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"Faerie Guardians", 2006, By Howard David Johnson

Over hill, over dale,
Thorough bush, thorough brier,
Over park, over pale,
Thorough flood, thorough fire!
I do wander everywhere,
Swifter than the moon's sphere;
And I serve the Fairy Queen,
To dew her orbs upon the green;
The cowslips tall her pensioners be;
In their gold coats spots you see;
Those be rubies, fairy favours;
In those freckles live their savours;
I must go seek some dewdrops here,
And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear. 
~ William Shakespeare, "A Midsummer Night's Dream"


Have you entered your comment to win my sweet peacock fairy creation?  I'll have a winner in just 3 days!  Don't miss out!  Comment on this post to enter!

Musical Memory

When I was much younger
And the world was not yet so heavy
on my shoulders
I learned that I loved music.

I learned that it was
a living, breathing thing
on its own
And that I was always better
for having experienced it.

Somewhere along the way
the radio wasn't enough
to satisfy my cravings
to apease my appetite for melody.

So I followed its call
to learn an instrument
A clarinet
My own means of
instant musical gratification.

I joined the ranks of that elite club
those individuals who could
glance at dots on the lined page
And make sense of them
Translate it to something beautiful
or comical or loud and frightening
or soft and haunting.

This new language I spoke fluently
I reveled in it
But as time passed
I became busy with other things of life
heartaches and joys
And I stopped reading the dots on the lined page
until the language was halted.  Broken.  Foreign.  Lost.

This year I turned 30
and looked back over
What my life has been so far
And where I want it to go
From here.

I missed that knowledge
that I used to have
that brought me such happiness
and swelled up inside my soul
like a flower blooming
until it can't bloom out any more.

So I take myself to task again
with posters of piano chords
and fingering charts
and sheets of that lost language
of dots on the lined page.

For, my soul is in need of feeling
of emotion
of passion
of depth
of life and breath.

Not content to relearn only what I once knew
Now I need more
the thirst is never quenched
note by note
chord by chord
song by song

Building
Swelling
Crescendoing

Like a breaking storm or
a wave of the sea
Quiet at first but then
crashing and deafening

This is who I am
What I want in my life
What I love
What I need
Like Oxygen or Energy.

Now I am older
And the world has been heavy
on my shoulders
But music changes it somehow
Lightens the load
Eases the sorrows
Heightens the joys

It breathes new life
into my humanity
And I am always better
for having experienced it.

Wish I Had A Dog Like This...

School starts tomorrow!!! o.O !!!
For today's Poetry Wednesday, I have this cute gem, suggested by my friend, Cayla Slater.  Thanks for finding this, Cayla!

********************

My Dog Ate My Essay
By: Darren Sardelli

My doggy ate my essay,
he picked up all my mail.
He cleaned my dirty closet
and dusted with his tail.

He straightened out my posters
and swept my wooden floor.
My parents almost fainted when
he fixed my bedroom door.

I did not try to stop him.
He made my windows shine.
My room looked like a palace.
My jackets smelled like pine.

He fluffed up every pillow.
He folded all my clothes.
He even cleaned my fish tank with
a toothbrush and a hose.

I thought it was amazing
to see him use a broom.
I’m glad he ate my essay
on “How to Clean My Room”.

Poetry Wednesday: Love

Source

Next Sunday, August 7th, will be our 7th wedding anniversary.  This was read at the ceremony.  Throughout my marriage, there have been many times when I have clung to these promises as though my life depended on it.  Because really... it does.  The Bible is our instruction book, our road map and our promises from God Himself that He will give us the very best of everything, if only we trust Him and follow His example.

Have you loved someone or experienced love from someone like this?  These words are special to me because of my wedding day, but it applies to other aspects of our lives too- friends and family, especially, but how you treat the grocery clerk or your boss, a co-worker, or even someone you don't seem to get along with sometimes.  It puts all of our relationships into perspective, if we let it.  Take a few moments to let the words sink into your heart.  This is what real love is and does.  And it will change you forever.

1 Corinthians 13 (New International Version)

¹ If I speak in the tongues^[a] of men or of angels, 

but do not have love, 

I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. 

