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Christmas the Birthday of the Lord ๐Ÿ‘‘

T’was the night before Christmas

God glanced over the earth

He looked to and fro, all over it’s girth

They missed it again he said with a sigh

A heavy heart and a tear in his heart โค๏ธ

I gave them my Son

My Greatest Gift ๐Ÿ’”

So they could be free

My Greatest Gift๐Ÿ’”

To the fro me.

And they traded me in for a man in red ๐ŸŽ…

A little tree too ๐Ÿ‘ผ

And a horse drawn sled ๐Ÿ›ท

How do I save them

And make them see

My love โค๏ธ is complete

My Grace is Free

How do I help them

When all they know is a talking snowman โ˜ƒ๏ธ

And a box ๐Ÿ“ฆ with a bow

Maybe next year, they will stop and see

The Greatest Gift

Is a little ๐Ÿง’ Child ๐Ÿšผ from me ๐Ÿ‘ผ

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The Bombing of Pearl Habour ~ by The Mystic Poet in Memory of Grand Pappa John ๐Ÿ™‡

“THE DIVER, THE SURVIVOR.” a poem December 6, 2019 (Friday) for: PEARL HARBOR DAY (Saturday) a.k.a.: “Papa John Will Always Be There.”

Dear Friends:

Remember (my) Good Old Grampa? PAPA JOHN on (my) Mother’s side?

Who was A NAVY MAN in World War II,

 I think Papa John might have had some American Indian blood in him.  He did not talk a lot, but liked listening to his wife's friends [Mama Jean was a piano teacher and, for many years, the President of The Montana Piano Teachers' Association] who might come by, and he would often listen to them for long periods and then remark: "You don't say!"

     He had long legs, and, according to my Dad, one weekend, when Papa John was about 55 years old, there was a race in the town he lived in [in Montana].  There were a number of participants and he was much older than, perhaps, everybody else, but, despite that, he almost won.  A young man, perhaps a former college sprinter, won the event, but Papa John, with his long, churning legs, came in a close second.

        He liked to fix things and had a big workshop in the basement, where he would show me how to fix lawn mowers and other gadgets.

             Papa John, although he ate turkey or fish on occasion, preferred not to eat very much meat  because he did not like the thought of the suffering the creature would have to go through to provide him dinner.  He taught school in "a one room school house" and often suggested they his students be kind to animals, who have feelings too.  He was very upset one day when he caught some boys burning ants to death with a magnifying glass.  He reminded them that, even though the ants are very small, they can feel pain too.

                  He died one night in his sleep, down in the basement, alone in his room, while I was away;  I imagine, perhaps, he died with memories of the friends he had when he was in The Navy.

                         That was Papa John.   He was quite the Grampa.  Sigh!

                                 J   ๐Ÿฆ Jay

THERE at Pearl HarborOnDecember7 (1941)HEdidABIDE.

HE WAS THERE and he tells us all that ON THAT DAY BOMBS DROPPED,

and SHIPS WERE SUNK and MEN WERE KILLED and

Then, “THEY” swam and mopped.

“THEY,” who were THE MEN LIKE HIM “survivors,” who DOVE IN TO THE SEA,

And FISHED OUT BODIES OF DEAD FRIENDS;

December 7th (1941) it would be.

HE WAS THERE in (19) ’41 WHEN BLOOD WAS EVERYWHERE,

And smoke and friends that HE FISHED OUT;

Yes, Grampa got to stare,

At such destruction and take it in,

And WITNESS THEN WHAT WE’RE TOLD NOW HAS BEEN:

This EVIDENCE of humans fighting and showing how,

We can KILL and MAIM, and, even now,

In 2019 we can still look back?

(I remember) Papa John who lived in the basement in Helena, Montana,

Sleeping on his “rack,”

Who sometimes came upstairs and told his grandson ME,

(Back then THEY HAD NO TERM “P T S D.”)

He told me: “Men can be mean and men can sometimes do things,

That can kill and destroy and much suffering it brings,

SOME WISDOM even so to those,

Who have experienced such traumas; yet NOW I DOZE,

DOWN IN THE BASEMENT, AND I D I V E INTO BAD DREAMS.

