Home, Sweet Home

Home Sweet Home

There are houses that just make you smile;

Make coming home worth every mile.

They ground your tired feet,

And make your life sweet,

As they beckon you, "Come sit awhile".

by Donna JT Smith ©9/29/2018

Just had to write a limerick to go with the picture of this sweet house I spied.  Hope you are having a home, sweet home kind of day!

Ok, now back to laundry and vacuuming...MY house beckons me...you can't just sit, you know!  There are dust bunnies to be captured.

For those of you who know about our home in Friendship, Gull Haven, I am going to post some updates on that blog later today.  It has been a stressful year, but some clouds are lifting.  We may get there sometime...

Okay, updates on Friendship kitchen fiasco HERE.

Red Foxes and Maples

This week we saw changing leaves and spied a beautiful, healthy fox in a field.  Don't usually see a fox in broad daylight unless it is sickly.  This one had a gorgeous bushy tail and was leery of crossing the field in plain sight, so he looked more like he'd been disturbed from his daytime slumber.

It reminded me of the maples turning red surrounded by the greens.  I'd passed the tree a few times, and then we actually turned around so that I could take the picture.  I just had to have it for a poem that was brewing.

 Of Maples and Foxes

Scarlet in the field 

alerts 

to the cold

of deepest white

and sparkling ebony nights;

sprints

through the golden stubbly fields

and heron's cooling marsh

under unmarred blue skies;

leaps

spires of fading greens

piles of gray stones stitched acres

and babbling crystal brooks;

peers

from ever-deep-greens

through yellow tipped hedges

around silver sheds and barns;

and green

turns to gold 

and gold 

burns to red 

and red

spurns the white

cold ebony night

and scarlet

returns to 

sleep

deep

beneath

the crimson maple.

by Donna JT Smith, ©2018

I am sorry, but I will likely not visit others blogs this week.  I wrote and scheduled this a few weeks ago in case I couldn't get back to it.  Just noticed that it did post, and I'd even forgotten that I'd done it.  So here I am apologizing.  Hope your week is fun and your school year is going well, if you are teaching and retirement is going well, if you are doing that!

What a Rose Knows

This summer has been one of fun, but other things, too, that have been slightly less fun or distracting to say the least.  I must say, one of the more fun things that has kept my mind busy and happy has been Tabatha Yeatts-Lonske's poetry exchange.  I wrote poems for other poets, and received some poems in the mail.
It has been fun to get actual mail in the mailbox - kinda like the olden days!

In the midst of some chaos, I received Molly Hogan's parcel.  Molly just lives a few towns away, and knows the parts of Maine that I am familiar with also, so though I knew I wouldn't have time to savor the poem,  I opened the envelope to have a sneak peak!  Roses, ocean... but had to set it aside before reading very much.  I slid everything back in its envelope for safe keeping.  The envelope moved from the kitchen table to the kitchen counter, and then to a nightstand where it sat safely waiting for me to have a mellow moment to remember it again.

The moment came, and I went through a stack of mail and miscellaneous in the kitchen, looking for the packet.  I suddenly remembered where I'd placed it and scooted in to grab it from its safe spot!  I slid the photo of the familiar rosa rugosa out of the manila envelope and breathed a sigh of relief and relaxation!

Molly's poem, which I'd only skimmed briefly initially, now took hold of me, and I smiled to myself and nodded in agreement as I read "What Rosa Rugosa Knows".  Yes, Rosa does.
"Don't be deceived by her simplicity
and seeming air of fragility"

Here it is with the brilliant picture with poem:

What Rosa Rugosa Knows

Rugosa knows
     how to meet her needs
     to protect herself with stalks prickled and brambly
     to expand into new territory
     sending out questing suckers with ease
     using wind and water to disperse her seeds

Rugosa knows
     how to live generously
     to unfurl her tissued petals exuberantly
     releasing scent into brisk sea breeze
     her stems weaving a sanctuary
     to shelter birds, butterflies and bees
     her roots tightly gripping slipping beach

Rugosa knows
     how to thrive in adversity
     to tolerate salt spray from stormy seas
     conserving water in deeply wrinkled leaves
     to flourish in earth of poor quality
     and valiantly resist disease

Don't be deceived by her simplicity
     and seeming air of fragility

Rugosa knows

©2018 M. Hogan

Thank you, Molly!  I needed that.

We can all take a lesson from Rugosa...
she knows how to meet her needs,
live generously
and thrive in adversity -
     fragility is only her cover.


Get fed more poetry today by visiting Amy Ludwig VanDerwater, where Poetry Friday is being hosted.