² If I have the gift of prophecy 

and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, 

and if I have a faith that can move mountains, 

but do not have love, I am nothing. 

³If I give all I possess to the poor 

and give over my body to hardship that I may boast, 

but do not have love, I gain nothing.

 ⁴ Love is patient, 

love is kind. 

It does not envy, 

it does not boast, 

it is not proud. 

⁵ It does not dishonor others, 

it is not self-seeking, 

it is not easily angered, 

it keeps no record of wrongs. 

⁶ Love does not delight in evil 

but rejoices with the truth. 

⁷ It always protects, 

always trusts, 

always hopes, 

always perseveres.

 ⁸ Love never fails. 

But where there are prophecies, they will cease; 

where there are tongues, they will be stilled; 

where there is knowledge, it will pass away. 

⁹ For we know in part and we prophesy in part, 

¹⁰ but when completeness comes, 

what is in part disappears. 

¹¹ When I was a child, 

I talked like a child, 

I thought like a child, 

I reasoned like a child. 

When I became a man, I put the ways of childhood behind me. 

¹² For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; 

then we shall see face to face. 

Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, 

even as I am fully known.

¹³ And now these three remain: 

faith, 

hope 

and love. 

But the greatest of these is love.

Aug. 7, 2004

And You Thought We Were Off Bowling...

Jake heard this on our local public radio station, on Garrison Keillor's "Writer's Almanac" and shared it with me, and we both thought it was hilarious (because we all know people like this, whether we'd admit it or not.)

We Who Are Your Closest Friends

by Phillip Lopate

we who are
your closest friends
feel the time
has come to tell you
that every Thursday
we have been meeting
as a group
to devise ways
to keep you
in perpetual uncertainty
frustration
discontent and
torture
by neither loving you
as much as you want
nor cutting you adrift

your analyst is
in on it
plus your boyfriend
and your ex-husband
and we have pledged
to disappoint you
as long as you need us

in announcing our
association
we realize we have
placed in your hands
a possible antidote
against uncertainty
indeed against ourselves
but since our Thursday nights
have brought us
to a community of purpose
rare in itself
with you as
the natural center
we feel hopeful you
will continue to make
unreasonable
demands for affection
if not as a consequence
of your
disastrous personality

then for the good of the collective

"Lord, What Fools These Mortals Be..."

Source

For today's Poetry Wednesday, I thought I would deviate from rhyming/metered verse and give you a treat from Mr. Shakespeare.  Here is an excerpt of my favorite scene from within my favorite Shakespearean work, "A Midsummer Night's Dream".  There is a specific reason of personal circumstance that made me think to choose this section, but that's for another time, perhaps.  Grab you a bench seat and a flagon of ale (if you are temperance like me, it can be ginger ale!) and enjoy. ;)