There were friends I LOVED there, and each memory ‘streams,’

To haunt every day yet show me THE WAY,

TO LOVE EVEN DEATH and HOLD PAIN AT BAY.”

fin โ™ฅ

๐Ÿ™‡๐Ÿ™‡๐Ÿ™‡๐Ÿ™‡๐Ÿ™‡๐Ÿ™‡๐Ÿ™‡๐Ÿ™‡๐Ÿ‡ฆ๐Ÿ‡บ๐Ÿ‡ฆ๐Ÿ‡บ๐Ÿ‡ฆ๐Ÿ‡บ๐Ÿ‡ฆ๐Ÿ‡บ๐Ÿ‡ฆ๐Ÿ‡บ๐Ÿ‡ฆ๐Ÿ‡บ๐Ÿ‡ฆ๐Ÿ‡บ๐ŸŒŽWe will never forget ๐Ÿ‡ฆ๐Ÿ‡บ๐Ÿ‡ฆ๐Ÿ‡บ America saved Australia in Northern Australia ๐Ÿ‡ฆ๐Ÿ‡บ Thank the Lord ๐Ÿ‡ฆ๐Ÿ‡บ In Australia my family were rescued from Japanese Prison Camps. Aboriginal people and Europeans were slaughtered in Darwin by the Japnese Bombing of Northern Australia ๐Ÿ‡ฆ๐Ÿ‡บ our American Allies are still to this day Stationed on our Northern Borders of Australia ๐Ÿ‡ฆ๐Ÿ‡บ , unfortunately, today many young Australians do not know our Historical Pasts with America. I do because I’m the Last Standing Marshall of that very Old Generation. Aboriginal and Whites stood side by side with the Americans to fight for all lives in Ausralia ๐Ÿ‡ฆ๐Ÿ‡บ๐Ÿ‡ฆ๐Ÿ‡บ๐Ÿ‡ฆ๐Ÿ‡บ๐Ÿ˜Œ๐Ÿ˜Œ๐Ÿ˜Œ

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Paradigm by Mystic Poet Laureate ๐Ÿ™ƒ

Paradigm is thought to mean ~ A paradigm is a person’s frame of reference. A person’s paradigm is how they see the world based on all the information that they have gathered and the beliefs that they possess. If the universe is analogized to a computer processor, a paradigm is like the operating system.Jan 2, 2017

geniustypes.com โ€บ principles โ€บ para…

Paradigms โ€“ Genius Types โˆš possibly this may give you a grasp โœŠon the meaning of the Mystic Poetry and cryptic verse.

“APPROXIMATE.” a poem November 3, 2019 (Sunday)

AROUND HERE I think everything’s pretty much approximately presented,

Average and/or Extraordinary;

Ordinary and Circumvented.

Now, Approximate DOESN’T MEAN: Imperfect or NOT exact,

It’s just about THIS or THAT; it’s sort of “cracked,”

Which is, as Leonard Cohen says: “HOW THE LIGHT GETS IN.”

“Cracked” or “Lopsided” is HUMAN; you can call it “sin,”orTheWayThingsAre,

Which DOESN’T MEAN we CAN’T be a “star,”

And go aboutTheSpeedofLight.

Q: IS “APPROXIMATE” ALL RIGHT?

A: YES, IF YOU accept it as OK

A: NO, IF you want things some other way.

But THE LATEST PARADIGM still has one more step to go.

Moral: “The OLD PARADIGM, like the NEW (paradigm) is APPROXIMATE,

Don’tCha know?”

fin

All these Catalogues of the Poetry by The Mystic Poet have selected
Music included by Mystic. The lyrics are the woven threads of sound
To bring the meanings of the acronym, abbreviation,
into the words.
J. Jay Samuel Davis wears many caps of colour including
Musician
Artist
Graphics Artist
Poet Laureate
A Scholar and a Teacher
Humanitarian
Activist for Human Rights
Around and around the mulberry bush
Who knows when it will end
๐Ÿ˜…๐Ÿคฃ๐Ÿ˜‚

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Letter to my Husband

As a perfume doth remain
In the folds where it hath lain,
So the thought of you, remaining
Deeply folded in my brain,
Will not leave me; all things leave me –
You remain.

