back in 1993.

Bob Dylan on The Tonight Show, 1993

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Forgetfulness

Is Route 66 the road to oblivion? As I travel the highway home, I try not to forget my memories. The pictures in my mind are fading, however I have pictures on the Internet which shall never fade. Those pictures shall keep my memories intact long after they have floated away down that river whose name I have already forgotten, although I believe it begins with the letter “L”.

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