(Middle of) Act 3, Scene 2



  OBERON
102         Flower of this purple dye,
103         Hit with Cupid's archery,
104         Sink in apple of his eye.
105         When his love he doth espy,
106         Let her shine as gloriously
107         As the Venus of the sky.
108         When thou wakest, if she be by,
109         Beg of her for remedy.
           Enter PUCK.
      PUCK
110         Captain of our fairy band,
111         Helena is here at hand;
112         And the youth, mistook by me,
113         Pleading for a lover's fee.
114         Shall we their fond pageant see?
115         Lord, what fools these mortals be!
      OBERON
116         Stand aside: the noise they make
117         Will cause Demetrius to awake.
      PUCK
118         Then will two at once woo one;
119         That must needs be sport alone;
120         And those things do best please me
121         That befall prepost'rously.
           Enter LYSANDER and HELENA.
      LYSANDER
122   Why should you think that I should woo in scorn?
123   Scorn and derision never come in tears:
124   Look, when I vow, I weep; and vows so born,
125   In their nativity all truth appears.
126   How can these things in me seem scorn to you,
127   Bearing the badge of faith, to prove them true?
      HELENA
128   You do advance your cunning more and more.
129   When truth kills truth, O devilish-holy fray!
130   These vows are Hermia's: will you give her o'er?
131   Weigh oath with oath, and you will nothing weigh:
132   Your vows to her and me, put in two scales,
133   Will even weigh, and both as light as tales.
      LYSANDER
134   I had no judgment when to her I swore.
      HELENA
135   Nor none, in my mind, now you give her o'er.
      LYSANDER
136   Demetrius loves her, and he loves not you.
      DEMETRIUS  [Awaking.]
137   O Helena, goddess, nymph, perfect, divine!
138   To what, my love, shall I compare thine eyne?
139   Crystal is muddy. O, how ripe in show
140   Thy lips, those kissing cherries, tempting grow!
141   That pure congealed white, high Taurus snow,
142   Fann'd with the eastern wind, turns to a crow
143   When thou hold'st up thy hand: O, let me kiss
144   This princess of pure white, this seal of bliss!
      HELENA
145   O spite! O hell! I see you all are bent
146   To set against me for your merriment:
147   If you we re civil and knew courtesy,
148   You would not do me thus much injury.
149   Can you not hate me, as I know you do,
150   But you must join in souls to mock me too?
151   If you were men, as men you are in show,
152   You would not use a gentle lady so;
153   To vow, and swear, and superpraise my parts,
154   When I am sure you hate me with your hearts.
155   You both are rivals, and love Hermia;
156   And now both rivals, to mock Helena:
157   A trim exploit, a manly enterprise,
158   To conjure tears up in a poor maid's eyes
159   With your derision! none of noble sort
160   Would so offend a virgin, and extort
161   A poor soul's patience, all to make you sport.
      LYSANDER
162   You are unkind, Demetrius; be not so;
163   For you love Hermia; this you know I know:
164   And here, with all good will, with all my heart,
165   In Hermia's love I yield you up my part;
166   And yours of Helena to me bequeath,
167   Whom I do love and will do till my death.
      HELENA
168   Never did mockers waste more idle breath.
      DEMETRIUS
169   Lysander, keep thy Hermia; I will none:
170   If e'er I loved her, all that love is gone.
171   My heart to her but as guest-wise sojourn'd,
172   And now to Helen is it home return'd,
173   There to remain.
      LYSANDER
173                          Helen, it is not so.
      DEMETRIUS
174   Disparage not the faith thou dost not know,
175   Lest, to thy peril, thou aby it dear.
176   Look, where thy love comes; yonder is thy dear.
           Enter HERMIA.
      HERMIA
177   Dark night, that from the eye his function takes,
178   The ear more quick of apprehension makes;
179   Wherein it doth impair the seeing sense,
180   It pays the hearing double recompense.
181   Thou art not by mine eye, Lysander, found;
182   Mine ear, I thank it, brought me to thy sound
183   But why unkindly didst thou leave me so?
      LYSANDER
184   Why should he stay, whom love doth press to go?
      HERMIA
185   What love could press Lysander from my side?
      LYSANDER
186   Lysander's love, that would not let him bide,
