Gain Mastery
When in a crush of many misled men
Our World shutters of horrible deeds,
A counter is born of all strong women
Who bear our children, sow new seeds :
Then, fresh generations gain the wheel,
Trim the sails, set the compass to steer
A vessel toward clear waters. They feel
Gaining mastery is not something to fear :
And then, we of lesser state find comfort
In understanding life on Earth gains merit
From vitality pent up in genes of the sort
Wishing for a more perfect union to inherit.
Be this the dreams to set aside our misery
Of discontent, to discard woes, gain mastery.
Ronald C. Downie
Thursday, October 20, 2011
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
The Art Of Listening
The Art Of Listening
When we lean on the cluttered din of this day
Few sounds can escape chatter and its wake.
Sharp piercing sounds seem loud, so far away,
The rest, cloud like, low muffled sounds to make :
Then in conversation which guides this very day,
From clouds back to Earth, beckons our own reply.
Uptempo, finding why's and wherefores, we may
State truths and falsehoods out loud to the sky :
And then, do we really wait for an answer returned
Or, have we retreated back into the heavens cloudy
Not hearing the din nor if the responder's concerned,
Which has bearing on living silently or quite loudly ?
Lost is the "Art Of Listening" basic to Earth as sod,
But, grown so close, are we just as "Pees In A Pod"?
Ronald C. Downie
When we lean on the cluttered din of this day
Few sounds can escape chatter and its wake.
Sharp piercing sounds seem loud, so far away,
The rest, cloud like, low muffled sounds to make :
Then in conversation which guides this very day,
From clouds back to Earth, beckons our own reply.
Uptempo, finding why's and wherefores, we may
State truths and falsehoods out loud to the sky :
And then, do we really wait for an answer returned
Or, have we retreated back into the heavens cloudy
Not hearing the din nor if the responder's concerned,
Which has bearing on living silently or quite loudly ?
Lost is the "Art Of Listening" basic to Earth as sod,
But, grown so close, are we just as "Pees In A Pod"?
Ronald C. Downie
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
Pottstown, A College Town
Pottstown, A College Town
Do you wish to dramatically raise the image of Pottstown without a cost and with very little
effort ?
Try this as my title suggests. Whenever possible, when you write Pottstown, tag on the phrase - A College Town - as a modifier either before or after you write the name Pottstown.
A College Town, Pottstown, will soon become normal dialog for our residents and the positive image etched on the minds of visitors will soon perk their interests.
I've never seen a college town I didn't enjoy. Energy and vitality found wrapped in a culturally artistic environment properly defines those college towns I've visited. This too could be said of Pottstown now and even more as the Montgomery County Community College expands to serve a greater student body.
Why not give it a try ? Positive change need not always come from some grand design but change can rise up in the minds of people and, "as a picture is worth a thousand words", it has always been a thought that has changed the World.
Ronald C. Downie
Do you wish to dramatically raise the image of Pottstown without a cost and with very little
effort ?
Try this as my title suggests. Whenever possible, when you write Pottstown, tag on the phrase - A College Town - as a modifier either before or after you write the name Pottstown.
A College Town, Pottstown, will soon become normal dialog for our residents and the positive image etched on the minds of visitors will soon perk their interests.
I've never seen a college town I didn't enjoy. Energy and vitality found wrapped in a culturally artistic environment properly defines those college towns I've visited. This too could be said of Pottstown now and even more as the Montgomery County Community College expands to serve a greater student body.
Why not give it a try ? Positive change need not always come from some grand design but change can rise up in the minds of people and, "as a picture is worth a thousand words", it has always been a thought that has changed the World.
Ronald C. Downie
Sunday, October 16, 2011
Haiku 54
Haiku 54
What would Jesus do ?
Side with the one percentile ?
What side would you choose ?
Taxes is the blood
That feeds a nation's heart beat -
Strength in Country's health.
Footsteps loudly heard,
Language of the down trodden -
People power march.
Money clogs ears shut,
As rich feed from silver plates -
Gambles public's purse.
Wake legislators,
Vote them out and send them home -
"Get Money Out" ! Speak Up !
Power to people,
Like Army Ants on the march -
Wall Street stole enough.
Ronald C. Downie
What would Jesus do ?
Side with the one percentile ?
What side would you choose ?
Taxes is the blood
That feeds a nation's heart beat -
Strength in Country's health.
Footsteps loudly heard,
Language of the down trodden -
People power march.
Money clogs ears shut,
As rich feed from silver plates -
Gambles public's purse.
Wake legislators,
Vote them out and send them home -
"Get Money Out" ! Speak Up !
Power to people,
Like Army Ants on the march -
Wall Street stole enough.
Ronald C. Downie
Saturday, October 15, 2011
A Universe Within
A Universe Within
Entombed within our mental mass universes
Await life. Sadly their sad stillbirth curses
Man to forego quantum leaps. Each generation
Slowly acquires knowledge in rapt anticipation.
Are we moulded in his image by a God, personal ?
Centuries are strewn of carnage from temporal
Piety, which fouled holy battlefields, claimed Devine
Right, demonstrating the horrid worst in mankind .
Awash in perpetual prayer pious true believers,
Self proclaimed, shroud wrapped, these soul receivers
Expect almighty benediction. Man's evolved creation
To ultimate extinction our lot. Demand salvation
During our lifetime by launching heart based
Missiles into the brain unhindered, not interfaced
With two thousand years awaiting Heaven or Hell.