Happy Anniversary

And be ye kind one to another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, even as God for Christ’s sake hath forgiven you.

Ephesians 4:32
It’s how we’ve run our day to day married life.

It’s Forever

When I married you, 

I did not know -

Could not fathom -

That the years

Would go by so quickly.

I did not know where

years came from 

Nor where they went.

But I had only seen 21 years -

a young girl

so far

And had only known you

for a year when we said “I do” -

“I do take thee

Forever.”

It is almost that now -

I would like to take you

For one more

Forever, please.

This one hasn’t 

been long enough.

By Donna JT Smith, (c) 2018

Happy 46th anniversary, Tim.

It has been a good path, so let’s keep on walking It!

First Spiritual Thursday - My Path

I scoured my brain for ideas for this month's topic for First Spiritual Thursday.  It was not an easy task for some reason. So many activities, events, adventures and misadventures this summer have taken up brain space, making it difficult to focus on writing at all.

I finally landed on a moving target - the paths we’ve taken - by choice or nudging.

Do you remember a time something amazing happened because
   of an opportunity you took?
      a corner you turned?
         a door you opened?
How have you been led to where you are today?

Let’s just call it “My Path” and see what comes of it!
Maybe this gives you a different take on it altogether!
Even I will be surprised. I have no preconceived idea of where this will lead me...
I'm so curious as to where this "path" may lead!

KJV Dictionary definition of "path":
P`ATH, n. plu. paths. Gr. to tread.

1. A way beaten or trodden by the feet of man or beast, or made hard by wheels; that part of a highway on which animals or carriages ordinarily pass; applied to the ground only, and never to a paved street in a city.

2. Any narrow way beaten by the foot.

3. The way, course or track where a body moves in the atmosphere or in space; as the path of a planet or comet; the path of a meteor.

4. A way or passage.

5. Course of life.

He marketh all my paths. Job.33.

6. Precepts; rules prescribed.

Uphold my going in thy paths. Ps.17.

7. Course of providential dealings; moral government.

All the paths of the Lord are mercy and truth to such as keep his covenant. Ps.25.

P`ATH, v.t. To make a path by treading; to beat a path, as in snow.

To push forward; to cause to go; to make way for.

P`ATH, v.i. To walk abroad.


My take on Path: Course of life -

I was tempted to begin a timeline showing things along my path.  But it isn't the things along or in my path that are the important things. They are the evidence of God working in my life even from an early age.  For as long as I can remember I was searching for the God of my life.  I was not sure how to find Him, but I knew He was real.  I did not know why Jesus had to die.  I just knew He did.  I did not know how He related to God, but I knew He was important.  I knew I wanted to be good so I could go to Heaven, but I didn't know exactly how good I had to be.  Perhaps I could just do more good than bad. It seemed logical.  So I set off on that path.  I would be good and kind and helpful and try to do no harm.

I think God saw the path I had chosen, and maybe smiled a little at my feeble attempts to be good - at least to be more good than bad.  And He kept watching me. I somehow knew He was. It feels now like my path was a bit of a maze that God was steering me through, sometimes holding my hand, sometimes nudging me around corners or over boulders, guiding me through deep waters, pushing me past some people, and leading me to other people until he could get me through the maze and end my confusion.

I believe my path has been guided throughout my life, even when I wasn't sure how it was happening.
Why did my future husband show up at the moment he did?  Why did job opportunities open up when others closed suddenly?  Why did we call that one real estate agency to list our home and end up selling it to his boss before it was even listed - at a time when we really had to move quickly?  Why did - Why was -  How did this happen to work out even when it looked like it couldn't possibly go right? 

I have so many "why dids" and "how dids" in my pathway that are now answered simply.  I always wanted God to lead me, even when I wasn't so sure who He was to me.  And He guided my footsteps and helped me to avoid many storms in life - actually, I'm not as sure that He helped me avoid storms, so much as He helped me ride them out.  Amazingly, often it wasn't until later that I realized it was a storm that I'd been through, and perhaps might have been concerned about had I not been fixed on God.  I have rested peacefully and thankfully in His arms - as a newborn would in a mother's - almost unaware of the dangers.

I'm along for the ride.  I'm on a path that has been set for me.  It may look like I'm in control, but that's just because God's over in the passenger seat with all the controls - just like my drivers' ed instructor.

Psalm 16:11 Thou wilt shew me the path of life: in thy presence is fulness of joy; at thy right hand there are pleasures for evermore.

Proverbs 4:18  But the path of the just is as the shining light, that shineth more and more unto the perfect day.