187   Fair Helena, who more engilds the night
188   Than all you fiery oes and eyes of light.
189   Why seek'st thou me? could not this make thee know,
190   The hate I bear thee made me leave thee so?
      HERMIA
191   You speak not as you think: it cannot be.
      HELENA
192   Lo, she is one of this confederacy!
193   Now I perceive they have conjoin'd all three
194   To fashion this false sport, in spite of me.
195   Injurious Hermia! most ungrateful maid!
196   Have you conspired, have you with these contriv'd
197   To bait me with this foul derision?
198   Is all the counsel that we two have shared,
199   The sisters' vows, the hours that we have spent,
200   When we have chid the hasty-footed time
201   For parting us,—O, is it all forgot?
202   All school-days' friendship, childhood innocence?
203   We, Hermia, like two artificial gods,
204   Have with our needles created both one flower,
205   Both on one sampler, sitting on one cushion,
206   Both warbling of one song, both in one key,
207   As if our hands, our sides, voices and minds,
208   Had been incorporate. So we grow together,
209   Like to a double cherry, seeming parted,
210   But yet an union in partition;
211   Two lovely berries moulded on one stem;
212   So, with two seeming bodies, but one heart;
213   Two of the first, like coats in heraldry,
214   Due but to one and crowned with one crest.
215   And will you rent our ancient love asunder,
216   To join with men in scorning your poor friend?
217   It is not friendly, 'tis not maidenly:
218   Our sex, as well as I, may chide you for it,
219   Though I alone do feel the injury.
      HERMIA
220   I am amazed at your passionate words.
221   I scorn you not: it seems that you scorn me.
      HELENA
222   Have you not set Lysander, as in scorn,
223   To follow me and praise my eyes and face?
224   And made your other love, Demetrius,
225   Who even but now did spurn me with his foot,
226   To call me goddess, nymph, divine and rare,
227   Precious, celestial? Wherefore speaks he this
228   To her he hates? and wherefore doth Lysander
229   Deny your love, so rich within his soul,
230   And tender me, forsooth, affection,
231   But by your setting on, by your consent?
232   What though I be not so in grace as you,
233   So hung upon with love, so fortunate,
234   But miserable most, to love unloved?
235   This you should pity rather than despise.
      HERMIA
236   I understand not what you mean by this.
      HELENA
237   Ay, do, persever, counterfeit sad looks,
238   Make mouths upon me when I turn my back;
239   Wink each at other; hold the sweet jest up:
240   This sport, well carried, shall be chronicled.
241   If you have any pity, grace, or manners,
242   You would not make me such an argument.
243   But fare ye well: 'tis partly my own fault;
244   Which death or absence soon shall remedy.
      LYSANDER
245   Stay, gentle Helena; hear my excuse:
246   My love, my life my soul, fair Helena!
      HELENA
247   O excellent!
      HERMIA
247                          Sweet, do not scorn her so.
      DEMETRIUS
248   If she cannot entreat, I can compel.
      LYSANDER
249   Thou canst compel no more than she entreat:
250   Thy threats have no more strength than her weak prayers.
251   Helen, I love thee; by my life, I do:
252   I swear by that which I will lose for thee,
253   To prove him false that says I love thee not.
      DEMETRIUS
254   I say I love thee more than he can do.
      LYSANDER
255   If thou say so, withdraw, and prove it too.
      DEMETRIUS
256   Quick, come!
      HERMIA
256                          Lysander, whereto tends all this?
      LYSANDER
257   Away, you Ethiope!
      DEMETRIUS
257                                 No, no; he'll
258   Seem to break loose; take on as you would follow,
259   But yet come not: you are a tame man, go!
      LYSANDER
260   Hang off, thou cat, thou burr! vile thing, let loose,
261   Or I will shake thee from me like a serpent!
      HERMIA
262   Why are you grown so rude? what change is this?
263   Sweet love?
      LYSANDER
263                      Thy love! out, tawny Tartar, out!
264   Out, loathed med'cine! hated potion, hence!
      HERMIA
265   Do you not jest?
      HELENA
265                              Yes, sooth; and so do you.
      LYSANDER
266   Demetrius, I will keep my word with thee.
      DEMETRIUS
267   I would I had your bond, for I perceive
268   A weak bond holds you: I'll not trust your word.
