I had to do an extra credit project on Robert Frost when I was in grade school. I'd forgotten how much I like his work until now.
Acquainted with the Night
I have been one acquainted with the night.
I have walked out in rain -- and back in rain.
I have outwalked the furthest city light.
I have looked down the saddest city lane.
I have passed by the watchman on his beat
And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain.
I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet
When far away an interrupted cry
Came over houses from another street,
But not to call me back or say good-bye;
And further still at an unearthly height,
A luminary clock against the sky
Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right.
I have been one acquainted with the night.
Monday, May 30, 2011
Sunday, May 29, 2011
5 for Sunday
Monday, May 23, 2011
Poetry Monday
My mother had a big green book of poetry that sat on the shelf next to her prized copy of Petite Larousse when I was a child. I didn't like a lot of the poems, being too young to understand most of them, but I always loved this one.
Dried Apple Pies
I loathe, abhor, detest, despise,
Abominate dried-apple pies.
I like good bread, I like good meat
Or anything that's fit to eat;
But of all poor grub beneath the skies,
The poorest is dried apple pies.
Give me the toothache, or sore eyes,
But don't give me dried apple pies.
The farmer takes his gnarliest fruit
'Tis wormy, bitter, and hard, to boot;
He leaves the hulls to make us cough,
And don't take half the peeling off.
Then on a dirty cord 'tis strung
And in a garret window hung,
And there it serves as roost for flies,
Until it's made up into pies.
Tread on my corns, or tell me lies,
But don't pass me dried-apple pies.
- Unknown
Dried Apple Pies
I loathe, abhor, detest, despise,
Abominate dried-apple pies.
I like good bread, I like good meat
Or anything that's fit to eat;
But of all poor grub beneath the skies,
The poorest is dried apple pies.
Give me the toothache, or sore eyes,
But don't give me dried apple pies.
The farmer takes his gnarliest fruit
'Tis wormy, bitter, and hard, to boot;
He leaves the hulls to make us cough,
And don't take half the peeling off.
Then on a dirty cord 'tis strung
And in a garret window hung,
And there it serves as roost for flies,
Until it's made up into pies.
Tread on my corns, or tell me lies,
But don't pass me dried-apple pies.
- Unknown
Sunday, May 22, 2011
5 for Sunday
Monday, May 16, 2011
Poetry Monday
And now for a Shakespearean sonnet:
CXXX
My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red, than her lips red:
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damasked, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound:
I grant I never saw a goddess go,
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground:
And yet by heaven, I think my love as rare,
As any she belied with false compare.
CXXX
My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red, than her lips red:
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damasked, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound:
I grant I never saw a goddess go,
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground:
And yet by heaven, I think my love as rare,
As any she belied with false compare.
Sunday, May 15, 2011
5 for Sunday
Monday, May 9, 2011
Poetry Monday
Today we revisit Pablo Neruda...
In My Sky At Twilight
In my sky at twilight you are like a cloud
and your form and colour are the way I love them.
You are mine, mine, woman with sweet lips
and in your life my infinite dreams live.
The lamp of my soul dyes your feet,
the sour wine is sweeter on your lips,
oh reaper of my evening song,
how solitary dreams believe you to be mine!
You are mine, mine, I go shouting it to the afternoon's
wind, and the wind hauls on my widowed voice.
Huntress of the depth of my eyes, your plunder
stills your nocturnal regard as though it were water.
You are taken in the net of my music, my love,
and my nets of music are wide as the sky.
My soul is born on the shore of your eyes of mourning.
In your eyes of mourning the land of dreams begin.
In My Sky At Twilight
In my sky at twilight you are like a cloud
and your form and colour are the way I love them.
You are mine, mine, woman with sweet lips
and in your life my infinite dreams live.
The lamp of my soul dyes your feet,
the sour wine is sweeter on your lips,
oh reaper of my evening song,
how solitary dreams believe you to be mine!
You are mine, mine, I go shouting it to the afternoon's
wind, and the wind hauls on my widowed voice.
Huntress of the depth of my eyes, your plunder
stills your nocturnal regard as though it were water.
You are taken in the net of my music, my love,
and my nets of music are wide as the sky.
My soul is born on the shore of your eyes of mourning.
In your eyes of mourning the land of dreams begin.
Sunday, May 8, 2011
Happy Mother's Day!
Today's not-so-silly list is 5 good memories with my Mom.
(in no particular order)
1. Our trip to England. For all the squabbles and near disasters, we had a blast! Some of the best memories of that trip are going to Bath & Stonhenge (on my birthday, no less), the look of delight on Mom's face when we finally found the British Museum, and the night we found a terrific Indian restaurant and got slightly tipsy.
2. The day we went to the pound and adopted Scotty-dog. Dad's birthday was coming up- Mom had seen a picture of the most adorable pup in the paper (featured pet of the week) and decided we were getting him a dog for his birthday. We got to the shelter and there were 2 pups left in the litter. We had decided on the black & white one- the girl working there tossed us a leash and said "go in and get him." We spent 15 minutes chasing those damn dogs around in the pen and Mom finally managed to grab the solid black one. "We'll take this one" she said, daring me to argue. Good choice. He lived with us for around 15 years, and while he was Daddy's dog in theory, he loved all of us and we all adored him.
3. Mom reading to me as a child. I wasn't much for being read to once I mastered reading for myself, but Mom read most of the Laura Ingalls Wilder "Little House" series to me. I believe I also remember her reading the Jungle Book and Rikki-Tikki-Tavi. Thanks to her, I'm still an avid reader!
