Sunday, May 29, 2016

A Journey

- Edward Field

When he got up that morning everything was different:
He enjoyed the bright spring day
But he did not realize it exactly, he just enjoyed it.
And walking down the street to the railroad station
Past magnolia trees with dying flowers like old socks
It was a long time since he had breathed so simply.
Tears filled his eyes and it felt good
But he held them back
Because men didn't walk around crying in that town.
Waiting on the platform at the station
The fear came over him of something terrible about to happen:
The train was late and he recited the alphabet to keep hold.
And in its time it came screeching in
And as it went on making its usual stops,
People coming and going, telephone poles passing,
He hid his head behind a newspaper
No longer able to hold back the sobs, and willed his eyes
To follow the rational weavings of the seat fabric.
He didn't do anything violent as he had imagined.
He cried for a long time, but when he finally quieted down
A place in him that had been closed like a fist was open,
And at the end of the ride he stood up and got off that train:
And through the streets and in all the places he lived in later on
He walked, himself at last, a man among men,
With such radiance that everyone looked up and wondered.

From: A Book of Luminous Things: An International Anthology of Poetry. 

Saturday, May 28, 2016

It's A Garden Party! - Meep! Meep!


http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-PtWNgMHfF-Y/VRb5uIDGg1I/AAAAAAAAQNU/dK0QGdkrr-Q/s1600/P5050138%2Bc.JPG

This feature, originally known as Saturday Farmer's Market, was created by Heather at Capricious Reader, and was then hosted by Chris at Stuff as Dreams are Made on.

If anyone would like to share their own gardening adventures with me - large or small, inside or out - I would love to see them.
Just leave a link to your post in the comments.



It seems the Roadrunner is hiding in my Lantanna.



Which is is quite easy this year because it is going wild.



The Poppies are also exceptional this year.



This is in my front yard. 
These Poppies are taking up about one quarter of the front.


My Iris are tucked in among the Cape Honeysuckle, which has really come into its own. It is growing into a substantial hedge along the fence line, but won't have its best display in the fall.


Look! Oranges!


Daisies!
Daisy Time
 
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.

Friday, May 27, 2016

Seen Fleetingly, From A Train

- Bronislaw Maj

Seen fleetingly, from a train:
a foggy evening, strands of smoke
hanging immobile over fields,
the humid blackness of earth, the sun
almost set—against its fading shield,
far away, two dots: women in dark wraps
coming back from church perhaps, perhaps
one tells something to another, some common story,
of sinful lives perhaps—her words
distinct and simple but out of them
one could create everything
again.  Keep it in memory, forever:
the sun, ploughed earth, women,
love, evening, those few words
good for the beginning, keep it all—
perhaps tomorrow we will be
somewhere else, altogether.

Thursday, May 26, 2016

Ancient Air

- Li Po

I climb up high and look on the four seas,
Heaven and earth spreading out so far.
Frost blankets all the stuff of autumn,
The wind blows with the great desert's cold.
The eastward-flowing water is immense,
All the ten thousand things billow.
The white sun's passing brightness fades,
Floating clouds seem to have no end.
Swallows and sparrows nest in the wutong tree,
Yuan and luan birds perch among jujube thorns.
Now it's time to head on back again,
I flick my sword and sing Taking the Hard Road.


Wednesday, May 25, 2016

Quote of the Day


A life is like a garden. Perfect moments can be had, but not preserved, except in memory.

- Leonard Nimoy

Tuesday, May 24, 2016

Vacation

- William Stafford

One scene as I bow to pour her coffee: -
Three Indians in the scouring drouth
huddle at a grave scooped in the gravel,
lean to the wind as our train goes by.
Someone is gone.
There is dust on everything in Nevada.
I pour the cream.

Monday, May 23, 2016

Kilt Monday!

'Cause let's face it,
Mondays can be so rough, hard, difficult.