      LYSANDER
269   What, should I hurt her, strike her, kill her dead?
270   Although I hate her, I'll not harm her so.
      HERMIA
271   What, can you do me greater harm than hate?
272   Hate me! wherefore? O me! what news, my love!
273   Am not I Hermia? are not you Lysander?
274   I am as fair now as I was erewhile.
275   Since night you loved me; yet since night you left me:
276   Why, then you left me—O, the gods forbid!—
277   In earnest, shall I say?
      LYSANDER
277                                      Ay, by my life;
278   And never did desire to see thee more.
279   Therefore be out of hope, of question, of doubt;
280   Be certain, nothing truer; 'tis no jest
281   That I do hate thee and love Helena.
      HERMIA
282   O me! you juggler! you canker-blossom!
283   You thief of love! what, have you come by night
284   And stolen my love's heart from him?
      HELENA
284                                                               Fine, i'faith!
285   Have you no modesty, no maiden shame,
286   No touch of bashfulness? What, will you tear
287   Impatient answers from my gentle tongue?
288   Fie, fie! you counterfeit, you puppet, you!
      HERMIA
289   Puppet? why so? ay, that way goes the game.
290   Now I perceive that she hath made compare
291   Between our statures; she hath urged her height;
292   And with her personage, her tall personage,
293   Her height, forsooth, she hath prevail'd with him.
294   And are you grown so high in his esteem;
295   Because I am so dwarfish and so low?
296   How low am I, thou painted maypole? speak;
297   How low am I? I am not yet so low
298   But that my nails can reach unto thine eyes.
      HELENA
299   I pray you, though you mock me, gentlemen,
300   Let her not hurt me: I was never curst;
301   I have no gift at all in shrewishness;
302   I am a right maid for my cowardice:
303   Let her not strike me. You perhaps may think,
304   Because she is something lower than myself,
305   That I can match her.
      HERMIA
305                                     "Lower"? hark, again.
      HELENA
306   Good Hermia, do not be so bitter with me.
307   I evermore did love you, Hermia,
308   Did ever keep your counsels, never wrong'd you;
309   Save that, in love unto Demetrius,
310   I told him of your stealth unto this wood.
311   He follow'd you; for love I follow'd him;
312   But he hath chid me hence and threaten'd me
313   To strike me, spurn me, nay, to kill me too:
314   And now, so you will let me quiet go,
315   To Athens will I bear my folly back
316   And follow you no further: let me go:
317   You see how simple and how fond I am.
      HERMIA
318   Why, get you gone: who is't that hinders you?
      HELENA
319   A foolish heart, that I leave here behind.
      HERMIA
320   What, with Lysander?
      HELENA
320                                 With Demetrius.
      LYSANDER
321   Be not afraid; she shall not harm thee, Helena.
      DEMETRIUS
322   No, sir, she shall not, though you take her part.
      HELENA
323   O, when she's angry, she is keen and shrewd!
324   She was a vixen when she went to school;
325   And though she be but little, she is fierce.
      HERMIA
326   "Little" again! nothing but "low" and "little"!
327   Why will you suffer her to flout me thus?
328   Let me come to her.
      LYSANDER
328                                 Get you gone, you dwarf;
329   You minimus, of hindering knot-grass made;
330   You bead, you acorn.
      DEMETRIUS
330                                  You are too officious
331   In her behalf that scorns your services.
332   Let her alone: speak not of Helena;
333   Take not her part; for, if thou dost intend
334   Never so little show of love to her,
335   Thou shalt aby it.
      LYSANDER
335                              Now she holds me not;
336   Now follow, if thou darest, to try whose right,
337   Of thine or mine, is most in Helena.
      DEMETRIUS
338   Follow! nay, I'll go with thee, cheek by jowl.
           [Exeunt LYSANDER and DEMETRIUS.]
      HERMIA
339   You, mistress, all this coil is 'long of you:
340   Nay, go not back.
      HELENA
340                               I will not trust you, I,
341   Nor longer stay in your curst company.
342   Your hands than mine are quicker for a fray,
343   My legs are longer though, to run away.
           [Exit.]
      HERMIA
344   I am amazed, and know not what to say.
           Exit.

