Category Archives: Poetry

Annie Laurie ~ Glendale Forest Lawn

My Three or More this week is all about Annie Laurie. When Katie and I visited Glendale Forest Lawn last Monday we enjoyed The Wee Kirk O’ the Heather! Thank you to Tam at The Gypsy’s Corner for hosting this weekly event.

 

Forest Lawn Glendale has several lovely churches on their grounds. This one was built to resemble Annie Laurie’s Church in Scotland. I’ve included the Stained glass windows in the church that tell her story in glass and the poem that was made famous about her written by William Douglas and the Old Scottish Song that is based on the poem sung by Deanna Durbin. Annie’s father denied William as a suitor for Annie. One of the reasons Annie’s father was not fond of William was because of his political/religious affiliations.

 

Annie Laurie by William Douglas

Maxwelton’s hills are bonnie
Where early falls the dew
And ’twas there that Annie Laurie
Gived me her promise true.
Gived me her promise true
Which ne’er forgot shall be
And for bonnie Annie Laurie
I’d lay me down and die.

Her brow is like the snow drift,
Her throat is like the swan,
Her face, it is the fairest
That e’er the sun shone on.
That e’er the sun shone on
And dark blue are her eyes
And for bonnie Annie Laurie
I’d lay me down and die.

Like dew on the daisy lyin’
Is the fall of her fairy feet
And like winds in summer sighing
Her voice is low and sweet.
Her voice is low and sweet
And she’s all the world to me
And for bonnie Annie Laurie
I’d lay me down and die.

I’m adding this You Tube of the song being sung by Deanna Durbin…

To see more Three or More visit Tam at A Gypsy’s Corner!

Photobucket is holding all my photos I stored with them from 2007-2015 hostage unless I pay them a lot of money. I’m slowly cleaning up many posts from this time period and deleting their ugly grey and black boxes with a ransom request. Such a time consuming bother.

The Herons

The Herons of Elmwood

Warm and still is the summer night,
As here by the river’s brink I wander;
White overhead are the stars, and white
The glimmering lamps on the hillside yonder.

Silent are all the sounds of day;
Nothing I hear but the chirp of crickets,
And the cry of the herons winging their way
O’er the poet’s house in the Elmwood thickets.

Call to him, herons, as slowly you pass
To your roosts in the haunts of the exiled thrushes,
Sing him the song of the green morass;
And the tides that water the reeds and rushes.

Sing him the mystical Song of the Hern,
And the secret that baffles our utmost seeking;
For only a sound of lament we discern,
And cannot interpret the words you are speaking.

Sing of the air, and the wild delight
Of wings that uplift and winds that uphold you,
The joy of freedom, the rapture of flight
Through the drift of the floating mists that infold you.

Of the landscape lying so far below,
With its towns and rivers and desert places;
And the splendor of light above, and the glow
Of the limitless, blue, ethereal spaces.

Ask him if songs of the Troubadours,
Or of Minnesingers in old black-letter,
Sound in his ears more sweet than yours,
And if yours are not sweeter and wilder and better.

Sing to him, say to him, here at his gate,
Where the boughs of the stately elms are meeting,
Some one hath lingered to meditate,
And send him unseen this friendly greeting;

That many another hath done the same,
Though not by a sound was the silence broken;
The surest pledge of a deathless name
Is the silent homage of thoughts unspoken.

~Longfellow

 

These were taken with my new camera. I still have a lot to learn but it’s been fun using it.

Photobucket is holding all my photos I stored with them from 2007-2015 hostage unless I pay them a lot of money. I’m slowly cleaning up many posts from this time period and deleting their ugly grey and black boxes with a ransom request. Such a time consuming bother.

The Red Sea Place ~ Annie Johnson Flint

 

The Red Sea Place

Have you come to the Red Sea place in your life,
Where in spite of all you can do,
There is no way out, there is no way back,
There is no other way but through?
Then wait on the Lord with a trust serene
Till the night of your fear is gone;
He will send the wind, He will heap the floods,
When He says to your soul, “Go on.”

