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Tag Archives: Naomi Shibab Nye

Daily Stuff, Clematis and Red Leaves

Storm Callum has been beating its way across Cornwall today and we have mostly stayed indoors doing the everyday stuff. This poem by Naomi Shibab Nye, Daily,  seems the right one for today though no washing was hung outside!

Daily - Naomi Shihab Nye
These shriveled seeds we plant,
corn kernel, dried bean,
poke into loosened soil,
cover over with measured fingertips
 
These T-shirts we fold into
perfect white squares
 
These tortillas we slice and fry to crisp strips
This rich egg scrambled in a gray clay bowl
 
This bed whose covers I straighten
smoothing edges till blue quilt fits brown blanket
and nothing hangs out
 
This envelope I address
so the name balances like a cloud
in the center of sky
 
This page I type and retype
This table I dust till the scarred wood shines
This bundle of clothes I wash and hang and wash again
like flags we share, a country so close
no one needs to name it
 
The days are nouns: touch them
The hands are churches that worship the world

 

The Clematis over the arch is hanging very low making it hard to get through – but I love how it looks this late into the season. Even after the storm, it is still looking good though blown about all day. We still have dangerous winds to come…….

Clematis taking over

Yesterday in Penryn, these richly coloured leaves caught my attention.

Red

 

 

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Painting, Brownie Mountain and Naomi Shibab Nye

What a fabulous sing this morning at the Eco Park in Porthtowan with the ever inspiring Claire and then the most delicious Brunch at La Cantina. There are decorated things all over the park and this cable drum pleased me.

Found in the Eco Park

The Birthday party that was postponed because of the snow is to be held tonight and the Vegan Brownies that I made are now assembled into a Brownie Mountain Birthday Cake.

Sue’s Birthday Cake

I have shared several poems by Naomi Shibab Nye whose writing I much admire and invariably enjoy. I hope you love this one too and its uplifting message.

Happiness – Naomi Shihab Nye

It is difficult to know what to do with so much happiness.
With sadness there is something to rub against,
a wound to tend with lotion and cloth.
When the world falls in around you, you have pieces to pick up,
something to hold in your hands, like ticket stubs or change.

But happiness floats.
It doesn’t need you to hold it down.
It doesn’t need anything.
Happiness lands on the roof of the next house, singing,
and disappears when it wants to.
You are happy either way.
Even the fact that you once lived in a peaceful tree house
and now live over a quarry of noise and dust
cannot make you unhappy.
Everything has a life of its own,
it too could wake up filled with possibilities
of coffee cake and ripe peaches,
and love even the floor which needs to be swept,
the soiled linens and scratched records . . .

Since there is no place large enough
to contain so much happiness,
you shrug, you raise your hands, and it flows out of you
into everything you touch. You are not responsible.
You take no credit, as the night sky takes no credit
for the moon, but continues to hold it, and share it,
and in that way, be known.

 

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Poem, Tool Kit and New Cake Recipe

I have posted a poem by Naomi Shibab Nye before. I love her work. Here for your delectation is

Valentine For Ernest Mann – Naomi Shibab Nye

You can’t order a poem like you order a taco.
Walk up to the counter, say, “I’ll take two”
and expect it to be handed back to you
on a shiny plate.
 
Still, I like your spirit.
Anyone who says, “Here’s my address,
write me a poem,” deserves something in reply.
So I’ll tell a secret instead:
poems hide. In the bottoms of our shoes,
they are sleeping. They are the shadows
drifting across our ceilings the moment 
before we wake up. What we have to do
is live in a way that lets us find them.
 
Once I knew a man who gave his wife
two skunks for a valentine.
He couldn’t understand why she was crying.
“I thought they had such beautiful eyes.”
And he was serious. He was a serious man
who lived in a serious way. Nothing was ugly
just because the world said so. He really
liked those skunks. So, he re-invented them
as valentines and they became beautiful.
At least, to him. And the poems that had been hiding
in the eyes of skunks for centuries 
crawled out and curled up at his feet.
 
Maybe if we re-invent whatever our lives give us
we find poems. Check your garage, the off sock
in your drawer, the person you almost like, but not quite.
And let me know.
Click here for her beautiful and moving poem, Kindness.
2   The lovely Mr Smith came home with a present for me today, something I have been coveting for some time – a tool box of my own! Just look!
My very own tool box

My very own tool box

3   In today’s Guardian was a recipe that I couldn’t resist and I made it  this afternoon for a shared lunch tomorrow. In fact, I then made another for us as it smelled just so good! It tastes wonderful too. I will post the recipe soon.  The original is made with Hazelnuts. Mine is with Almonds.

Almond, Cinnamon and Sour Cream Cake

Almond, Cinnamon and Sour Cream Cake

 

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