[For the entire play, click here.]

For Emily at the Seaside

For breakfast, it was Cheerios,
Then sunblock slathered on your nose,
Wear a swimsuit under your clothes,
Feel the sea breeze as it gently blows,
Hot summer sun upon you glows,
Walk the path as it winding goes,
Until the sand is between your toes.

Sit upon the sandy shore,
Dig holes, build castles and forts galore,
Find a shell or five or more,
Shells to collect, share and adore,
Watch the seagulls swoop and soar,
Higher and farther than before,
Listen to the ocean crash and roar.

Splash in the waves and end up wet,
As salty and sandy as you can get,
Play with your pail and shovel set,
With new friends whom you've just met,
Plead that it isn't time to go just yet,
You'll sleep deep and sound, I bet
Tonight after the sun has set.

Finally it's time to bid goodbye,
To gulls and shells and sea and sky,
All more loved by you than cherry pie,
Heave a quiet, wistful sigh,
As back home we now must fly,
In your own bed once again to lie,
Dreaming of the ocean's lullaby.

Don't Slam The Door!!!

My Cute Gremlins are still on Vacation with extended family.  It's been literally more than a month since I've had all my family at home at once.  With school starting in a few weeks, we will have plenty of time to spend getting sick of each other's company again. ;)
Meanwhile, I give you this poetry gem that every mother would swear does not apply to any of her offspring. :)

"Rebecca, Who Slammed Doors For Fun And Perished Miserably"
By: Hilaire Belloc


A trick that everyone abhors
In little girls is slamming doors.
A wealthy banker's little daughter
Who lived in Palace Green, Bayswater
(By name Rebecca Offendort),
Was given to this furious sport.

She would deliberately go
And slam the door like billy-o!
To make her Uncle Jacob start.
She was not really bad at heart,
But only rather rude and wild;
She was an aggravating child…

It happened that a marble bust
Of Abraham was standing just
Above the door this little lamb
Had carefully prepared to slam,
And down it came! It knocked her flat!
It laid her out! She looked like that.

Her funeral sermon (which was long
And followed by a sacred song)
Mentioned her virtues, it is true,
But dwelt upon her vices too,
And showed the dreadful end of one
Who goes and slams the door for fun.

The children who were brought to hear
The awful tale from far and near
Were much impressed, and inly swore
They never more would slam the door,
— As often they had done before.

Mermaids!

A Mermaid by John Williams Waterhouse, 1901

MERMAIDS

Recently there has been debate
and wild imagination,
On the subject of mermaids, their temperaments,
and their subaquatic nation.

Pirates* sought a mermaid's tear
And a fountain to keep youth fresh,
But the mermaids which they found then lured the crew
to bloody and violent deaths.

It reminded me of Peter Pan,
written by James M. Barrie;
When the Darling children accompanied Peter
on Adventures, bright and merry.

Wendy pleaded to see the mermaids,
"How sweet!" said she, but upon Peter's worried glance;
"Are mermaids not sweet?" she asks,
He answers, "They'll sweetly drown you, if given the chance."

A hundred years apart, these tales,
yet both comment on the sinister hidden under the fair.
As like the sea in which they live,
these mermaids with long, flowing hair.

But a lighter side to the mermaid, there is-
Captured in this quaint little chant;
Ogden Nash comments not on her personality- or morality-
But simply what she can do and what she can't!

The Mermaid

by Ogden Nash

Say not the mermaid is a myth,

        I knew one once named Mrs. Smith.

                She stood while playing cards or knitting;

          Mermaids are not equipped for sitting.

*Pirates of the Caribbean 4: On Stranger Tides

Disney's Peter Pan "We were only trying to drown her..."

2003 version of Peter Pan; A great deal more sinister.

The Sleeping Mermaid, by Josephine Wall

Beware White Cap Cove.

Syrena

Double Feature! You're welcome.

I know that last week's Poetry Wednesday also came from the pen of the inimitable Ogden Nash, but I'll be honest about the source:

While the children were away on holiday last week, I got the chance to actually spend more than 5 minutes inside the local library.  As in, browsing the shelves to see if anything caught my eye!  A rarity!  I happened upon a marvelous tome titled "The Best of Ogden Nash, 548 Favorite Poems From America's Laureate of Light Verse".  I remembered that Nash had written verses to accompany a favorite musical piece of mine, The Carnival of the Animals by Camille Saint-Saens.

I decided to see what else Nash's imagination had created.

Here are two that I especially like, from the chapter called "A Nashional [sic] Menagerie".  Enjoy!

(Source unknown)

The Phoenix
Deep in the study
Of eugenics
We find that fabled
Fowl, the Phoenix.
The wisest bird
As ever was,
Rejecting other
Mas and Pas,
It lays one egg,
Not ten or twelve,
And when it's hatched
Out pops itselve.

Wonderful Art by Dot at Dabbled.com

The Octopus
Tell me, O Octopus, I begs,
Is those things arms, or is they legs?
I marvel at thee, Octopus;
If I were thou, I'd call me Us.

More Birthday Week Fun

Painting by Jean Raoux

I'd already planned on finding something for today's Poetry Wednesday from the "Best of Ogden Nash" book that I picked up from the library.