This is not quite on the same "path" as the above, but it is a kind of path I remember thinking about as a child...and the disappointment when I learned that it was impossible.

To Walk on Clouds

I’ve always wanted to walk on clouds
Billowed beneath my feet;
Swirl them, twirl them with my toes
Aloft on Nimbus Street;
Then peering past
The cumulus cast
An eye on all below:
Mountains insignificant,
Rivers raging slow.
But there is no solid stratus,
No cirrus stony path,
And I am much too heavy
To amble on a draft.
I’ll never traipse atop the clouds,
Though cloudless days there’ll be
When I will step so nimbly
Unweighted down and free,
Not to walk on clouds but skip
And run on higher ground
Above the highest mountain,
Cause I’m not lost but found.
I’d always wanted to walk on clouds
Billows beneath my feet
Until I found reality is
More magnificent and sweet.

by Donna JT Smith, 2018

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Poetry Friday Bird Challenges

Christie Wyman at Wondering and Wandering is hosting Poetry Friday and has thrown out a bird-related poem challenge to anyone willing to come along!  Check out the links posted...there maybe a few bird poems today.  Diane Mayr has also challenged anyone interested to select an image from the Library of  Congress (LOC) archives that is bird related. 
So I've combined the two and this is it - I would, of course, search for a gull image - The poem is read from the box at the top to start then head on around the image clockwise.

https://www.loc.gov/item/2017764654/

Title

Aboard a trawler. Selecting fish and cutting off heads. Only mackerel, whiting and occasional flounder or halibut are kept. Thrown from trough into ice-filled hold. Fish heads and non-marketable fish are thrown into sea above which hundreds of seagulls wait hungrily. Provincetown, Massachusetts

Contributor Names

Rosskam, Edwin, 1903-1985, photographer

Created / Published

1937 Summer.

Gluttonous Gulls

Gluttonous gulls 

can't help but call:

 "Come look, come see, 

come one, come all!

Look what I found - 

the heads of fish -

And boy, oh, boy, 

they look delish!"

"Share with you?

I don't think so.

You didn't catch 

these fish, you know."

"Neither did you,

so you'd better share!

Eating them all

is just not fair!"

"Fair to whom?

I found this lot!

And what did you?

I think 'twas naught!"

"Oh, fancy talk

from a common gull

Who's following boats

to snarf up cull!"

"Those fish heads

flying to the sea 

Should all belong

to me, me, me!"

"Oh, really now!

I think you're wrong;

These fish are mine,

so run along!"

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"These gulls are sure

 a noisy bunch.

Their only goal:

to grab free lunch."

"If only they would

eat and share,

But seagulls aren't

that sweet and fair."

"Keep tossing heads

and no-name fishes,

Grant these gulls

their gluttonous wishes."

("I didn't sign up

for this fishing trip;

I thought this was

a cruise-type ship!")

"We'll head for shore

as sun is setting,

But they'll be back

for tomorrow's getting!"

by Donna JT Smith, 2018

Wish I'd gotten footage of the people "from away" feeding a gull on the railing beside their table - quite close to the sign saying "Do Not Feed the Gulls".  They were sharing a large platter of fries, letting him have free range of that plate.  She wasn't too pleased when he then decided to take her large piece of haddock off her plate.  She tried to shoo him away, but he came back and got the second piece of haddock, too.  They are brazen, and don't need to be fed.  They take whatever they want, whenever they want.  Nothing is safe unattended.  But if you ARE attending it and feed them, then they get even bolder - and you my friend are going to lose anything that looks as if it may have food in it even.  "Do Not Feed the Gulls"... really.  Visitors get to go home and eat in peace and quiet; we have to live with them later!

Poetry Swap from Iphigene

To the writers who want to be:

Today I am also sharing a poem I received from Iphigene Daradar in the Philippines.  She stalked my blog (very effectively and efficiently, I might add!), and came up with a beautiful summary, beginning with a line I had written in one of my posts recently.

LIKE A RUSHING WIND

"Life is like
a rushing wind
around me."

I sit to make
lists in hope
to catch life's
gush into a string
of words
to check off.

I write #3
only to hear
a knock,
life at my door
asking me
to go see
beach roses
blooming by
my porch.

I bend down
breathe in
the scent
of pink and white
roses, to notice
the day was best
for a ride to
the coast

Shook it off
stamp my feet
to the house and
finish the list.
ten things to write -
to be done.

I write #5
breeze blew
my paper flew
I run to shut
the window
found a bird
perched

I stop to listen
to its song,
an invitation
to dance -
shoeless
on the grass
beneath the
softening sun

Oh! Life is like
a rush of wind
sweeping off
my list, telling me
to be at ease
let it be, and
live.

