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Writings on this page:

Trimmings on The Rosary

The Sabbath

Nobody Knows But Mother

The Old Football Player Metaphor


POEMS AND SUCH ABOUT the ROSARY and  PRAYERS and Philosophical Truths




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If You have a favorite Poem focused on the Rosary or a Prayer or a Philosophical Truth and wish to share it with others you are invited to use the comments forum for submitting.



The following Poem is quoted from the popular book; Around the Boree Log and Other verses by: Patrick Joseph Hartigan (1878-1952), Priest and Poet, was born on 13 October 1878 at O'Connell Town, Yass, New South Wales, He was a Roman Catholic priest in the Goulburn diocese and later parish priest at Narrandera -- also rural towns in New South Wales. He published Around the Boree Log and Other verses, under the pseudonym 'John O'Brien', © November 1921.

'Ah, the memories that find me, now my hair is turning gray,

Drifting in like painted butterflies, from somewhere far away.


Flitting idly through my fancy, and the pictures fading fast,

Pass again in rose and purple, o'er the broad screen of the past,


There's the old selected 'dreaming 'neath the wistful, watchful stars,

And the breeze is telling stories, to the list'ning "coolabahs”;


And the old home, looking welcome from Its big, bright, friendly eyes,

with the "Sugar-loaf" behind it, blackened in against the skies;


There's the same dear, happy circle round the boxlog's cheery blaze,

With a little Irish mother, telling tales of other days,


While the fountain, keeps a-singing on the hook besooted o'er,

And the youngsters on their hand and knees, play "horses" round the floor.


She had one sweet little custom, that I never can forget,

And a gentle benediction, crowns her memory for it yet;


 I can see that little mother still, and hear her as she pleads: 

"Now it's getting on to bedtime; all you children get your beads.”


There were no steel-bound conventions, in that old selection free:

Only this — each night she lined us up, to say the Rosary;


E'en the traveler who, stayed the night, upon his journey knew,

He must join, the little circle, aye, and take his decade, too.


And I believe she darkly plotted, when a sinner hove in sight,

Who was known to say no prayer at all, to make him stay the night.


Then we'd softly, gather round her, and we'd speak in accents low,

As we prayed, as sainted Dominic prayed, so many years ago.


And the little Irish mother's face, was radiant, for she knew

Thar, where "two or three are gathered,” He is gathered with them, too


O’er the Paters and the Aves, how her reverent head would bend,

How she'd kiss the cross devoutly, when she’s counted to the end;


And the visitor would rise at once—and brush his knees, and then,

He'd look very, very foolish as he took the floor again;


For she'd other prayers to keep him, they were long, long prayers in truth,  

And we used to call them “trimmin’s, in my disrespectful youth,


She would pray for all our little needs, and every cloud of care,

That would darken o'er the "Sugar-loaf", she'd meet them with a prayer


She would pray for this one's“ sore complaint, "or that one's hurted hand,

Or that someone else, “might make a deal, or get that bit of land."


Yes and then again, to "make It rain," or else to "make it dry,"

And a help for Mary Jane McShane, "who's going to wed Matthi ;


And that, "dad might sell the cattle well” and seasons good, should rule,

So that little John, the clever boy, might go away to school


There were "trimmins" too, that came and went, but ne'er she closed without,

one for, Adding something special, none of you must know about,


Gentle was, that little mother, and her wit, would sparkle free,

But she'd ruin you, If you look about, when at the Rosary,


If, perchance you, couldn't find your beads, disaster waited you,

For the only one she'd pardon, was dad, (and jus) because she knew,


He was hopeless, and 'twas sinful, what excuses he'd invent,

So she let his, use his fingers, and he "cracked” them as he went.


Aye! And every "sore complaint” got right, and every “hurted hand,”

And, we “made a deal”, from time to time, and got that “bit of land,


And we never failed, to get the rain, and as the years went by,

we could see that Mary Jane McShane, was fit for our Matthi;


Yes and, Dad did "sell the cattle well," and little John, her pride,

It was he who said, the Mass In black, the morning that she died,


And her gentle spirit triumphed , for “twas this, beyond a doubt,

That, the “something very special" was, she kept so dark about,


But the years have crowded past us, and the fledglings, all have flown,
And the nest beneath, the “Sugar-loaf," no longer Is their own;

For a hand, has written finish, and the book, Is closed for good;
There is a, stately red-tiled mansion, where the old slab dwelling stood;


There the stranger, has her “evenings”, and the formal supper spread,

But I wonder, has she “trimmins”, now? Or is the Rosary said?


Ah, those little Irish mothers, passing from us, one by one,

Who will write, the noble story, of the good that they have done?


