The Sounds of Racy Point

By Jenny Gale

This book details times and places treasured with people the Poet loved, as well as Spirituality existing and absorbed in the Poets writings. Some lessons learned are herewith portrayed and passed on via this volume of her Poetry. Longevity and experience affords the Poet credibility in her assessments of Life over her 80 plus years as well as her Spirituality which occurs spontaneously in many of her verses in The Sounds of Racy Point.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Nov 5, 2010
• ISBN: 9781453593868

Jenny Gale

AUTHOR’S COVER BIOGRAPHY POET’S PANACEA Jenny Gale, Poet Golden Poet Awards 1987, 1988, 1989, World of Poetry Poet of the Year, 1989, American Poetry Association Nominations: 2002 Who’s Who In America, “level of accomplishment truly noteworthy!” 2003 Who’s Who In American Women, “a signal mark of achievement!” 2005 International Who’s Who In Poetry, “International Author with attendant Honor!” 2006 Poet of the Year, International Society of Poets, “Outstanding Achievement!” 2007 Poet of the Year, International Society of Poets, “Poet of Merit!” 2008 Published “POET’S PALETTE”, Xlibris Corporation, Copyright 2008 .

Book preview

A GOOD WAY TO START THE DAY

It is good to start the new day

With a quiet moment, recite

A prayer in the mind to stay

That will no disarray invite.

Prayer to Eternal Father         (1.)

A Novena to Sacred Heart,    (2.*)

Salutation to His Mother;      (3.)

Earth no longer seems torn apart.

We satisfy palate’s pleasure,

The melon cool and pink and sweet,

Taken slowly in good measure

Gently leading beings to eat.

1. The Morning Prayer, Eternal Father, who has safely brought us to the beginning of a new day, Defend us this day by Thy Power so that our every thought, word and deed may proceed from and be directed according to Thy will.

2. Novena to the Sacred Heart of Jesus.*

3. St. John Bosco: We find ourselves on earth as in a tempestuous sea, a desert and a vale of Tears, But, Mary is the Star of the Sea, The Solace of our desert, and The Light that Guides Us to Heaven.

* Sacred Heart of Jesus, I have asked you for many favors, but I plead for this one. Take it, (Your intention), place it in Your Open Broken Heart, and when The Eternal Father sees It covered with the mantle of Your Most Precious Blood, He cannot refuse it, for then, it Is your prayer, not mine!

Oh, Sacred Heart of Jesus,

I place my trust in You!

Oh, Sacred Heart of Jesus,

I place my trust in You!

Oh, Sacred heart of Jesus,

I place my trust in You!

Having His Power of defense,

Confident His favor we please;

We strive for daily recompense,

More able now, proceed with ease.

A SONNET TO THE SULPHURS, THEIR REQUIEM

The quiet morning streaming in from the east

From where we will have Most Holy visitor.

Meditation after breakfast’s welcome feast;

All round blessings flow with no inhibitor.

Raisin toast lightly brown, spread golden butter

After the walk with most obedient dogs

That are enthralled to chase sulphurs that flutter

Round my place, capture in one day from the bogs

The only food in the air allowed their flight.

One lone day* of life which proves all their beauty

Worthless but to attract, procreate, their right

Of passage cocoon to tomb, Nature’s duty.

How fortunate I, with so much time to offer up,

Not just to sit and sup but extra time with my cup;

Complete silence, supreme elixir of life and peace

On earth, interim before their life* on earth will cease.

WHY?

Why do Poets write?

When one awakes from a long night

With a head full of restless words,

A Poet writes, the heart full and light,

Hears birds sing when no singing birds;

Sees the rising sun scallop trees

At Racy Point where native deer,

Wild turkey come for grain, then flees

Sight of Poet, overseer.

Why do Poets write?

Because she knows the flock will fly

In again over tall east fence;

She may even ask herself, Why?,

Soon to take pen in hand and thence

To wander into writers’ realm

Entranced by the tranquility

Felt which at times may overwhelm,

Journeys far from civility.

Why do Poets write?

Into world totally her own

She peacefully integrates self

And writes in places never gone,

Great words as if angelic elf

Guides the point of pervasive pen

In distant lands of long ago

Romance or land of make believe;

If you try it you will then know

And can answer as you conceive,

Why do Poets write?

KINDNESS OF IT ALL

The mimosa canopied the roof

And the Rose of Sharon in front

Of this old wooden house bore

Blossoms so big and lavender

They weighted the bush to ground;

The small bird from Costa Rico

Engorged itself in the fragrance

Of the Mexican petunia purple

So generous with its buds and pollen,

And Queen Elizabeth rose blooms swollen.

Seven wild turkeys, plump for season

Holding court on the back yard lawn

Thickly carpeted after summer’s long rains

With Elephant Grass that is so natural

It too blooms a finger nail blossom

Lightly blue and speckled with white

Like the far spring’s blue bird’s egg;

Squirrel cavorts across the tall roof

Of my double story home accustomed to

The natural quiet, half eaten hickory nuts fall.

Like rockets they resound down the hall

And onto my pillow which sleep, forced

By aspirin at four in the morning seems

So necessary and is coveted by this Poet.

Many lines in mind as Poet arises,

The strong morning cup to measure, brew

Til its welcoming permeates the abode,

Erases the interrupted sleep and plans

Are made how to spend rest of the day,

Write about friends, romance, the kindness of it all!

I BELIEVE IN DREAMS

Was a man who had a dream,

Now they say, It has come true!

Last night I, too, had a dream;

I’ll tell it right now to you!

There was heard a distant voice,

How, Jenny, do you rate you?

Slight delay, A, my choice!

The Voice—That I cannot do!

Unless Genius decreed!

O.K., A minus I say!

Answered this Poet with speed,

Hearing silence, the delay.

Note I did not say A plus,

In my dream given credit;

Would not even grant me A,

Though for A Minus no debit.

You see,