As the week comes to an end a bit of poetry is on my mind reminding me to always hold on to my power and never relent under any circumstance.
Out of the night which covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeoning of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find me, unafraid.
It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.
~ William Ernest Henley
A Bit Smug is good thing sometimes
You wanna fly, you got to give up the shit that weighs you down.
I spied some beautiful crocuses today and it smells like spring. I have no special knowledge of Crocuses other than the fact they seem to beat every other flower to punch when it comes to blooming. And it’s one of those names that doesn’t quite fit the plant, seems like they deserve a name that is a little more elegant. Crocus sounds too much like crocodile.
They at least they have a pretty poem:
She dwelleth in the Ground —
Where Daffodils — abide —
Her Maker — Her Metropolis —
The Universe — Her Maid —
To fetch Her Grace — and Hue —
And Fairness — and Renown —
The Firmament’s — To Pluck Her —
And fetch Her Thee — be mine —
Every summer I visit the lavender farms in Sequim, Washington.
Everything is offered, dried flowers and leaves for sachet, small
bundles of the whole stem with flowers on them that will dry
naturally when placed in a vase or basket, soaps, lotions, and
essential oil for bath, potpourri and sachets are just a few
of the uses. The farms have been there for many years and
visiting is like stepping back into an old world garden.
Bless the bees who pollinate.
“And lavender, whose spikes of azure bloom
shall be, ere-while, in arid bundles bound
to lurk admist the labours of her loom,
and crown her kerchiefs witl mickle rare perfume.”
by William Shenstone The School Mistress 1742
Did you know….
- Lavender is a herb in the mint family.
- Lavender is edible and can be used in cooking and making teas.
- The benefits and use of lavender has been known for over 2,500 years.
- In perfume, scented bath oils, and even mummification, the ancient
Egyptians used lavender profusely.
- Lavender in water can be used for cleaning floors and furniture.
It is an excellent and aromatic cleaner which can be used for laundry also.
- Nurses bathed the wounds of soldiers with a lavender wash, for its
healing properties, during World War I.
Lavender is edible
Sugar the Westie loves walking the fields
Fall has arrived, oh how I already miss summer.
Beneath a yellow fading tree,
As red suns light thee, Autumn-morn,
In wildest rapture let me see
The sweets that most thy charms adorn.
O while my eye the landscape views,
What countless beauties are display’d;
What varied tints of nameless hues, —
Shades endless melting into shade.
A russet red the hazels gain,
As suited to their drear decline;
While maples brightest dress retain,
And in the gayest yellows shine.
From Autumn by John Clare
(from The Village Minstrel, 1821)
The last days of summer are so fleeting, wistful of
long, warm sunny days that call upon a bit of poetry.
by Howard Nemerov
Day after day, day after still day,
The summer has begun to pass away.
Starlings at twilight fly clustered and call,
And branches bend, and leaves begin to fall.
The meadow and the orchard grass are mown,
And the meadowlark’s house is cut down.
The little lantern bugs have doused their fires,
The swallows sit in rows along the wires.
Berry and grape appear among the flowers
Tangled against the wall in secret bowers,
And cricket now begins to hum the hours
Remaining to the passion’s slow procession
Down from the high place and the golden session
Wherein the sun was sacrificed for us.
A failing light, no longer numinous,
Now frames the long and solemn afternoons
Where butterflies regret their closed cocoons.
We reach the place unripe, and made to know
As with a sudden knowledge that we go
Away forever, all hope of return
Cut off, hearing the crackle of the burn-
ing blade behind us, and the terminal sound
Of apples dropping on the dry ground.
@the ferry dock, Edmonds, WA
Lounging in the grass, not doing much of
anything except enjoying the moment
with an iPhone and a cluster of random
daisies. They grow everywhere in the wild.
I couldn’t resist taking these shots on a
lazy summer day and searching for the
See, the grass is full of stars,
Fallen in their brightness;
Hearts they have of shining gold,
Rays of shining whiteness.
Buttercups have honeyed hearts,
Bees they love the clover,
But I love the daisies’ dance
All the meadow over.
Blow, O blow, you happy winds,
Singing summer’s praises,
Up the field and down the field
A-dancing with the daisies.
By Marjorie Pickthall
The city in which I reside will no longer
allow backyard fireworks after this year.
I have so many fond memories as a kid
lighting off our own fireworks in the
neighborhood. T’was always fun,
adventuresome and even a bit
mischievous and dangerous.
So I present an Ode to Fireworks,
by Aden Asoll as the last backyard
event comes to an end but will
never be forgotten.
Ode To Fireworks
It is such great unity
That appears amongst the beauty
Of the bright light display?
Such color, such energy within celebration,
Such a vivid canvas of man-made creation
That sparks with flair and passion;
To fall into the fog
Like all dying illusions.
Yet it is what it does for us:
Where we are drawn from our furnishings
That we clean in intervals,
Closing outside to a regular schedule,
Remaining well lit and sheltered
Resting our minds so dimly upon the
Soft and empty cushions
And hugging at the blind comfort
We are drawn from this facade
By another in itself.
Which brings us out like a beacon
Part Devil, half Eden
To then fade away
Like all illusions,
Leaving us quiet,
Revealing deepened images.
Exposed to chill
Peace climbs through our bones.
Let us stand together,
The great power that connects us;
The great unity
Amongst such beauty.
Listen to the mustn’ts, child.
Listen to the don’ts.
Listen to the shouldn’ts,
the impossibles, the won’ts.
Listen to the never haves,
then listen close to me…
Anything can happen, child.
Anything can be.
Artwork is by Bansky
And with that, I welcome a new Spring for all.