©Iphigene Daradar, 2018

Thank you, Iphigene.  There is no more to say.  Just a sigh and a smile.

Please visit Molly at Nix the comfort zone for more poetry goodness.

Poetry Friday

I read Mary Lee Hahn's post today (and she is hosting!) where she has written a Blitz Poem.  It was so intriguing, I had nothing ready for today, and I had some extra time (having gotten up a mere three hours after going to bed), so I decided to try one, too.  I've not spent much time finessing this, so I'm sure there are cleverer ones to be written than this.  But this was a good experiment in a Blitz Poem and I enjoyed my early hours this morning.

Dawn of Fun

At the end of my rope
At the crack of dawn

Dawn to dusk
Dawn of ages

Ages ago
Ages gracefully

Gracefully declined
Gracefully bowed

Bowed out
Bowed to the master

Master of all
Master mind

Mind your manners
Mind your own business

Business trip
Business of living

Living the life
Living the dream

Dream of a future
Dream home

Home of the brave
Home on the range

Range in age
Range of motion

Motion to adjourn
Motion to the side

Side by side
Side of beef

Beef it up
Beef about it

It is a miracle
It has no end

End in sight
End of the road

Road less traveled
Road to nowhere

Nowhere does it say
Nowhere to go

Go on
Go play

Play outside
Play in the rain

Rain cats and dogs
Rain barrel

Barrel of laughs
Barrel of fun

Fun and games
Fun in the sun

Sun
Games

by Donna JT Smith, © 2018

First Spiritual Thursday Looking Ahead

Patricia Weaver at Writer on a Horse is hosting this "event", our Spiritual Thursday posts, today.  So if you are of a mind to read what others have to think and say about anticipating their favorite "seasonal" stuff's return, head on over to Pat's and click on a few links.

Sunset with a gull

Romans 8:25 - But if we hope for that we see not, [then] do we with patience wait for [it].

I am looking forward to the return of ALL the seasons, and ALL the things that go with them.  I should not be counting down, but there are days when I think "How many more seasons of these roses will I enjoy?", "How many more of this or that will there be?"  And I think of my husband's grandmother who lived to be 104, but had begun counting down at about my age now, or a bit younger.  She had 40 more years.
So I have determined not to think TOO much about that and just live a lot.

Looking Ahead to What's Passed

my heart

skips 

forward 

to the return

of seasons gone before;

and I write about remembered

fall sunsets squeezing gold from setting sun, 

spreading butteryness on waving grain;

I pen of last winter's snowflakes,

sequins on dancing spruce;

I encourage my ink 

to flow in rivulets, 

as spring rains 

carving through 

melted snows,

the thought of 

shocks of green

between my toes 

lures me to compose 

summer words of wonder;

though my pen

trips

over words

expressing earthly loves:

my reasons in seasons,

 watchful weeks

dreamy days;

each minute

my heart knows

there is really 

only one return that

flips

my world

and I await

what has passed before

and will be again.

by Donna JT Smith ©2018

Psalms 39:7 - And now, Lord, what wait I for? my hope [is] in thee.

I wrote part of this on Wednesday night and got very busy with much stuff starting early this morning.  And I apologize for not getting back or starting earlier to flesh it out.  You know how it is when you have so much stuff you want to fit into a day, a week, a life... squeezing in the good stuff is important.  Writing is important, too, but doing is more important if you only get to do one of those.


This has not a lot to do with the topic today, I just like it.  I'm always trying to remember to ask boldly.
1 John 5:14 - And this is the confidence that we have in him, that, if we ask any thing according to his will, he heareth us:

Revised Revisited

An old postcard of my home - When we owned it, the trees had grown up all around it, so it wasn't visible from the road.

Today is Poetry Friday, and our hostess is Catherine at Reading to the Core.  She's sharing a poem planned for the start of school....yipes! Already??

I missed last Friday's poetry, though I did write some.  I read about "Where I'm From" poetry introduced by George Ella Lyon, and tried one.
I also later found this form online: http://freeology.com/extras/whereimfrom2.html.  It would be good for getting started with students.

Though some have seen my original there version on FB, I have revisited and revised it.  At one early point I had accidentally taken out the "lilacs" that I wanted in there, so they are back. Then my brother read it and mentioned "Brown Rim Cookies".  No one else in the world that I knew ever made them, or had heard of them.  So I've included the cookies in the poem and a recipe at the end.  I became an expert at tucking the edges of the linen towel inside a glass, dipping it in water, and applying just the right amount of pressure to the ball of dough so that the edges wouldn't burn.  There were a few "Burned Rim Cookies" before I got it right!
Yesterday, the 26th, would have been my mother's birthday.  So let's just say it is in honor of her.  For she is really "where I'm from" in many, many ways - even to her choice of my hard-working dad, Alex!

