1645
   TO MR. Cyriack SKINNER
      UPON HIS BLINDNESS
        by John Milton

 Cyriack, this three years day these eys, though clear
   To outward view, of blemish or of spot;
   Bereft of light thir seeing have forgot,
   Nor to thir idle orbs doth sight appear
 Of Sun or Moon or Starre throughout the year,
   Or man or woman.  Yet I argue not
   Against heavns hand or will, nor bate a jot
   Of heart or hope; but still bear vp and steer
 Right onward.  What supports me, dost thou ask?
   The conscience, Friend, to have lost them overply'd
   In libertyes defence, my noble task,
 Of which all Europe talks from side to side.
   This thought might lead me through the world's vain mask
   Content though blind, had I no better guide.
                          THE END

Not to be outshone, others in our vast family have felt the poetic urge at times.

At seventy Jimmy is ever berserk On making his brand of Medicine work, while Patsy refurbishes tumbledown cottages Between plying old James with puddings and pottages. George has retired.  Camilla's in Florence. Young Oliver, viewing his job with abhorrence Is studying law as fast as he can. Peter has Plighted his troth with Monan. Not withstanding we wish you a Happy New Year And Christmastide greetings we Merrily share. James & Patsy C. Christmas 1974

WON'T BE LONG This house is so empty, My daughter left me, My son is in Service And our Christmas tree. Is very lonesome, We are all you see. It just isn't Christmas, We all got the blues, What we're all waiting for Is homecoming news. So we wait and we pray Til the snow goes away, The flowers are blooming, It's a warm summer day. We lay in the sun, All our cares gone away. My Big Boy with wings will be With Mother, Chris, Kath and Renee. Lester Pete C, Christmas 1972

Now that I am old, my slippers are black.
I walk to the store and puff my way back.
The reason I know that my youth is all spent,
My Get-up-and-Go has Got-up-and-went.

But I really don't mind when I think with a grin
Of all the grand places my Get-up has been.
And since I've retired from life's competition,
I busy myself with complete repetition.

I get up in the morning, dust off my wits,
Pick up my paper, and read the "Obits."
If my name is missing, I know I'm not dead,
So I eat a good breakfast and go back to bed.

But - we are thankful for our aches
   and our slowing pace.
We do not care to disco dance or run a race.
We are thankful for the wrinkles that
   multiply and shine,
For if we were not getting old,
   we might not be alive.

    Ann C., December 12, 1979

Here's one from my niece, Becky, who wrote this ballad as an English class assignment about two weeks after her mother died.  It was published by her fellow students of Neenah High School on March 5, 1993. Ballad of the Unborn Child by Becky Ciriacks In a drunken excursion his life was begun Between two young people thinking only of fun. Right then his existence was entirely unknown, A possible dilemma no fault of his own. Fourteen days after this new life's conception, To his mother, he had now made a connection. This assurance of a life full of potential Made his presence in the womb seem existential. By the fourth week his body held a beating heart And a nervous system which must have its start, Since someday he might be able to see and feel The world which was becoming increasingly real. It was about this time that his mother found out. The effects of her folly she saw with no doubt. Again she was confronted with another choice, In which her unborn baby again had no voice. Her parents, she was sure, must never discover That at this young age, she had become a mother. Certainly her friends wouldn't think of her the same, And her boyfriend, of course, had to protect his name. A panic arose from this stress-induced trauma, Preventing her view of the whole panorama. The conclusion to this problem was quickly made, In hopes that its memory would forever fade. Her baby was dismembered and with forceps extracted. In such a cruel way that most wouldn't have reacted. In the same way they do to the "pro-choice" campaign, Whose philosophy offers convenience and fame. Yes, she made the decision to kill "Baby X." But couldn't she have chosen against promiscuous sex? For herewithin lies the one choice of procreation, Not in pretending to be the God of Damnation. The liberty of choice is a basic human right, But before basic liberty, one first must have life. Our free will to choose can never be banished, But this freedom to kill must instantly vanish!

    And then there's this offering from my oldest nephew.  It sprang from his creative need to record the experience
of having helped drive the last of his dad's employee discount purchased cars across country in December 1980.

BOOTLEG CADILLAC As Milwaukee slept one cold Sunday morn Three wise men did ready, From their beds they were torn. The wind was icy as they left their humble shack and headed out west in their bootleg Cadillac Bootleg Cadillac is cruisin' tonight It's lights are shining and it's spokes are bright The west coast is callin' thru its sun & surf Drawing it toward that 'fornia turf The treacherous driving would've cracked a normal man But these brave travelers had it well in hand They guided the Caddy 'til the weather cleared up While Nades slept in back, peaceful as a pup Now our stomachs were growlin' and the diesel gettin' low So we stopped over in Wichita, 10-4 don't you know A guiding star led us to a Big Cheese dive Where we were lucky to leave and still be alive Bootleg Cadillac is cruisin' tonight It's lights are shining and it's spokes are bright The west coast is callin' thru its sun & surf Drawing it toward that 'fornia turf Oh give me a home where the buffalo roam And the deer and the antelope play Where seldom is heard a discouraging word 'Cause what can a buffalo say Albuquerque welcomed us with sunny skies As Uncle Ben greeted our bloodshot eyes We should have hit the sack and called it a day But instead we decided to go out and play The thrill at the museum was a trifle bit weak But it was more than made up for at Sandia Peak The sight from ten thousand was one rarely met As our eyes beheld the brilliant sunset

