What Makes An Artist

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by Edgar Guest

We got to talking art one day,
discussing in a general way
how some can match with brush and paint
the glory of a tree,
and some in stone can catch the things
of which the dreaming poet sings,
while others seems to have no way
to tell the joys they see.

Old Blake had sat in silence there
and let each one of us declare
our notions of what’s known as art,
until he’d heard us through.
And then said he: “It seems to me
that any man whoe’er he be,
becomes an artist by the good
he daily tries to do.

He need not write the books men read
to be an artist. No, indeed!
He need not work with paint and brush
to show his love of art;
who does a kindly deed today
and helps another on his way
has painted beauty on a face
and played the poet’s part.

Though some of us cannot express
our inmost thoughts of loveliness,
we prove we love the beautiful
by how we act and live.
The poet singing of a tree
no greater poet is than he
who finds it in his heart some care
unto a tree to give.

Though he who works in marble-stone
the name of artist here may own,
no less an artist is the man
who guards his children well.
‘Tis art to love the fine and true;
by what we are and what we do
how much we love life’s nobler things
to all the world we tell.”

From his book, Collected Verse of Edgar A Guest
© 1934 by The Reilly & Lee Company

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Hugs

by Jill Wolf

There’s something in a simple hug
that always warms the heart;
it welcomes us back home
and makes it easier to part.

A hug’s a way to share the joy
and sad times we go through,
or just a way for friends to say
they like you ‘cause you’re you.

Hugs are meant for everyone
for whom we really care,
from your grandma to your neighbour,
or a cuddly teddy bear.

A hug is an amazing thing;
it’s just the perfect way.
To show the love we’re feeling
but can’t find the words to say.

It’s funny how a little hug
makes everyone feel good;
in every place and language
it’s always understood.

And hugs don’t need equipment,
special batteries or parts —
just open up your arms
and open up your heart.

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The Sorrow Tugs

by Edgar Guest

There’s a lot of joy in the smiling world;
there’s plenty of morning sun
and laughter and songs and dances, too,
whenever the day’s work’s done;
full many an hour is a shining one,
when viewed by itself apart,
but the golden threads in the warp of life
are the sorrow tugs at your heart

Oh, the fun is froth and it blows away,
and many a joy’s forgot,
and the pleasures come and the pleasures go,
and memory holds them not;
but treasured ever you keep the pain
that causes your tears to start,
for the sweetest hours are the ones that bring
the sorrow tugs at your heart.

The lump in you throat and the little sigh
when your baby trudged away
the very first time to the big red school–
how long will their memory stay?
The fever days and the long black nights
you watched as she, troubled, slept
and the joy you felt when she smiled once more–
how long will that all be kept?

The glad hours live in a feeble way,
but the sad ones never die.
His first long trousers caused a pang
and you saw them with a sigh.
And the big still house when the boy and girl,
unto youth and beauty grown,
to college went; will you e’er forget
that first grim hour alone?

It seems as you look back over things,
that all that you treasure dear
is somehow blent in a wondrous way
with a heart pang and a tear.
Though many a day is a joyous one
when viewed by itself apart,
the golden threads in the warp of life
are the sorrow tugs at your heart.

From his book A Heap O’ Livin’
© 1916 by the Reilly & Britton Co.

Memory

by Edgar Guest

And if I shall remember
the tulips of the spring,
the Christmas each December
the songs the children sing,
their bits of merry laughter
which meant so much to me,
that’s all in that hereafter
I’ll keep in memory.

I do not ask to go there
with boastful tales to tell;
I’d like to have them know there
this life I’ve loved so well.
I would recall a few things
my eyes rejoiced to see,
the tender and the true things
which brightened life for me.

And shall I wake from sleeping
to face eternity
but these I would be keeping
of earthly memory;
but these I would remember:
the songs the children sing
the Christmas each December,
the tulips in the spring.

From the Collected Verse of Edgar A. Guest
© 1934 by the Reilly & Lee Company

Just A Little Word

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Just a little word of kindness,
just a little word of love,
just a little smile of tenderness,
all are blessings from above.

Just a little thought of comfort,
just a token that you care,
just a little gesture of sympathy,
may be answer to a prayer.

Just a little smile of happiness,
just a little song of peace,
just a word of praise at eventide,
will give the soul release.

For the little bit of kindness
and the little bit of care,
the little bit of tenderness,
are the essence of a prayer.

—Author unknown to me

Book Review: Tangled in Time

TANGLED IN TIME

Miss Main Street Book 1
By Angela Castillo

Although the book description hints at a mystery, I found no suspense and not much tension anywhere in the story. The pace is day-by-day leisurely with lots of setting details. Romance isn’t the main focus of the book, either. I see this more as chick-lit or general fiction with a romantic interest and elements of Christian fiction.

The main character, Darcy, has inherited her grandmother’s antique store in Wimber, Texas, and is determined to make it a viable business. There first few chapters are full of description, as recalls past summer holidays here, settles into her new property and prepares for opening day. Thoughts about God, his plan, a scripture verse and/or prayer are mentioned now and then.

Mention is also made occasionally of her grandmother’s secret closet and Darcy’s determined to open it and discover the contents; I guess this is the mystery angle. Another is the annoying town merchant who causes trouble and worry to the new owner. But why? Plus Darcy has the general stress of getting her store up and running and dealing with past and present love interests.

I think she comes across as wimpy when she’s avoids breaking up with her LA boyfriend. She thinks “It’s over” and he should realize it, yet she doesn’t voice her thoughts, dodges the unpleasant good-bye, ignores his calls, then sends him a “break-up text.” When he shows up wanting to know what gives, she thinks he’s self-absorbed and rude — labels that could apply to her behavior as well at this point. However, all we learn about the men in the story is through her feelings about them. This is what makes me think chick-lit: events are told only through her eyes; no other perspectives are given.

The book is well written and edited; I found only three minor typos. As a bonus, this book brings to light some interesting Texas history. The story flows along smoothly, if rather slowly — which suits the small-town feel — and the conclusion is satisfying. It’s light, clean reading for those who don’t want a lot of drama, terror, or sexual details.

I was given a free copy of this book from the Story Cartel in exchange for an honest review.