4. Being in the odd position of being both the youngest child (5 siblings form my dad's first marriage) and an only child (they didn't live with us), I often didn't have anyone to play with. Mom spent hours playing card and board games with me. She tried to teach me how to be a gracious winner (I have finally stopped doing victory dances, but I still gloat. A LOT) and a good loser (I sulk, swear and am impossible to be in a room with until I finally get a win) and had a lot more patience than most adults would have.
5. Getting to do something just for her. Mom moved heaven and Earth to take me on my dream trip to England. I haven't been able to do anything quite on that scale for her. However, the touring production of the Color Purple came through Louisville a few years ago, right around Mother's Day. Knowing how much she loved the book, and that she wanted to see the show, I bought tickets, made a reservation for the special dinner being offered at the theatre restaurant and went with her so that my dad wouldn't have to. (not his kind of thing at all- I didn't expect to enjoy it and was VERY pleasantly surprised) We got to dress up, had a wonderful time, and I still smile when I remember the look of pleased shock on her face when I told her what her present was that year.
Monday, May 2, 2011
Poetry Monday
another Ogden Nash....
To A Small Boy Standing On My Shoes While I Am Wearing Them
Let's straighten this out, my little man,
And reach an agreement if we can.
I entered your door as an honored guest.
My shoes are shined and my trousers are pressed,
And I won't stretch out and read you the funnies
And I won't pretend that we're Easter bunnies.
If you must get somebody down on the floor,
What in the hell are your parents for?
I do not like the things that you say
And I hate the games that you want to play.
No matter how frightfully hard you try,
We've little in common, you and I.
The interest I take in my neighbor's nursery
Would have to grow, to be even cursory,
And I would that performing sons and nephews
Were carted away with the daily refuse,
And I hold that frolicsome daughters and nieces
Are ample excuse for breaking leases.
You may take a sock at your daddy's tummy
Or climb all over your doting mummy,
But keep your attentions to me in check,
Or, sonny boy, I will wring your neck.
A happier man today I'd be
Had someone wrung it ahead of me.
To A Small Boy Standing On My Shoes While I Am Wearing Them
Let's straighten this out, my little man,
And reach an agreement if we can.
I entered your door as an honored guest.
My shoes are shined and my trousers are pressed,
And I won't stretch out and read you the funnies
And I won't pretend that we're Easter bunnies.
If you must get somebody down on the floor,
What in the hell are your parents for?
I do not like the things that you say
And I hate the games that you want to play.
No matter how frightfully hard you try,
We've little in common, you and I.
The interest I take in my neighbor's nursery
Would have to grow, to be even cursory,
And I would that performing sons and nephews
Were carted away with the daily refuse,
And I hold that frolicsome daughters and nieces
Are ample excuse for breaking leases.
You may take a sock at your daddy's tummy
Or climb all over your doting mummy,
But keep your attentions to me in check,
Or, sonny boy, I will wring your neck.
A happier man today I'd be
Had someone wrung it ahead of me.
Sunday, May 1, 2011
5 for Sunday
5 ways I amused myself as a child:
1. Blowing bubbles. Give me a bowl of soapy water and a ring to blow through and I was a happy kid. I still do it from time to time- only now I blow catnip bubbles for my kitties to chase. However, having seen the new Crayola Washable Color Bubbles, I may have to invest in some and see if anyone wants to revisit childhood with me.
2. Picking flowers/making flower chains. Do kids even do this anymore? I used to love picking little bouquets of flowers in the grassy areas near my various homes. Granted, the flowers my friends and I picked are/were regarded more as weeds, but to us they were beautiful. Mom always displayed my homemade bouquets with pride on the cabinet or her desk at work if they hadn't wilted away to nothing overnight. Give me a field of clover and/or dandelions and I'd spend hours making necklaces/bracelets/crowns.
3. Speaking of dandelions, I also loved finding a field of puffballs- aka dandelions gone to seed. Loads of fun blowing until all the seeds flew away, making wishes that usually never came true, and just generally making a mess. Good times!
4. Reading. DUH. I read through my school and public libraries like a termite through wood.
5. Watching TV. Yeah, as much as I could get away with. My favorite after-school block used to air on TBS- UltraMan, Space Giants, and Battle of the Planets. (I wanted to be Princess. And it broke my heart to see what Casey Kasem- the voice of Mark- looked like)
*many thanks to the kind folks who put thier photos out on Google Image.
1. Blowing bubbles. Give me a bowl of soapy water and a ring to blow through and I was a happy kid. I still do it from time to time- only now I blow catnip bubbles for my kitties to chase. However, having seen the new Crayola Washable Color Bubbles, I may have to invest in some and see if anyone wants to revisit childhood with me.
2. Picking flowers/making flower chains. Do kids even do this anymore? I used to love picking little bouquets of flowers in the grassy areas near my various homes. Granted, the flowers my friends and I picked are/were regarded more as weeds, but to us they were beautiful. Mom always displayed my homemade bouquets with pride on the cabinet or her desk at work if they hadn't wilted away to nothing overnight. Give me a field of clover and/or dandelions and I'd spend hours making necklaces/bracelets/crowns.
3. Speaking of dandelions, I also loved finding a field of puffballs- aka dandelions gone to seed. Loads of fun blowing until all the seeds flew away, making wishes that usually never came true, and just generally making a mess. Good times!
4. Reading. DUH. I read through my school and public libraries like a termite through wood.
5. Watching TV. Yeah, as much as I could get away with. My favorite after-school block used to air on TBS- UltraMan, Space Giants, and Battle of the Planets. (I wanted to be Princess. And it broke my heart to see what Casey Kasem- the voice of Mark- looked like)
*many thanks to the kind folks who put thier photos out on Google Image.
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