I Meant to Do My Work Today

Poet - John LeGallienne

I MEANT to do my work to-day -
But a brown bird sang in the apple-tree
And a butterfly flitted across  the field,
And all the leaves were calling me.

And the wind went sighing over the land,
Tossing the grasses to and fro,
And a rainbow held out its shining hand -
So what could I do but laugh and go?

Here's hoping everyone has a day when they can enjoy the pleasures of nature! Thanks for the inspiration of the pics, Allyson and Tyson.

"Senseless"

That is the title of today's poem from Kelly Letke, my favorite poet. Her post is so perfect I can't say anything that would add to the feelings of helplessness and despair all are feeling after the news of the Boston Marathon bombings.

Please follow the link to read her words.

"I, [too] am hungry for a rainbow."

(picture courtesy of Kelly Letky)

Dream of a Pink Pencil

 

 

It's a new poem from Linda Appel in response to my blog of Jan. 7, "Little Things Mean a Lot.". Enjoy!!!

 

 

Dream of a Pink Pencil

 

The pink pencil you found

tucked in your Christmas stocking

was inscribed "Love is all you need,"

and you take delight in those trochees,

that make the music of your days.

 

I dream of your pink pencil

becoming mine, and I shave

away a cone of painted wood, exposing

a point of graphite with which to write the words:

great words, more words, many many words

of truth, both yours and mine. They uncoil

from the end of the pencil as the wood shavingv curled

away, but I fear I'm losing the best ones,

still locked in the bits of lead dropped

into the trash as I sharpened it.

 

But there are plenty more words to affix

to the paper, so I go with the ones I have. Sorting

them, rearranging them as diffeerent parts of speech

until the pencil point goes dull.

 

I sharpen it again and wait

for the words, the strong words,

the beautiful and beloved words to scroll

off the pink pencil, giving me

all I need to make a poem.

 

Linda Knowlton Appel

1/8-9, 2013

 

 

Bravo, Linda.  I love your strong, beautiful, beloved words that you share with me.

Ps. Unicorn Farts is a lip balm made by Long Winter Farm based in Maine. Can't you just imagine what fun they have with names during those long winters? And it is soothing and good.

 

PPS. pink pencil is from Earmark, social paper goods. Great stuff. They can be found on pinterest and facebook, also. 

I Love Emily

Emily Dickinson's poetry always moves and amazes me. So simple; so profound. She birthed my interest in the art of poetry. Monday was her birthday. Let's all celebrate.

Not knowing when the dawn will come

I open every door



 

                                                                                      Emily Dickinson



Rain, Rain Go Away

Linda writes a response to my blog of December 4. Since she lives in the Portland Oregon area, she is much too familiar with rain while here in central Texas we are in the throes of a drought. If only we could share. I'd send her more sunshine, rosy sunrises, golden sunsets. In exchange she could package up a few gentle, long showers to delight our lakes, trees and grass. Sounds like a great gift exchange to me.

So from the sodden Northwest here is the poem.

Skies glower grey with rain for days,

which dawn late, and nights creep in

too early. The year spins down and out

and we struggle against the brevity

of life and light.

Today, at last, clouds float like gauze

In front of the rising sun which reaches

Through with five fingers of silver

Light toward the frets of earth,

To pluck the notes of a Gloria in excelsis.

 

Linda Knowlton Appel

12/5/2012

Words, Words + Sketchbook 2

Words are such important things. They tell of love, friendship, neighborhoods, news, gossip, our history and our future. With the growth of social networking and electronic communication words are the new pop stars - even if often abbreviated or initialized for the sake of speed.  New words are born and old words are often discarded along the way. Lately a few old-fashioned words have been uttered anew.

Bamboozled  Love the way it sounds. Aren't the meaning and the vocalisation synchronized? This is what "pulling the wool over someone's eyes" sounds like.  (I'm tempted to go on a rant about how over-used it would be in any discussion of Washington and the political rush to the fiscal cliff, but I don't have the time today. Lucky you!) See if you can use bamboozled in a sentence today.

Newfangled  Another example where sound and substance merge. Noises that bling make. A word of invention whether it is a product or an idea. Our world is moving at an ever increasing rate where daily we hear about newfangled things that will improve our lives. Just this morning I was treated to a new promising way to treat Alzheimer. Newfangled can be good.

Curmudgeon  My aspiration is to become a full blown curmudgeon. It seems like it is a rite of passage for elders. We get to complain, make pithy comments on modern life. At the same time we celebrate the good of the olden days. When Andy Rooney died this year, everyone used this word; so I guess I'm saying my ambition is to be Andy Rooney. (Not dead, but sardonically smart!)

Speaking of words below is the second poem from Linda Appel. "Excitement" was the blog title. These words and phrases are what jumped out at her.

“Excitement!!!”

“teaser”`         ”not sure”        “roads we will travel together”

“racing”          “WILL be done”

And the poem.

            EXCITEMENT

 

Excitement. This day

is off to a magnificent start.

Through our electronic messaging marvels,

I’ve talked with you, and I

am  energized with your excitement and spirit.

I have set a project in motion

and you are racing to your sewing

machine. Our tasks WILL be done today.

 

When I arose from bed this morning, the moon

shone full upon me. Later, leaving the house,

I crested the hill, turned left, and halted.

At the end of the alley of trees a rainbow

arched bright across my path.

Excitement at these blessings propels me

along the road we are traveling together

despite distance and distractions.

 

                        Linda Knowlton Appel, 12/1/12

Thanks, Linda, what a wonderful use of words! For all my readers I hope that your day is bright!!

The Sketchbook - "Every eye is different"

When last I talked to you, I was teasing you with the latest blogging idea - a collaboration between my sister, the poet, and me, the blogger. Well, here goes.

Let me introduce the poet, Linda Appel. She lives in the Northwest, too far from Texas. Mother of two, grandmother to 3. Half of a long, long marriage. Professionally she is a librarian. Now retired she writes. Her poetry is carefully crafted, polished, full of soaring images that evoke the universals of life. Currently she is working on compiling her second chap book.

As mentioned her poems are carefully created and usually go through many rewrites before the finished version is shared. To send me and allow my audience to read the quick reactions to some ideas or words  from my blog is new and a bit scary for her. Will people think her words are sloppy? Will it hurt her reputation as a serious writer?

I look at these poems as from a sketchbook. As an artist uses a sketchbook to record quick impressions, ideas and images so as to remember them for future works or to play with different takes on a project, so these quick poems are Linda's sketches. Not meant as finished, polished gems. They are flashes, thoughts, responses. At a later time she may go back to some and turn them into edited poetry; some will remain thoughts. I am thrilled that she is willing to share her "sketchbook" with us. I am honored that she is using some of my words.

So here goes. I hope you enjoy this experiment.

An answer to the blog of November 28, "The Eyes Have It". (click on link to read )

Every eye is different

 

Every eye is different  and responds differently. None are ever the same.

The body is complex and has a mind of its own.

Life is full of mysteries, and the human body continues to be one.

 

Every eye is different; every eye responds

differently, never ever the same.    My mind’s eye

sees you, sees you as you were last year, last decade, or when

as children, braided and bobbed and with brand new glasses,

suddenly the blackboard came clear, and from the rear

of the classroom I could read the letters, the numbers,

the problems in arithmetic.

But that has faded now and the color of our eyes as well,

reflecting not the startling blue of sky into which we might soar

but the  aqueous paleness of  the sea whose depths mysteriously

surround and support us.

On good days, we float in the salty source of life

and on occasion dive deeply, searching with failing eyes

for more, more, more.

 

Nov. 28, 2012