Imagine my amusement when, on page 47, I found this lovely little verse:

A LADY THINKS SHE IS THIRTY

Unwillingly Miranda wakes,
Feels the sun with terror,
One unwilling step she takes,
Shuddering to the mirror.

Miranda in Miranda's sight
Is old and gray and dirty;
Twenty-nine she was last night;
This morning she is thirty.

Shining like the morning star
Like the twilight shining,
Haunted by a calendar,
Miranda sits a-pining.

Silly girl, silver girl,
Draw the mirror toward you;
Time who made the years to whirl
Adorned as he adored you.

Time is timelessness for you;
Calendars for the human;
What's a year, or thirty, to
Loveliness made woman?

Oh, Night will not see thirty again,
Yet soft her wing, Miranda;
Pick up your glass and tell me, then-
How old is Spring, Miranda?

It's HOT!!!

I can't remember it ever being this sticky and uncomfortably hot this early in the year in Georgia.  Ever.  I grew up having to play outside all day instead of lounging around the house, and I also spent my late summers (August-ish) in my high school days at band camp, learning the drill on the painted lines of the school's parking lot.  The sweat poured down our faces and between our shoulder blades, and we felt our arms and the backs of our legs blister and bake in the afternoon sun as the sunscreen we had so carefully slathered on began to slough off over the course of the day.  My black resin clarinet, with it's metal keys, burned my fingers and I held it gingerly, not wanting the sizzling thing any closer to me than it had to be.

It was hard work.  It was uncomfortable and icky.  But I can't ever remember any of us whining or complaining or ever saying "It's just too hot!"  Or if we did, we acknowledged that it was August in GA and that seemed to explain it all.  But it's not August.  It's barely even June.

This I could possibly handle at 97 degrees Fahrenheit. 

This... Not So Much.

I turn 30 on Sunday.  Is it that I'm getting older and my body simply can't make the temperature adjustments as quickly and easily as it used to anymore?  Or is it that I've spent more time in the last decade in the comfort of air conditioning and no longer have the heat tolerance I once had built up?
Gran just had to have the downstairs AC fixed (the 30 year old motor finally gave out).  It had been running and running but staying at 85. :(

Whatever the case for me not being able to just roll with it, it's HOT!  So I reached waaaaay back into my childhood (All 20 years ago. ;) Yep, I'm still just a baby.) and pulled out this Shel Silverstein favorite for Poetry Wednesday.

Y'all try and stay cool.  And if you have any rain, send it down this way!

IT'S HOT
From "A Light In The Attic"
By Shel Silverstein


It's hot!
I can't get cool.
I've drunk a quart of lemonade.
I think I'll take my shoes off
And sit around in the shade.

It's hot!
My back is sticky.
The sweat rolls down my chin
Think I'll take my clothes off
And sit around in my skin.

It's hot!
I've tried with 'lectric fans
And pools and ice cream cones.
I think I'll take my skin off
And sit around in my bones.

It's still hot!

Poetry Wednesday: "The Happy Seamstress"

An original composition, by my alter ego, as I sew a mid 19th C ballgown:

The Happy Seamstress

With patience and delight
I wind the thread through the sewing machine.
The strong cotton thread dances between the hooks
and the smooth metal spools
before slipping through the needle's eye.

It waits there, as though stopping for breath
before I bid it to dance again, in and out of the fabric.
The pedal makes a humming sound
and the bobbin twirls like a ballerina
to its electronic symphony.

I feel a creative bond with others who ply learn-ed trade.
The potter and his clay
The artist and her brush, loaded with paint
The blacksmith and his iron
The knitter and her basket of rainbow hued yarn, wools thin and thick.

Green satin slides across my table
as I guide it gently where I want it to go.
Inches and inches
Feet and feet
Yards and yards of it glide smoothly past three eyes, only two of which blink.

A ruffled trim now, and organza bows
Tiny pearl clusters in the centers
A waistband appears, and then a hem
This sea of green satin begins to take on shape and form
It is a dress now, almost.

