Mainely Write

I wrote about fishermen and boats, and the ocean's tugging on them...now it's the landlubber's turn.  So I wrote this earlier in the week, or maybe last week.  I had just been up north in Aroostook County in potato land where the tractors had been busy plowing and the potato plants have been busy growing.
I wrote and rewrote and deleted and added and started all over when I totally deleted, and finally I think I have what I want.  I tried to keep it short and sweet in somewhat the same format as Tugging of Tides.

Tellers of seasons Plows and harrows, Tillers and harvesters Dancing in dirt, Row upon row of Timelined soil.
Anchored to acres  Cultivating hopes Harvesting dreams With calloused hands,  Loving  The living land.

Sometimes things just amaze me, and I have to remember who's in charge here and who to thank.  And it isn't I...


Who's Listening?

Are you listening for His voice
When faced with doubt and fear?
Are you watching for His hand
When problems disappear?

So easily we take a bow
Or thank our lucky stars,
When really it's not luck that we've
Caught moonbeams in our jars.

It isn't we who've done the job,
It wasn't on our own;
Without the hand of God to hold
The victory'd be unknown.

Will you give credit where it's due
And thank Him for His love,
Confessing that it's not of you
But by His hand above?

He listens for your voice today;
And wishes that you'd see
The blessings that are given you,
Those things that could not be.

Donna J.T. Smith
6/22/2012

Tellers of tides
Boats in the harbor Nosed in Facing homeward
In an ebb tide
Tug of war:
Moored by land, Pulled by sea; Straining, tugging Heart strings and ropes, A fisherman And his boat.
When I watch the boats in the harbor or watch the fishermen getting nets and traps ready on land, I think about the dual lives they lead and the love of both that they have.  To be a fisherman takes a special love of the sea though, where farmers have the love of the land.  My grandfather was a lover of the sea, my husband's grandfather a lover of the land.  Perhaps sometime I will write about the differences and similarities there.  They both...nevermind.  I'm going to write about that another time.  It would have been good for Father's Day, but that's how it goes.

This week's Poetry Friday is being hosted by Mary Lee at A Year of Reading. Head on over to read more great poetry today!

"I'll give you a daisy a day dear..."Remember that song?
Sweet.
I'm reminded of that as I spy my first daisy of the season.
Daisies bring back many memories now that I ponder a bit. 
Daisy is the name of a sweet little girl in Peru that I sponsored for years.
When I was her age, it was the name of my blue Schwinn bike.
It's also the name in a song my friend and I sang in a her backyard..."Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer, do. I'm half crazy over the love of you. It won't be a stylish marriage, I can't afford a carriage, but you'll look sweet upon the seat of a bicycle built for two." We were big into doing shows of any sort back then. My friend and I were having a circus to raise money for Muscular Dystrophy and that was our featured performance. We were really good, I'm pretty sure. It was a "Little Rascals" type affair, with all homespun skills and props. My brothers and sister were enlisted as local talent. …

Twinkle, twinkle little star, How I wonder what you are. Up above the world so high; Like a diamond in the sky. Twinkle, twinkle little star, How I wonder what you are!
My mother once told me that she imagined that the stars were little pinholes in a big blanket covering the earth, and the light on the other side was shining through them.  I have always had a fascination with stars.  I even took astronomy as an elective in college, thinking it would be the most fascinating course in the world.  It wasn't.  It's nothing like looking at the sky and dreaming.  It's about numbers and elements and drawing circles on a chalkboard with a piece of chalk and a string and about wondering when the spittle was going to form in the corners of the professor's mouth - which it always did before the end of the hour long lecture.  He tried to kill the stars for me, but I managed to hold on to them and resuscitate them.


Linda at Teacherdance has a collection of star shaped cookie cutter…

I know, it isn't fall yet, but Renee LaTulippe challenged me to finish the year of dance...so I did. Funny, but I'd already begun pondering the other seasons' dances, so that's all the push I needed! I don't usually publish on Sunday, but I'm just riding in the car and the thoughts all struck me.

Fall's quadrille complete,
Winter's curtain rises on
A snowflake ballet.

The leaves are inside out,
Now what's that all about?
It seems without a doubt
There are no clouds enroute
That carry any clout.
We've had rain to end all drought;
Enough to make us pout,
Mosquitoes soon will sprout
In water from downspout.
So what's this all about
With the leaves all inside out?
"No more rain!" I want to shout.
"I'm feeling like a trout!"

Thank you Jama for hosting this week's Poetry Friday!

A haiku to the start of summer

Spring's exuberance
Pauses for lazy summer's
Waltz of golden fields

You know what?  I started to think about this poem off and on all morning after I wrote it, and now I'm thinking I should have done it this way:

Spring's jitterbugging
Pauses for lazy summer's
Waltz of golden fields

My first thought was with the word 'exuberance', but after using 'waltz', it seemed to make more sense to use another dance term for spring...and of course, it would have to be 'jitterbug'!

What do you think???

SssspppprrrriiiinnnnggggggggnnnniiiirrrrppppsssSSsssuuuummmmeeeerrrr

Can you feel it? Do you sense the changeover from spring to summer?

Here it starts as the migrating license plates return here to the north after wintering in the south.

If you can count three cars "from away" for each Maine plate, it must be summer.

If there are frantic people backing up…