A thought for today...

"If He who in Himself can lack nothing chooses to need us, it is because we need to be needed"

~C.S. Lewis

100

This is my 100th post! Yay!

I contemplated what do to in this post for quite some time. I felt really the only thing to do is say thank you, to my few followers, 100 times, in as many ways as I can.

Merci, Thank you, Mahalo, Thank you, Grazie, Thank you, Tak, Thank you, Blagodaria, Thank you!

Danke, Thank you, Toda, Thank you, Gratias ago, Thank you, Go raibh maith agat, Thank you, Do jeh, Thank you!

Shukran, Thank you, Kamsah hamnida, Thank you, Kiitos, Thank you, Takk, Thank you, Motashakkeram, Thank you!

Obrigada, Thank you, Tapadh leibh, Thank you, Dakujem, Thank you, Gracias, Thank you, Asante, Thank you!

Tack, Thank you, Salamat po, Thank you, Kop khun kha, Thank you, Dank u wel, Thank you, Tesekkur ederim, Thank you!

Diakuiu, Thank you, Diolch, Thank you, A dank, Thank you, Thank you, Thank you, Thank you!

Thank you, Thank you, Thank you, Thank you, Thank you, Thank you, Thank you, Thank you, Thank you!

Thanks, Thanks, Thanks, Thanks, Thanks, Thanks, Thanks, Thanks, Thanks, Thanks!

Merci, Gracias, Danke, Mahalo, Thank you, Grazie, Tak, Toda, Asante, Thank you!

(And now its time for the personal thank yous)

Thank you Tess. Thank you Brian. Thank you Alana. Thank you Bonnie. Thank you Julia. Thank you Holly. Thank you Mom. Thank you Dad. Thank you my many inspirations. Thank you God. Without all of you people, I never would have started blogging, I never would have had any ideas, I never would have had any talent, and I would never have had anyone read this. So really, without all of you, this blog would never have existed. Just something to think about.

Peace, Augusta

Death in Three's

Three.

Everyone says death comes in three.
I guess it did.

Goodbye,
great uncle, uncle and cousin.

Great uncle,
you whipped my tushie at cards,
and you loved root beer floats,
and then cancer came.
You endured a great deal,
could barely swallow,
but you could always manage
to play another hand of cribbage.

Uncle,
I barely knew you,
living so far away,
and cancer came for you too.
Grandma says its a good thing,
that you've died,
I know its because of the pain
but I hate the way she says it.

Cousin,
I never knew you at all,
you were a promise to come,
and you died before you were born.
I was all ready to knit
a special hat just for you.
You were loved
while you were briefly here.

Death may come quickly in threes,
but closure comes slowly,

at least for me.

Poetry

I've learned something about poetry:
if its free-flow, it makes no sense, except to the author, and the teacher who is shoving it down your throat.
Now, if it has a pattern, its completely different. Really, how much more do we understand the poetry of Shakespeare, simply because he follows the pattern of a sonnet.

I think though that we need to take another look at poetry. It is obviously a great way to spurt out one's feelings, however it does not have to mean anything. Hear that, English teachers? Poetry doesn't have to mean anything!!!

As long as you like it, like the story, or the flow, or the rhythm, it doesn't have to mean anything such as the plight of the author, or the social commentary of the author's life. It could just be a nice story with a great rhyme scheme.
So if I post a poem, it is simply a bursting forth of my emotion, blooming on the page. Its not a commentary on the inner struggle of my non-Catholic self in a Catholic world (take that every English teacher I've had for Shakespeare). Its just a great way for me to express myself without having to say "I feel miserable. Please, take my heart and grind it into hamburger. I just need a hug, Lord."
Isn't poetry more beautiful than that?

I thought so.