One half of a beautiful gown, for a lady to wear with delight.
More satin waits expectantly for its turn to join the dance.
I smile with satisfaction and triumph as I try the finished part
on the dress form model- it's perfect!
More work ready for me tomorrow, I turn off the light and dream of things I love:

Thread, that holds my creations together.
Fabric, pleasant to see and feel.
Pins, that make my progress smooth and easy.
Ribbons, that tie ties and make pretty bows to decorate my fabric confections.
Happy and content, all of these await me when I wake.

Poetry Wednesday: "Growltiger's Last Stand" by TS Eliot

This is my favorite selection from T.S. Eliot's book The Old Possum's Book Of Practical Cats, which was the basis for Lloyd Webber's hit Broadway musical, CATS.  Available only on the full original cast recording soundtrack, and in the live production, Growltiger's Last Stand is the past role that Gus the Theatre Cat reminisces about during his song in the musical.

Adam Jones and I used to sing it together in high school when we were supposed to be drawing and painting in art class.  That qualifies as "art".  Doesn't it? ;)

Growltiger's Last Stand 

by T. S. Eliot

GROWLTIGER was a Bravo Cat, who lived upon a barge;
In fact he was the roughest cat that ever roamed at large.
From Gravesend up to Oxford he pursued his evil aims,
Rejoicing in his title of "The Terror of the Thames."

His manners and appearance did not calculate to please;
His coat was torn and seedy, he was baggy at the knees;
One ear was somewhat missing, no need to tell you why,
And he scowled upon a hostile world from one forbidding eye.

The cottagers of Rotherhithe knew something of his fame,
At Hammersmith and Putney people shuddered at his name.
They would fortify the hen-house, lock up the silly goose,
When the rumour ran along the shore: GROWLTIGER'S ON THE LOOSE!

Woe to the weak canary, that fluttered from its cage;
Woe to the pampered Pekinese, that faced Growltiger's rage.
Woe to the bristly Bandicoot, that lurks on foreign ships,
And woe to any Cat with whom Growltiger came to grips!

But most to Cats of foreign race his hatred had been vowed;
To Cats of foreign name and race no quarter was allowed.
The Persian and the Siamese regarded him with fear--
Because it was a Siamese had mauled his missing ear.

Now on a peaceful summer night, all nature seemed at play,
The tender moon was shining bright, the barge at Molesey lay.
All in the balmy moonlight it lay rocking on the tide--
And Growltiger was disposed to show his sentimental side.

His bucko mate, GRUMBUSKIN, long since had disappeared,
For to the Bell at Hampton he had gone to wet his beard;
And his bosun, TUMBLEBRUTUS, he too had stol'n away-
In the yard behind the Lion he was prowling for his prey.

In the forepeak of the vessel Growltiger sate alone,
Concentrating his attention on the Lady GRIDDLEBONE.
And his raffish crew were sleeping in their barrels and their bunks--
As the Siamese came creeping in their sampans and their junks.

Growltiger had no eye or ear for aught but Griddlebone,
And the Lady seemed enraptured by his manly baritone,
Disposed to relaxation, and awaiting no surprise--
But the moonlight shone reflected from a thousand bright blue eyes.

And closer still and closer the sampans circled round,
And yet from all the enemy there was not heard a sound.
The lovers sang their last duet, in danger of their lives--
For the foe was armed with toasting forks and cruel carving knives.
Then GILBERT gave the signal to his fierce Mongolian horde;
With a frightful burst of fireworks the Chinks they swarmed aboard.
Abandoning their sampans, and their pullaways and junks,
They battened down the hatches on the crew within their bunks.

Then Griddlebone she gave a screech, for she was badly skeered;
I am sorry to admit it, but she quickly disappeared.
She probably escaped with ease, I'm sure she was not drowned--
But a serried ring of flashing steel Growltiger did surround.

The ruthless foe pressed forward, in stubborn rank on rank;
Growltiger to his vast surprise was forced to walk the plank.
He who a hundred victims had driven to that drop,
At the end of all his crimes was forced to go ker-flip, ker-flop.

Oh there was joy in Wapping when the news flew through the land;
At Maidenhead and Henley there was dancing on the strand.
Rats were roasted whole at Brentford, and at Victoria Dock,
And a day of celebration was commanded in Bangkok.