And His hand will lead you through–clear through–
Ere the watery walls roll down,
No foe can reach you, no wave can touch,
No mightiest sea can drown;
The tossing billows may rear their crests,
Their foam at your feet may break,
But over their bed you shall walk dry shod
In the path that your Lord will make.

In the morning watch, ‘neath the lifted cloud
You shall see but the Lord alone,
When He leads you on from the place of the sea
To a land that you have not known;
And your fears shall pass as your foes have passed
You shall be no more afraid;
You shall sing His praise in a better place,
A place that His hand has made.

Annie Johnson Flint, 1866-1932
Christian Poet

Ode to the Sniffles

 

So Dear and I have been sick in the head and throat since early Friday. I had to leave Bible Study early and he came home from work early on Friday morning.  Weird that this attacked us at the same time. We’ve been convalescing in the Condo since Friday. When we get sick in the head we always turn to the Chinese Take-Out for Hot and Sour Soup. It really clears the sinuses! On Saturday evening we got tired of raiding the refrigerator and were craving some salty, comfort, bad for you food. We called one of our favorite restaurants and ordered Onion Rings and The Cuban Sandwich with curly fries. (Thank goodness it’s not stomach flu) Here’s a poem about the flu written in 1919. Update: Dee commented wondering if this was written during the Great Flu Pandemic and it probably was as the Pandemic was between 1918 and 1919. Somewhere between 20-40 million people died.

The Flu ~ by J.P. Mcelvoy, 1919

When your back is broke and your eyes are blurred.
And your shin-bones knock and your tongue is furred,
And your tonsils squeak and your hair gets dry,
And youâre doggone sure that youâre going to die,
But youâre skeered you wonât and afraid you will,
Just drag to bed and have your chill;
And pray the Lord to see you through
For youâve got the Flu, boy,

Youâve got the Flu.

When your toes curl up and your belt goes flat,
And youâre twice as mean as a Thomas cat,
And life is a long and dismal curse,
And your food all tastes like a hard-boiled hearse,
When your lattice aches and your headâs abuzz
And nothing is as it ever was,
Here are my sad regrets to you,
Youâve got the Flu, boy,

Youâve got the Flu.

What is it like, this Spanish Flu?
Ask me, brother, for Iâve been through,
It is by Misery out of Despair,
It pulls your teeth and curls your hair,
It thins your blood and brays your bones
And fills your craw with moans and groans,
And sometimes, maybe, you get well —
Some call it Flu — I call it hell!

Hope your weekend is going better. Looking forward to a new healthier week! :0)

October’s Bright Blue Weather ~

 

October’s Bright Blue Weather

O suns and skies and clouds of June,
And flowers of June together,
Ye cannot rival for one hour
October’s bright blue weather.

When loud the bumblebee makes haste,
Belated, thriftless vagrant,
And Golden Rod is dying fast,
And lanes with grapes are fragrant;

When Gentians roll their fringes tight,
To save them for the morning,
And Chestnuts fall from satin burrs
Without a sound of warning;

When on the ground red apples lie
In piles like jewels shining,
And redder still on old stone walls
Are leaves of woodbine twining;

When all the lovely wayside things
Their white-winged seeds are sowing,
And in the fields, still green and fair,
Late aftermaths are growing;

When springs run low, and on the brooks,
In idle golden freighting,
Bright leaves sink noiseless in the hush
Of woods, for winter waiting;

When comrades seek sweet country haunts,
By twos and twos together,
And count like misers, hour by hour,
October’s bright blue weather.

O suns and skies and flowers of June,
Count all your boasts together,
Love loveth best of all the year
October’s bright blue weather.

~Helen Hunt Jackson

Water Lilies ~ Sara Teasdale

Water Lilies

If you have forgotten water lilies floating
On a dark lake among the mountains in the afternoon shade,
If you have forgotten their wet, sleepy fragrance,
Then you can return and not be afraid.
But if you remember, then turn away forever
To the plains and the prairies where pools are far apart,
There you will not come at dusk on closing water lilies,
And the shadow of the mountains will not fall on your heart.