Bootleg Cadillac is cruisin' tonight It's lights are shining and it's spokes are bright The west coast is callin' thru its sun & surf Drawing it toward that 'fornia turf We met up with sparrows at the Arby's in town They ate up the food that we threw on the ground The roast beef and poopies were a pretty good deal Too bad for one sparrow; it was it's last meal. The Caddy window was a pain in the neck It made us wonder why we came out in this wreck But Ben's Mickeys & pizza sure were fine And it really turned out to be an ass-kickin' time We hit the desert and the Indian lands The cactus, the hills, and the burning sands We rolled into Vegas and it sure was nifty The way Pat left the Stardust with a hundred and fifty Bootleg Cadillac is cruisin' tonight It's lights are shining and it's spokes are bright The west coast is callin' thru its sun & surf Drawing it toward that 'fornia turf Our last stop was Calico which was one of the best It was a silver mining ghost town which brought back the old west This rustic town setting left us with little doubt That sooner or later John Wayne would step out The trail has ended on this journey we've sought And we'd like to offer this parting thought Christmas without snow is not such bad luck 'Cause California girls really know how to .... have fun Bootleg Cadillac is cruisin' tonight It's lights are shining and it's spokes are bright The west coast is callin' thru its sun & surf Drawing it toward that 'fornia turf

ELENE - Verse Indeterminate Saxon

 1055
 in Ierusalem               Iudas þam folce
 to bisceope                burgum on innan,
 þurh gastes gife           to godes temple
 cræftum gecorene,          ond hine Cyriacus
 þurh snyttro geþeaht       syððan nemde
 1065
 fet þurhwodon              ond his folme swa some,
 mid þam on rode wæs        rodera wealdend
 gefæstnod, frea mihtig.    Be ðam frignan ongan
 cristenra cwen,            Cyriacus bæd
 þæt hire þa gina           gastes mihtum
 1095
 Glædmod eode               gumena þreate
 god hergendra,             ond þa geornlice
 Cyriacus                on Caluariæ
 hleor onhylde,             hygerune ne mað,
 gastes mihtum              to gode cleopode
 1210
 cristenum þeawum,          þe him Cyriacus
 bude, boca gleaw.          Wæs se bissceophad
 fægere befæsted.           Oft him feorran to
 laman, limseoce,           lefe cwomon,
 healte, heorudreorige,     hreofe ond blinde,     . . .

Cyriac & Eustace - The Vital Science: CHAPTER 5: If some fancier with the catholicity of Shakespeare would take us in hand, well and good; but I would not trust even Shakespeares, meeting as a committee.  Let us remember that Beethoven's father was an habitual drunkard and that his mother died of consumption. WILLIAM BATESON (1914) . . . Every victory of rationality in the community paves the way to the time when it will react against weakness and disease in the newborn as instinctively as a sow devours her runt.  Cyriac the old hierarch, of more thoughtful temper, confesses to there being 'a great deal of the old Adam lingering wrongfully in me yet' (p. 168) - he knows he will never consent without inner conflict to the extinction of unhappy and imperfect lives.  Between Eustace and Cyriac, and to a lesser degree between the earnest Clarence and Olive with her stirrings of idolatrous love, Allen builds up the same tensions which he also projects on to the world beyond the phalanstery . . . Quotes from The Book of the New Sun by Gene Wolfe - The Shadow of the Torturer . . .  Cyriaca took her cup eagerly, and draining it cast it ringing into a corner.  "Tell me more," I said to her, "of this story of the lost archives." . . . Cyriaca smiled.  "That's why I did it—I wanted to see if you were listening. . . . Urth Mail Archives: Volume 4 . Volume 5

The Singing Ronstadts web site references, La Ciriaca, an old love song of Sonora, Mexico.  It's in "CANCIONES DE MI PADRE", now out of print, which is discussed in the Ronstadt Archives of the University of Arizona. [ An Adobe Acrobat .PDF version (2Mb) is also available for download thereat.  My best guess interpretation is shown to the right. ]	Alas! Ci-ria-ca you do not understand all the sorrow you are causing me. You have stolen my peace of heart and mind. Stolen the calm that I've tried to find. Can't find.  Now, with all your fire - and hold - me - close Ci-ria-ca. Till my aching heart is healed. And we never more may part. Come.  We never more may part.

Noelle, of the Namibia, Africa Branch of the family
created this at the tender age of eight (8) months.

This very gifted composition of colors, shapes and
placement was created by 5 year old Hailley Jean Ciriacks.

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Website link/location/URL: http://www.Cyriac-FHP.com/cpx.htm