All their children may be scattered, and their fortune, windwards hurled,

But the “trimmin’s” on the Rosary, shall bless them round the world




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This next poem was found in a vintage Book by the name of (THE YOUTHS COMPANION) Published in 1891 apparently for the fraternity of the Masons ....and would have been an excerpt of the evening "entertainment" for young people traveling with their families across the plains, country school story time poems or the likes. Seemingly "Fraternal" or not The Poem has a deep message for all.....


A Sabbath well spent, brings a week of content,


and strength for the toils of tomorrow.


But a Sabbath profane, whatever the gain,


is a certain forerunner of sorrow. 







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Nobody knows of the work it takes, To keep a home together.

Nobody knows of the Steps it takes, Nobody knows---but mother

Nobody listens to the childish Woes, Which only kisses smother,

Nobody's pained by naughty blows, Nobody---only mother

Nobody know of sleepless care, Bestowed on baby brother,

Nobody knows the tender prayer,  Nobody---only mother.

Nobody know the lesson taught, Of loving one another.

Nobody knows of the patience sought, Nobody---only mother.

Nobody know of the anxious fears, lest darling may not weather,

The storms of life in after years, Nobody knows---but mother

Nobody kneels at the Throne Above, To thank the Heavenly Father,

For the sweetest Gift, a mother's love, Nobody can---but mother.





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as follows: ...

Me (or anyone else) showing up to the first day of a Football Spring Camp after having been chosen ahead of 1000s of other players .. and finally getting that big chance in life to be somebody   .... and the Coach informs me that, by wearing my soccer gear, my attire is not proper and I risk being cut from the team ..if I don't' immediately surrender my beloved Lucky Soccer Gear and conform to the wearing of the required helmet and pads.

And I just can't understand why he isn't willing to accept the fact that "I" have been playing soccer for many years with this same gear (and the games are very closely related) as well as that I have an inkling that my Lucky Soccer Gear is the only tools I need and that it will allow me the freedom of movement that the restrictions of the traditional helmet and pads take away.  It also seems to me that  it would be best, for the team, if other players would be allowed to make their own decisions as to what attire works best for them personally. This seems to me to be a very reasonable request .. as I like to think of myself as a team player .. and know in my heart that we all have the same goal of putting the ball into the end zone a greater number of times then the enemy team and gaining the reward of the trophy for the glory of our coach and TEAM.

So maybe what I should do is just, go ahead and, wear my gear ...get out there and show them all how much better someone can actually perform. And surely (even before halftime) the outcry of the fans will support my efforts and when the owners and the scouts see all of this (from their lofty perched, plush, glass covered boxed seats)  they will be forced to agree and  immediate change will take place in these archaic rules.

OR, maybe just maybe it would be best if I would take my request to the Assistant Coach. He is a reasonable man (and played a lot of soccer in his day) and in a position of authority to present my case to the Head Coach and the Owners at an appropriate meeting, at which time I am sure they will see the validity of a need for a change in the NFL rulings. And someday (maybe not  in my lifetime but someday) the rules will reflect this necessary freedom and the means of all footballs players to achieve their utmost.

Either way I guess the decision is mine, but my "retirement plan" sure would be a lot better off if I could figure in the rewards of a few years in the NFL....Hmmmmm what to do?


Footnote on this adage (metaphor): 

CONCEPT # 1):      Let us consider how impossible and absolutely ludicrous we truly consider the idea of anyone playing (a game) on earth and publicly embarrassing themselves and their coach and team (and in the case of the Olympics their Country) by making personal decisions that bypass set rules of any form, in any "game"-- be it football -- hockey -- baseball -- basketball -- tennis -- boxing -- name it.

Let us consider in our heart of hearts:  How important are those rules? To the game and to show respect to the efforts made by the decision makers of any of these games, over the last,  lets say 200 years ? (most of the games as we know them have matured, to a science, within that time period)

CONCEPT # 2):     Let us consider in our heart of hearts: The "rules" within the Church (generally accepted as the body of Christ) and the efforts made by the decision makers over the last 2000 years. How important are those rules to the salvation of Individual Souls of all nations?

Souls living under 1000s of different governmental -- ancestral -- and socially acceptable set rules.

Church rules, all of which have been designed to be true to The Teachings of The God That Became Man and by His Grace have been able to coincide with governmental and sociological rules, allowing each person of each country, (and century) the ability to live within their own society, and at the same time giving them the opportunity of  being loyal to their Faith Practice for the betterment of their personal eternal existence

Bottom line in the form of One Question:

Are Concept #1 and Concept #2 even in the same league ?   


This Prayer is from  Father John A. Hadrons' S . J .  writings,  Archives

(copyright 1996 Inter Mirifica) 

And an extremely fine beckoning, when in need for Heavenly Protection from satanic or demonic influence.

“Mary, Mother of God, obtain from your divine Son the grace we need to recognize the work of the evil spirit in human lives. We ask you to intercede for us that we may not be afraid of the devil who is so active in our day.”

“Mary, Queen of Angels, pray for us.”






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