~ Sara Teasdale

I’m posting this poem by Sara Teasdale about water lilies along with a photograph I took while canoeing with my daughter Katie. Katie is much more into poetry than I am and she understands a lot of poems that I don’t. This is a poet that she enjoys so this one’s for her…

The Fountain ~ by James Russell Lowell

 

The Fountain
~
Into the sunshine,
Full of the light,
Leaping and flashing
From morn till night!

Into the moonlight,
Whiter than snow,
Waving so flower-like
When the winds blow

Into the starlight
Rushing in spray,
Happy at midnight
Happy by day!

Ever in motion,
Blithesome and cheery
Still climbing heavenward,
Never aweary;

Glad of all weathers,
Still seeming best,
Upward and downward
Motion thy rest;

Full of a nature
Nothing can tame,
Changed every moment,
Ever the same;

Ceaseless aspiring,
Ceaseless content,
Darkness or sunshine
Thy element;

Glorious fountain!
Let my heart be
Fresh, changeful, constant,
Upward like thee!

 

Photos from the University of Washington, Seattle, Washington and from the Historical Olivas Adobe in Ventura, California.

Hope your hearts are content and looking up today! Happy Friday to all!

Photobucket is holding all my photos from 2007-2015 hostage on their site and have replaced my photos with black and grey boxes of ugliness. I’m slowly deleting those boxes from my blog and trying to update so many posts, very frustrating.

To the Daisy ~ William Wordsworth

 

In youth from rock to rock I went,
From hill to hill in discontent
Of pleasure high and turbulent,
Most pleased when most uneasy;
But now my own delights I make, –
My thirst at every rill can slake,
And gladly Nature’s love partake
Of Thee, sweet Daisy!  ….

~ William Wordsworth

To read the whole poem you can click here.

Photobucket is holding all my photos I stored with them from 2007-2015 hostage. They have blacked out all those photos on my blog posts. OH BOTHER! I’m slowly cleaning up my posts.

Gardens of The World in Thousand Oaks, California ~

On Tuesday morning I stopped by Gardens of the World in Thousand Oaks, California. The Gardens of the World are privately owned and operated by the Hogan Family Foundation. There’s a Japanese Garden, French Garden, English Perennial & Rose Garden, and Italian Garden.

 

I walked in and was pleasantly surprised at what I saw. First of all I was treated to Wisteria growing on their entry gates! I had a quick stroll through the free garden. On Wednesday I returned to the Garden with Willow after we had Tea together at a great new Tea Room in Thousand Oaks (post to follow soon) and it is really hard to choose what photos to show from this wonderful place.

 

After the Wisteria we were treated to these pink beauties.

 

The walkways through the different themed sections of the garden were inviting.

 

The water features were dramatic.

 

This was the majestic bamboo in the Japanese Garden Section.

 

You walked through a Olive tree lined path to the Mission courtyard with the outer walls filled with Bougainvillea

 

The Mission Courtyard is an authentic Mission Courtyard. This courtyard features murals of the 21 remaining missions painted by local artists.

This is an example of one of the murals.

The fragrance in this courtyard was amazing from the 4 orange trees whose blossoms were in full bloom. Oh so lovely.

 

The rose garden was blooming and I got some close-ups

 

These were just a few of the beauties.

 

 

 

 

There were other beauties besides roses.

It was well worth the trip here and I think we probably picked the best time of the year to visit.

I thank you God for this most amazing day, for the leaping greenly spirits of trees, and for the blue dream of sky and for everything which is natural, which is infinite, which is yes.
e. e. cummings

Photobucket is holding all my photos from 2007-2015 hostage and they have blacked them all out. I’m slowly working at restoring my posts without their help. Such a tiresome bother!

April Flowers

Praise God from whom all blessings flow, I woke up this morning and my spasms are gone. All I have now is a stiff, weak back that I will carefully and slowly exercise back. Taking a step at a time. Thank you so much for all your prayers for me. Your phone calls and your emails were an encouragement, too. Have a wonderful day!

Psalm 30:2 “O Lord my God, I called to you for help and you have healed me.”

 

April is a rainbow month,
Of sudden springtime showers.
Bright with golden daffodils
and lots of pretty flowers.