Other thoughts may come and go,
Other moments I may know
That shall waft me, in their going,
As a breath blown to and fro,
Fragrant memories; fragrant memories
Come and go.

Only thoughts of you remain
In my heart where they have lain,
Perfumed thoughts of you, remaining,
A hid sweetness, in my brain.
Others leave me; all things leave me –
You remain.

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Letter to my Husband

As a perfume doth remain In the folds where it hath lain, So the thought of you, remaining Deeply folded in my brain, Will not leave me; all things leave me –You remain. Other thoughts may come and go, Other moments I may know That shall waft me, in their going, As a breath blown […]

Famous Poets

That day a fire was in my blood; I could have sung: joy wrapt me round; The men I met seemed all so good, I scarcely knew I trod the ground. How easy seemed all toil! I laughed To think that once I hated it. The sunlight thrilled like wine, I quaffed Delight, divine and […]

Sorry about this post –

๐ŸคฃThree Old Guys sitting around having a chatโ€ฆ. “Sixty is the worst age to be,” said the 60-year-old man. “You always feel like you have to pee and most of the time you stand there and nothing comes out.” “Ah, that’s nothing,” said the 70-year-old. “When you’re seventy, you don’t have a bowel movement any […]

Famous Poets

That day a fire was in my blood;
I could have sung: joy wrapt me round;
The men I met seemed all so good,
I scarcely knew I trod the ground.

How easy seemed all toil! I laughed
To think that once I hated it.
The sunlight thrilled like wine, I quaffed
Delight, divine and infinite.

The very day was not too long;
I felt so patient; I could wait,
Being certain. So, the hours in song
Chimed out the minutes of my fate.

For she was coming, she, at last,
I knew: I knew that bolts and bars
Could stay her not; my heart throbbed fast,
I was not more certain of the stars.

The twilight came, grew deeper; now
The hour struck, minutes passed, and still
The passionate fervour of her vow
Ran in my heart’s ear audible.

I had no doubt at all: I knew
That she would come, and I was then
Most certain, while the minutes flew:
Ah, how I scorned all other men!

Next moment! Ah! it was–was not!
I heard the stillness of the street.
Night came. The stars had not forgot.
The moonlight fell about my feet.

So I rebuked my heart, and said:
“Be still, for she is coming, see,
Next moment–coming. Ah, her tread,
I hear her coming–it is she!”

And then a woman passed. The hour
Rang heavily along the air.
I had no hope, I had no power
To think–for thought was but despair.

A thing had happened. What? My brain
Dared not so much as guess the thing.
And yet the sun would rise again
Next morning! I stood marvelling.

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Sorry about this post –

๐ŸคฃThree Old Guys sitting around having a chatโ€ฆ.
“Sixty is the worst age to be,” said the 60-year-old man. “You always
feel like you have to pee and most of the time you stand there and
nothing comes out.”
“Ah, that’s nothing,” said the 70-year-old. “When you’re seventy, you
don’t have a bowel movement any more. You take laxatives, eat bran,
sit on the toilet all day and nothing comes out!”
“Actually,” said the 80-year-old, “Eighty is the worst age of all.”
“Do you have trouble peeing, too?” asked the 60-year old.
“No, I pee every morning at 6:00. I pee like a racehorse on a flat
rock; no problem at all.”
“So, do you have a problem with your bowel movement?”
“No, I have one every morning at 6:30 sharp”
Exasperated, the 60-year-old said, “You pee every morning at 6:00 and
crap every morning at 6:30. So what’s so bad about being 80?
“I don’t usually wake up until 7:00.”

At 80 years old I remembered this ๐Ÿ˜‚

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Historical POI – Central Victoria ยป POI Australia

A Timeline outlining the primary & significant Events that shaped the colonisation & development of the Central region of VIC to the early 20th Century…
โ€” Read on poi-australia.com.au/chronicles-of-aus/victoria/historical-poi-central-victoria/

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