Not my actual bike -
Mine didn't have a headlight, but it was probably used when I got it.  My brother got a red bike the same day.

Where I'm From

I am from

family baseball
on summer Sunday afternoons,

because before I was from anywhere
Alex joined the Coast Guard instead

of the Red Sox farm team.
I am from

backyard football
and driveway basketball
until snow flies. 

As the eldest of four,
I am from
watching my three siblings
when adults are busy;
But still 

I am from the fun of
bare feet and blueberries
marbles and mud,
jump ropes and jacks.
I am from lilacs and ledges, 

chokecherry hideaways;
from butterflies and

grasshoppers and pine pitch

stickiness on fingertips.
I am from
making stick boats to float

down the driveway after a rain,
carving roads under the cedar trees 

for my Tonka truck and

ducking spiderwebs.
I am from 

the terrors of gathering

eggs from feisty hens and

avoiding killer roosters.
I am from

repaired
porcelain horses,
used furniture, antiques

and unlimited pre-loved old books:

“Honeybunch, Just a Little Girl” and
“A Child’s Garden of Verse”;
And I am from under my own
‘Land of Counterpane’

 reading and hoping

no one will notice
I’m not yet outside playing
under the apple trees and old elm.
I am from choir and white gloves,

and praying in school each morning;

I am from Bonnie Brae 

and picking Mrs. Foye's 

favorite apples in the front yard

and rubbing dirt off carrots and radishes from 

Mom’s vegetable garden in the backyard.
I am from

sewing machines and fabric
and making my own dresses;
I am from
“Gone With the Wind”,
and pressing down brown rim cookies.
I am from working at summer camp with
kids where I first learn I will be from
hundreds of children teaching me.
I am from new roots
with a husband
and a farm halfway across the country,
away from family and old friends.
I am from
new friends,
real horses,
real fences to mend,
and from my own two children
who mold me into
a mom.
I am not always from
“I know how to do that.”
But I am from
“I want to learn how to do that.”
I am from guns and roses
and motorcycles.
And I am from
a mother and father who know
that small things are big
and big things are small,
and a fall
is naught
at all.
I am from salt air, 


seagulls,
 and polliwogs;


and the freedom to roam

on a blue Schwinn I named Daisy.


I am from hearing an old foghorn


call us for supper.


And I’m from


coming home

 again.

By Donna JT Smith, July 22, 2018

A foghorn like ours.

BROWN RIM COOKIES
1 c. shortening 1 tsp. salt 2 eggs, well beaten 1 tsp. vanilla 2/3 c. sugar 2 1/2 c. sifted flour Combine shortening, salt and vanilla. Add sugar and cream well. Add eggs. Beat thoroughly. Add flour. Mix well. Drop by teaspoonfuls and flatten with water glass (damp cloth over bottom). Bake at 350 degrees for 8-10 minutes.

Note:  Mrs. Foye was an elderly woman who would sit on our porch and ask for specific apples from our trees.  Mom was a registered nurse, and she and Dad opened our house up for a while to be a nursing home at Bonnie Brae.  We had patients in 5 of our bedrooms, and we slept in the "summer" rooms over the barn and summer kitchen.

A Ride to Reid

Such a special treat of a poem arrived last week from Becky Herzog.  It was a handmade postcard with  a shape poem - a beautifully flowing outline of a motorcycle, with an equally beautiful flowing poem.  It's perfect.  She's captured it all...the smells, the sounds, the feelings.  Thanks!!!

Some pictures to set the mood...

Reid - Todd's Point

Beach roses ready to bloom

A seagull swoop

A great swing at Griffith Head, Reid

 And the bike:

Ready for a Ride to Reid!

And now the postcard/poem (even the colors are right!):

A Ride to Reid

Happiness
Smell of seaweed and roses on the air
Exhilarating
Salty sea breeze rushing past sun-kissed cheeks
Peaceful
Distant waves crash and gulls cry
Rejuvenating
Pause to recharge the soul
Joyful

by Rebecca Herzog ©2018

I told you it was perfect.
This project, organized by Tabatha Yeatts, is so much fun!  I'm late sending my next poem out, but TODAY it goes...and my third, too!
Now visit more poetry goodness with Sylvia at Poetry for Children!  It's Poetry Friday!  Hip-hip - hooray!

