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Category Archives: poetry

A Cat, Narcissi and A Poem

My post today is for our Dear Friend, N, with all the love we can muster. First, one of next door’s cats posing on a post.

Our Suffragette garden is full of white and green. The purple bits (crocuses/Hebe)  finished before the Narcissi burst into life or haven’t flowered yet (purple tulips)but we are reminded of the strength of those amazing women whenever we are in the front garden.  We can find that strength now.

This poem came my way the other day and I wrote to the poet to ask for permission to share it with you here – Serenity Prayer by Brian Bilston, so apt at the moment. Thank you BB. I have posted one of his poems before. Click here to read it.

 

 

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Lambs, A Video and World Poetry Day

We have watched the lambs in the back field with great delight today. The lovely Mr S took photos and I attempted a video in the gale that was blowing. It’s a bit wobbly and very noisy – you can’t hear the lambs talking to their mums – but I hope it will give you a feel for the experience.

 

It is World Poetry Day today and here I offer you a poem by a poet I much admire. I love his imagery and sensitivity, his use of language and, in this one, his reassurance.

Reassurance by Kim Ridgeon

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Sunset, Garden Flowers and A Poem

Nearly sunset when I took this photo but then the clouds came in and there was no colour at all but I do like how this one worked.

The wind has beaten down several blooms but that is merely an opportunity to pick them and have them indoors.

We have had Spring-like sunshine and blue skies for four days, though accompanied by cold winds  and I was reminded of Billy Collins’ poem, Today. We look forward to the properly warm Spring days with the ‘intermittent warm breezes’ that make us ‘want to throw open all the windows.’   I love the idea of releasing the little inhabitants of the snow domes!

Today

If ever there were a spring day so perfect,
so uplifted by a warm intermittent breeze
that it made you want to throw
open all the windows in the house
and unlatch the door to the canary’s cage,
indeed, rip the little door from its jamb,
a day when the cool brick paths
and the garden bursting with peonies
seemed so etched in sunlight
that you felt like taking
a hammer to the glass paperweight
on the living room end table,
releasing the inhabitants
from their snow-covered cottage
so they could walk out,
holding hands and squinting
into this larger dome of blue and white,
well, today is just that kind of day.
 

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Kindness, Daffodils and Another Poem

Our lovely neighbour was in China last year and brought us back a beautiful picture of the character which means kindness. We had it framed before Christmas but have only just put it up. What a lovely piece – thank you, S.

The Tete a Tete in the Three Wise Monkeys planter are looking bright and sunny despite the wild weather.

I have posted this poem before but it seems to me that in today’s world we all need kindness, for ourselves and for others. I love how the poet captures that awful sinking moment when you think something is lost, those moments when you can’t quite believe that the rest of the world is going on as normal, those moments when something in the news just takes your breath away but kindness from a loved one or from a stranger can make your  day work again.

Kindness by Naomi Shibab Nye

Before you know what kindness really is
you must lose things,
feel the future dissolve in a moment
like salt in a weakened broth.
What you held in your hand,
what you counted and carefully saved,
all this must go so you know
how desolate the landscape can be
between the regions of kindness.
How you ride and ride
thinking the bus will never stop,
the passengers eating maize and chicken
will stare out the window forever.
Before you learn the tender gravity of kindness,
you must travel where the Indian in a white poncho
lies dead by the side of the road.
You must see how this could be you,
how he too was someone
who journeyed through the night with plans
and the simple breath that kept him alive.
Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside,
you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing. 
You must wake up with sorrow.
You must speak to it till your voice
catches the thread of all sorrows
and you see the size of the cloth.
Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore,
only kindness that ties your shoes
and sends you out into the day to mail letters and purchase bread,
only kindness that raises its head
from the crowd of the world to say
it is I you have been looking for,
and then goes with you everywhere
like a shadow or a friend.

 
 

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Kindness, Daffodil and A Poem

Doing some sorting today, I came across a scrap of paper with a quotation I had saved.

If you haven’t read The Essex Serpent, do. It is a fascinating story and very beautifully written.

One of our Daffodils was broken off by the wild winds so I brought it indoors.

The words above are from a very moving poem by Philip Larkin, reminding us all to be kind.

The Mower

The mower stalled, twice; kneeling, I found   
A hedgehog jammed up against the blades,   
Killed. It had been in the long grass.
I had seen it before, and even fed it, once.   
Now I had mauled its unobtrusive world   
Unmendably. Burial was no help:
Next morning I got up and it did not.
The first day after a death, the new absence   
Is always the same; we should be careful
Of each other, we should be kind   
While there is still time.
 

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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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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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