Gratitude Challenge – Days 21 & 22

What song are you most grateful for?

These days it’s any song that isn’t a song for kids or a nursery rhyme..  Some days the TV is on all day.  The kids mostly don’t pay attention to it, just look up at it from time to time.  But if I turn it off…. Well that would be a bad idea.  So all day I am listening to The Wiggles, Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star, annoying little jingles that get stuck in your head ALL DAY..

I am a massive music lover.  In the days before downloading everything I had hundreds of CD’s and many a sunday morning was spent going to search of new CDs.  I loved discovering new bands to obsess over.  The longest obsession was a Finnish metal band by the name of H.I.M.  The lead singer was the bees-knees.  And I had all of their CDs, books, DVDs..  I even have a massive tattoo on my back dedicated to them!!  How is that for love.

But these days I don’t listen to much music apart from the utter tripe coming out of my TV everyday..  It does make the days drag sometimes.

Not Listening!

What story are you grateful for?

I can’t think of any stories I am grateful for, but poems can tell a story so I will share with you a couple of my favourites.  I am grateful to them because they made me write poetry as a teenager.  And any form of artistic expression at that age is something to be grateful for.  I used poetry as an outlet for my extreme emotions.  I always felt better if I could write my feelings into a poem.  It was like a cathartic release for me.  And no I will never be sharing with you my poems… I read one of my poems to my husband once… He just laughed.  I suppose teenager angst is pretty funny.

Mirror by Sylvia Plath

I am silver and exact. I have no preconceptions.
Whatever I see I swallow immediately
Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike.
I am not cruel, only truthful ‚
The eye of a little god, four-cornered.
Most of the time I meditate on the opposite wall.
It is pink, with speckles. I have looked at it so long
I think it is part of my heart. But it flickers.
Faces and darkness separate us over and over.

Now I am a lake. A woman bends over me,
Searching my reaches for what she really is.
Then she turns to those liars, the candles or the moon.
I see her back, and reflect it faithfully.
She rewards me with tears and an agitation of hands.
I am important to her. She comes and goes.
Each morning it is her face that replaces the darkness.
In me she has drowned a young girl, and in me an old woman
Rises toward her day after day, like a terrible fish.


This was one of the first poems being really affected by.  My grade 9 english teacher read this to the class and it made me want to write poems.  Sylvia’s morbid musings always appealed to me.

Dulce et Decorum Est by Wilfred Owen

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs,
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots,
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of gas-shells dropping softly behind.
Gas! GAS! Quick, boys!—An ecstasy of fumbling
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time,
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And flound’ring like a man in fire or lime.—
Dim through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,—
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.
That latin name and last verse translates to “How sweet and honourable it is to die for one’s country.”  Being a history lover and having an avid interest in all things WWI and WWII related I loved this poem.  It speaks so clearly the futility of war and that there is nothing glorious or honourable about watching people die all around you.. For what?

What is song or poem/story are you grateful for??

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