A late response poem:

I Can Dream

When I ride

the glide of wind

across my face,

like waves awash across 

the space of sand,

turns sun to

warmth undone.

Breeze sneaks

between glove and

sleeve,

tickling, trickling

up past wrists.

I lean into the curve,

as a gull dipping its

wing carves

a path;

Though I must 

stay grounded
to the earth,
  I can dream, 

can't I?

 by Donna JT Smith, ©2018

In the Middle

Today is officially Poetry Friday, hosted by Patricia Stohr-Hunt at The Miss Rumphius Effect . First Spiritual Thursday, hosted by Doraine Bennett at Dori Reads, was yesterday.  I am late for both.  Our topic here in the middle of the year is "looking back/looking forward".

Oh, my word...
I wrote so much garbage for this day.  I wrote, read, edited, wrote more, cut lots, read again...you know the process.  And then I decided to cut most ALL of it and stick with the poem that was in the MIDDLE and add an acrostic poem.

It's all about the middle anyway. Behave as if you were in the middle, no matter where your life bubble is.  I don't spend much time looking back and assessing my progress.   Maybe I should.  But I mostly start from where I am each day and keep moving.  I think I used to set more goals for the forward motion than I do now.  At this point in my life I've tapped about every stone I could get my toe on.  I like where I've been, and have no real regrets, so it makes life easier to deal with each day.

My goal

In life before my

Demise: to garner

Delight in the

Light of your

Eyes.

by Donna JT Smith

My journey lately has been mostly clawing uphill, but there have been ledges of rest along the way, and I am grateful for them, and for the fact that I don't journey alone - though I will be glad when the journey goes more smoothly and levels off again.  But how can there be a mountain top if there are no valleys?  I've been in valleys before.  Just start climbing slow, steady and straight.  Plow to the post: you'll get there quicker.

An Acrostic: 

Beginning, Middle, Ending

Before has not been

Eventually is later

Good times are

In store in

New days

Not yet happened

In time

Nor space

Get ready to race -

 _________________

Messy life

In a muddle

Delightful

Desserts combined with

Life's lessons -

Events dealt and disbursed.

__________________

Eventually comes,

Nevermore happens;

Despite our dreams and

Inward wishes;

No looking back for

"Got away" fishes.

by Donna JT Smith


I had a cold this week while my grandchildren were visiting.  Twice my 6 year old grandson said to me "I hope you don't die before my birthday, because you are sick and you are old."
I hope I don't either.  I only have to make it to the middle of August... lol!  NyQuil and Mucinex are working miracles.  I think I'll be at the party.  But I guess you never know.  I AM old...with a cold.

Joyful Journey

Here my path lies,

Here the journey,

But the way

Is not the end;

There are others

Following footprints

Be they family

Or friend.

As I reach

that firm foundation

Weathered storms

lie just behind,

New storms quietly

awaiting

But I look for

silver-lined.

by Donna JT Smith 

This still feels a lot disjointed to me.  Sorry.  I have a cold.

Edna St. Vincent Millay

No poem from me here today (I know. Strange, huh?), but if you must read one and you haven't yet, Monday's post, has my poem, Pulse, and a photo - I don't think it was too widely read.  Please bear with me if I haven't been to your site in a bit to comment.  Life is like a rushing wind around me.  When the wind settles to a breeze, I will have more time and energy.  But this week, I promise to reply to all who comment here or on Monday's post...even if I don't get dishes done!

This week we took a trip up to Camden, and drove up to the top of the "mountain".  Mountain is in quotes because we don't have mountains like other people have mountains.  Ours are considerably smaller for the most part.  But when you mostly see sea and forest for rest...well, we make mountains out of molehills.  But still, those molehills are pretty high up and beautiful.


Mt. Battie at Camden State Park has a stunning view of Camden's harbor.  If you are ever up in Maine it is worth a stop to either hike or drive to the top.

At the summit there is a tower, and a plaque honoring Edna St. Vincent Millay (more info here), who was born in Rockland, Maine and often came to nearby Camden. 

All I could see from where I stood

Was three long mountains and a wood;

I turned and looked another way,

And saw three islands in a bay.

So with my eyes I traced the line

Of the horizon, thin and fine,

Straight around till I was come

Back to where I'd started from;

And all I saw from where I stood

Was three long mountains and a wood.

by Edna St.Vincent Millay

The poem in its entirety may be read here.

For more poetry today, go to Carol at Carol's Corner and check out the links!