Within you is a wonderful Universe - treat it well .
Ronald C. Downie
Entombed within our mental mass universes
Await life. Sadly their sad stillbirth curses
Man to forego quantum leaps. Each generation
Slowly acquires knowledge in rapt anticipation.
Are we moulded in his image by a God, personal ?
Centuries are strewn of carnage from temporal
Piety, which fouled holy battlefields, claimed Devine
Right, demonstrating the horrid worst in mankind .
Awash in perpetual prayer pious true believers,
Self proclaimed, shroud wrapped, these soul receivers
Expect almighty benediction. Man's evolved creation
To ultimate extinction our lot. Demand salvation
During our lifetime by launching heart based
Missiles into the brain unhindered, not interfaced
With two thousand years awaiting Heaven or Hell.
Within you is a wonderful Universe - treat it well .
Ronald C. Downie
Friday, October 14, 2011
Dorothy Arlene Kulp
Dorothy Arlene Kulp
A pretty young lady born of Chicken Hill
Found her young man, John. What a thrill !
The Second World War ruled those days,
The Whole Earth in disarray in many ways.
Their four boys came one after, one another :
Randy, Jeff, Tim, and Gregory. Each brother,
An individual, seeking their very own identity.
Men of years now, with stories spun a plenty.
Grandma Hall, Florence, was fond to say about
Dorothy, never having any bad words to spout
In conversations when she talked about anyone.
Dot did not know how to speak ill, even in fun.
The second of nine girls, plus a boy, born a Hall;
Dorothy knew child care early, was always on call.
Her older sister died in adolescence leaving Dot
Always the oldest, the tallest in a camera shot.
She, the widow of a navy man, a Pacific Veteran
Who experienced the most horrible acts of man.
John and Dorothy traveled the fine crafts scene,
He, known fondly as The Ring Man, Dot his queen.
A visit to a covered bridge was one of their missions
Drawn out of craftsmanship and true artistic visions.
Dorothy loved finishing puzzles and playing at cards;
Enjoyed her Chester County home's flowering yards.
Now her passing, the matriarch of a family is gone,
Leaving behind her boys and their's, reaching long
Back into the strengths of the Kulp's and the Hall's
To continue their own paths, build their own walls.
In fond memory of Dorothy Arlene Hall Kulp .
From :
Sister Connie and Ron Downie
A pretty young lady born of Chicken Hill
Found her young man, John. What a thrill !
The Second World War ruled those days,
The Whole Earth in disarray in many ways.
Their four boys came one after, one another :
Randy, Jeff, Tim, and Gregory. Each brother,
An individual, seeking their very own identity.
Men of years now, with stories spun a plenty.
Grandma Hall, Florence, was fond to say about
Dorothy, never having any bad words to spout
In conversations when she talked about anyone.
Dot did not know how to speak ill, even in fun.
The second of nine girls, plus a boy, born a Hall;
Dorothy knew child care early, was always on call.
Her older sister died in adolescence leaving Dot
Always the oldest, the tallest in a camera shot.
She, the widow of a navy man, a Pacific Veteran
Who experienced the most horrible acts of man.
John and Dorothy traveled the fine crafts scene,
He, known fondly as The Ring Man, Dot his queen.
A visit to a covered bridge was one of their missions
Drawn out of craftsmanship and true artistic visions.
Dorothy loved finishing puzzles and playing at cards;
Enjoyed her Chester County home's flowering yards.
Now her passing, the matriarch of a family is gone,
Leaving behind her boys and their's, reaching long
Back into the strengths of the Kulp's and the Hall's
To continue their own paths, build their own walls.
In fond memory of Dorothy Arlene Hall Kulp .
From :
Sister Connie and Ron Downie
Thursday, October 13, 2011
To See Vast Waters And Grasses
To See Vast Waters And Grasses
To see vast oceans pillow a red balled western
Sun at close of dying day, hearts our thoughts.
Ship anchorages dot our jagged shores while seas
Are pleasured by watered life old as age itself.
Great green seas, endless to the human eye, watch
Waves of high tasseled grasses strong wind blown
Gathering in antiquity's rhythms of Earth's songs.
Feared of fire, though necessary, life force cycles.
We close each day a little wiser, dumber ?
How do we unravel the crimes of ignorance ?
Is death final or only a prelude of really living ?
Do questions come too easy, answers not easy ?
Never standing still time steps to a silent drummer,
Wearing down muscle and sinew, thought and will,
As a grind stone mashes kernels into eatable flour
To sustain life which lasts until it ultimately ceases.
Ronald C. Downie
To see vast oceans pillow a red balled western
Sun at close of dying day, hearts our thoughts.
Ship anchorages dot our jagged shores while seas
Are pleasured by watered life old as age itself.
Great green seas, endless to the human eye, watch
Waves of high tasseled grasses strong wind blown
Gathering in antiquity's rhythms of Earth's songs.
Feared of fire, though necessary, life force cycles.
We close each day a little wiser, dumber ?
How do we unravel the crimes of ignorance ?
Is death final or only a prelude of really living ?
Do questions come too easy, answers not easy ?
Never standing still time steps to a silent drummer,
Wearing down muscle and sinew, thought and will,
As a grind stone mashes kernels into eatable flour
To sustain life which lasts until it ultimately ceases.
Ronald C. Downie
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