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Author Archives: mybeautfulthings

About mybeautfulthings

Finding the beautiful in the everyday - I write about three things each day which please me in some way - people, food, art, nature, words, music and anything that makes me smile and which I hope will make you smile too.

Breakfast, Dinner and e e cummings

I made Blueberry Pancakes for breakfast.

We had candles at dinner of Duck a L’orange with kalettes.

This is a beautiful poem which we have both loved for more than 50 years. It was one of our shared moments soon after we met in the Autumn of 1966. We married less than 10 months later in August 1967 and I do know how lucky I am.

 

I carry your heart with me

I carry your heart with me (I carry it in
My heart) I am never without it (anywhere
I go you go, my dear; and whatever is done
By only me is your doing, my darling)

I fear
No fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) I want
No world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)
And it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant
And whatever a sun will always sing is you

Here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(Here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
And the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
Higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
And this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart

I carry your heart (I carry it in my heart)

e e cummings

I send love out to all my dear readers today.

 

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Anemones, Narcissi and Judy Blume

My Mum’s favourite flowers and the brass bowl, newly polished, that she always put them in.

The stall where we bought the anemones yesterday also had these Narcissi which have a wonderful scent.

When I was teaching teenagers, Judy Blume’s novels were absolute favourites. She broke all the rules. Her refreshingly honest children’s books were banned by hundreds of libraries and loved by generations of readers, who bought 85 million copies of classics like Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret and Superfudge. She spoke a lot of sense. and I love her work too. She was born on this day in 1938. Happy birthday to Judy and thanks for all the stories.

 
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Posted by on February 13, 2020 in flowers, Photography, Postaday2020

 

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Planter, Cathedral and Bee Box

The baskets and planters in Truro are looking lovely, very Spring-like.

I love the tiles and all the shapes on this bit of Truro Cathedral.

One of the Cathedral gardens is labelled ‘Wild Truro’ and in amongst the wild flowers was this bee-box. I hadn’t thought of putting pine cones in a bee-box.

 

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Eeyore, A Painting and A Barometer

We have spent the morning putting some of our art work back on the hall walls. We have gone for all paintings about Cornwall though the Pooh Bear mirror that we bought at least 50 years ago in Penzance, is back where it belongs. I was delighted to realise that we can see a beautiful painting of the sea by a local artist, in the mirror from the kitchen doorway!

You might just spot the Sailors’ Barometer to the left of the mirror. It has settled since Storm Ciara but we expect it to rise again as Storm Dennis arrives this weekend. Our poor garden!

 
 

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Tete a Tete and Rosemary in Bloom

Another wild day and hard to catch a photo in focus.

 
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Posted by on February 10, 2020 in garden, nature, Photography, Postaday2020

 

Simple Supper and A Poem

It has been a wild, stay indoors, kind of day all over the Uk today – a reading day, a resting day and so a very simple supper of Cauliflower Cheese.

 

Here is a poem dedicated to those of my friends who are poets.  I want you to know that you are very much appreciated right now!

The Poet by Raymond Garfield Dandridge

The poet sits and dreams and dreams;
He scans his verse; he probes his themes.

Then turns to stretch or stir about,
Lest, like his thoughts, his strength give out.

Then off to bed, for he must rise
And cord some wood, or tamp some ties,

Or break a field of fertile soil,
Or do some other manual toil.

He dare not live by wage of pen,
Most poorly paid of poor paid men,

With shoes o’er-run, and threadbare clothes,—
And editors among the foes

Who mock his song, deny him bread,
Then sing his praise when he is dead.

 

 
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Posted by on February 9, 2020 in Food, poetry, Postaday2020, Uncategorized

 

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Jelly Babies, Oak Tree and A Poem

An afternoon of resting, reading and Jelly Babies!

Who knew that Oak trees have catkins? I didn’t. I knew about acorns, of course, but didn’t have any to add to my glass Oak tree. Little beads to mimic catkins, now, that I could do!

Our Niece-in-law who lives in Olympia near Seattle is a poet. She has given me permission to share this very powerful piece with you, with her introduction.

“Here’s an old thing I wrote in an attempt to talk about the racial injustices that consistently hurt everyday people and I want to share it again on what would have been Sandra Bland’s 33rd birthday.

I hope one day for a better world. It starts with you and me. Let’s remember people like Sandra Bland, Tamir Rice and Michael Brown and Philando Castile and continue to speak their names so that people who wish to cheapen their precious lives will know that we do not, will never, stand with them.”

Precedent

A Cleveland child’s melanin was Just enough Cause
for murder-
Cold blood under the warm sun.
Six million dollars will not be enough
to sook his mother’s ache,
You can’t tell her this was an honest mistake.

A man had his breath pressed out of his lungs
On a live stream, on a street corner,
The world watched him beg for his life.

Protect/Serve/Seek/Destroy.

She was from Waller County, a pin drop on a map
That’s now a black hole void
where precedence discards prudence.
Where a woman can be detained at a traffic stop,
Found hanged in a jail cell,
and forgotten.

A Fort Worth teen plead guilty
to assaulting a mentally challenged child.
Cold concrete, wire hanger, steel locker, chipping paint
Are the canvas onto which he scrawled the slurs,
the acid words and acrid variations
of the Purity of Hate in America.

He served no jail time,
It wasn’t a hate crime.

A small town in Michigan runs on brown water,
Their babies have rashes and their hair is falling out.
Never mind lead poisoning causes death and developmental delay-
Those kids have bed rolls over at Genesee,

You see,
They are pre-enrolled in the prep school for slavery,
The cops will let them know when it’s their time to go.

Their mamas smoke foil and rise above the pain-
Flesh of womb claimed commodity before the
cord stops pulsing
Gaslighted by the streetlights
which always blink red and blue.

If five white teens went missing
from the nation’s capital,
the whole world would mourn and wring their People magazines
Until their salty fingers all had sliver on sliver of papercuts.
Would put out a special on dateline NBC with
a reward for any information that
might lead to their discovery.

Tomorrow is a smog cloud,
Tomorrow no one is safe.

It’s polluted by the precedents we set, today.

 
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Posted by on February 8, 2020 in America, art, glass, Photography, poetry, Postaday2020

 

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