A Late Thought

I was thinking as I was lying in bed.  Now I can't even remember if it was before I fell asleep, or upon waking up too early.  But I guess it doesn't matter.  I got up and wrote down a couple of lines.  I did not do what I usually do, which is think to myself that I will certainly remember THAT thought.   When I finally got up for the day, I remembered I had written something, but had no idea what it was.  So, good.  I would not have remembered my thought in the morning without writing it down.  And I had been smart to just get up and jot it down.  The next step in outsmarting myself will be to have a pad of paper, pencil and flashlight...or an iPad that is still turned on and set beside me.  I am beginning to know myself and my limitations - you would have thought that would have happened years ago.  I still have to remember that I am like that though, for I will argue with myself about how I will surely remember THIS latest and greatest thing.  Then I don't write that something down, but reassure myself that I have that nugget tucked away safely for remembering.  And I never do remember it.

But I wrote this one down - sometime when it was still dark this week.  I left these lines on a document page on my computer:


Waves of the ocean,
Strong pulses of life
Breathe over the sand

And I'm going to think about it now and write more... because I remembered to write it down, and it must mean something to me.

Okay, finished.

Pulse

Waves of the ocean,
Strong pulses of life
Breathe over the sand
Renewing, embuing
These small grains of land;
And I hum to myself
With a small roar inside,
A thrum that refuses,
To quell the great tide;
The salt of my tears
And dried whispers on breeze
Soon bring me to
Fall on my trembling knees.

Oh, there’s strength in
The falling,
There’s power in tears,
There’s hope in the
Squalling of gulls
Without fears,

And cormorants plummeting,
Seals sliding to depths

 All to be fed
Of oceans great wealths;

And I sit here still,
Shiftless, sifting with hand
Where the pulse of my life
Is renewed in its sand.

by Donna JT Smith, © June 25, 2018

Colorful

It is Poetry Friday, and though I am a little late posting, I'm very happy to be here!  There's nothing like a bit of poetry to liven up the day.  So after spending a little time here, pop on over to check out more links to poetry at Michelle Kogan's!  (Oh, my word... I forgot to link and here it is just after 4:30 pm... I got distracted in the middle of it!)

Here is a rosa rugosa (beach rose) from in front of our home (near the beach).  I am in love with this rose.  It is the best smelling rose around.  Every time we enter or exit the house - almost all summer - we are greeted by their sweetness.

I have taken many pictures of them, and painted them a few times.  I'm hoping to get better at it!  They are so delicate and fairly glow in the sun!  It is hard for me to capture their essence.  I ALWAYS overdo them!
See... it's not even close.

I'm going to do it right one of these days!

Today, I am sharing a photo I took, and a true thought story poem.  Did you ever have this "wonder", I wonder?

Colorful

I remember
wondering
about colors,
wishing
I could
spy a new color.
Fluorescents
came into fashion,
and new crayon
names appeared…
I thought,
“Ah-ha!
I’ve never seen
these colors!”
But now I know
they have always
been there;
just waiting for me
to look more
closely.

by Donna JT Smith ©2018

Unbroken

Kiesha Shepard at Whispers from the Ridge has our Poetry Friday links today.
Have a beautiful summer day sometime this week!  Looks like rain instead of sun here today! (Whoops!  Sun just peeked through the leaves in the back yard!  Maybe it's a bike day after all!)

Unbroken

"I’m broke,” she said,
And laid in bed.
"I’m sick,” she lied,
And then she cried.

“I can’t do that!

I won’t do this!

Just go away,
And bring back bliss!”

Then as she tumbled
To the floor
And crawled along
To find the door,

She noticed she
Was on her knees,
And knew that someone
Heard her pleas,

Where all along
She should have been
To see her world
Brought right again.

Her smallness, frailties
Magnified,
Her being so
Undignified

Reminded her that
There’s a force,
A power of
Unending source.

And tapping that
She rose to see
That all was as
It’s meant to be.

No more broken,
No more sick,
No more lies
There is no trick.

“You’re right, you cannot
Do it all
But neither do you
Need to fall.
For there’s a light
And there’s a hand
To help you fight
To help you stand.”

“I’m broke,” she whispered,
“Help me mend.”
“I’m sick,” she murmured,
“But I’ll attend.”

She grasped the light
And saw much more;
She held the hand
To cross the floor,

And all her worries,
All she feared
Dissolved at once
And disappeared.

Once again
The sky was bright
And even stars
Came out at night.

by Donna JT Smith, June 8, 2018

Two more of my poems at GetSparked "Up on the Roof" and "Full Cold Moon".

Thanks, Tabatha!  After reading your comment, I went surfing and found this one, too...enjoy!

First Spiritual Thursday

This is the first Thursday in June, so the Spiritual Journey Thursday gang meets to think about a variety of topics and how it affects their spiritual life.  This month's topic is Summer.  I tried thinking about this a few times over the past week and a half and nothing really came together in my brain well.  I didn't seem to get a lot of minutes all in one sitting to really meditate upon the theme.  Then I looked up Bible verses with summer in them.  And that is when I began to be able to focus better.

Summer is a promise from God.
Genesis 8:22  While the earth remaineth, seedtime and harvest, and cold and heat, and summer and winter, and day and night shall not cease.

This constancy is promised.  We can count on the cycles of seasons and day and night and that summer will return in an orderly fashion.  We don’t get tricked into spring turning to winter, and then autumn leading into summer.  There are not days without a night between (though at the poles they might be a bit shorter or longer than on other places on Earth…).  God gave us the promise of summer as part of a cycle for as long as the earth keeps spinning and rotating around the sun.

Of the four seasons, summer seems to me to be the one that most resembles Heaven....perpetual summer...though without the humidity, of course.  As beautiful looking as winter can be, it is not “heavenly” or “heaven-sent” to me.  It’s a dormant, cold time, when most things at least appear to be dead... unless you like skiing or other winter sports...
Spring is new birth, and autumn is the harvest before the cold, dormant dead of winter sets in.  Summer is the realized potential of all living things -  which seems heaven-like.  Everything is awake, grown or growing, green or greening, and flourishing.

Summer is our promise,
and our warning to harvest and prepare for the promised winter.

Summer

When the butterflies

fly home,
And moths
no longer roam,
Snowflakes spritely 

take their place

upon my face.
Memories of warm

sun spun

as lace
I hold dear today.

For soon I fear

the silvered sands
of beach

between my toes

will slip away
And ocean’s white-capped
waves

will be replaced 

with towering drifts -

the rift between
Summer’s reason
and
Winter’s treason.
As waves sift footprints
from the sand,
So may the sun

release iced land.

And someday I will

come to know

The endlessness of

 summer's glow.

by Donna JT Smith, 2018

Check out the links at Margaret Simon's Reflections on the Teche for more Summer postings. 

It is Friday...It is June...It is a Blessing

A bit of respite in May

Over the past month... and a bit more... we have had one crisis after another to fill our plates.  They have not sunk us.  They have not taken our joy.  But they have taken great amounts of time, energy,  and prayer.  And I have joked that I need a big platter instead of a plate to hold my portion.  But then I set my plate down, opting not to hold onto it.

I think May deserves a poem to celebrate its ending, its tenacity and its victories.

May Be June

We were clearly tempest tossed
well before May had begun

But as patterns crissed and crossed 
there were signs of more to come.

We smiled despite the cost
as we set our course to run.

Till races nearly lost,
instead turned races won.

Now June arrives all glossed
and we're ready for the sun.

Can May's near-holocaust
be traded for some fun?


by Donna JT Smith - June 1, 2018


Reason to Celebrate

Celebrate!
May was great -
Great with trials
and tribulations.

Celebrate!
Cannot wait -
Wait for hints
of revelations.

Celebrate!
Why that day?
Day requires 
deep inhalations.

Celebrate!
In the end,
End rewards
all faithful patience.

by Donna JT Smith, 2018


Not a masterpiece...
but a poem that sums up May for me.

No, two poems for May.  It deserved at least two.

I am not going into the details of all the piles of garbage - but suffice it to say our daughter walked away with only minor injuries after her car struck a tree head-on, totaling it.  And that was a total blessing, setting the perspective straight on all of the rest.

I have not written a posted since May 5th.  I have written a little since then... poems, but for other stuff...it's been hard to focus on writing, though it certainly was a full month for thoughts, just no time to write them.
GetSparked 37 is underway, and I submitted two inspiration pieces - one poem and one art piece to my exchange partner.  Since May 23 I have worked on 2 pieces: one a watercolor and one a poem as responses to my partner's inspiration pieces I received.
I actually completed two poems for her image.  The first one I completed, then decided to keep it instead of publishing it online.  So I had to create another one.  My second one was a bit fanciful and literal, and I decided to go with that one.  Today is the day for completing the response pieces - which I have done - and we now have the week to submit our work to the website.  I'll let you know when mine gets up there later today - probably tonight.

And now I'm working on Tabatha Yeatt's summer poetry exchanges.  I have 5 poems to write in the next couple of months, so I am beginning the thinking and drafting of my first now.

Poetry Friday is being hosted by Buffy at Buffy's Blog.  Enjoy the twirling seeds of the beginning of summer!