A Dreamer's Snowfall

I love this poem! Especially these parts. . .

A song is in the snowfall,
A bird of soft, white wings. . .

A God is in the snowfall,
The God of peaceful homes. . .

And this:

A beauty's in the snowfall,
A Cinderella's shoe,
It's like a picture postcard
A world that's bright and new!

I hope you are enjoying winter. Has there been a snowfall near you recently?

There's More to Christmas

There’s More to Christmas…

There’s more, much more to Christmas

Than just candle-lights and cheer;

it’s the spirit of sweet friendship

that brightens all the years;

It is thoughtfulness and kindness,

It is hope that is reborn again,

For peace, for understanding

And for goodwill to humans.

Author unknown

A Christmas Tea Poem

Christmas Tea Poem 

On Christmas Day, at half past three, 

brew yourself a cup of tea. 

I'll think of you and you'll think of me,  

While sitting around your Christmas Tree. 

The Autumn Crocus

The autumn crocus continue to grow in a garden jumble, years after the gardener who planted them has passed away. Without her care they mix with leaves and overgrown foliage. Their pretty purple faces radiate beauty in the chaos. While searching for information about these pretty blossoms I discover that autumn crocus are very toxic but that some herbalists use it with care for the treatment of certain illnesses. Poets of old knew this too, and described a lovely venomous meadow on an autumn day.

Autumn Crocuses (Les colchiques)

The meadow is venomous but lovely in autumn
The cows graze there and are slowly poisoned 
The colchicum colour of shadow and lilac
Flowers there your eyes resemble that flower 
Violet shades like their shadow that autumn 
And slowly your eyes empoison my life. 

The children arrive from school, what a fracas,
Dressed in smocks and playing harmonicas
They gather the crocuses that are like mothers
Daughters of their daughters your eyelids' colour
That beat as the flowers beat in the wild breeze.

The herdsman sings and sings quite softly
While slowly mooing, the cows abandon 
Forever this wide field flowered by autumn.

Author Unknown

O C T O B E R

O hushed October morning mild,
Thy leaves have ripened to the fall;
Tomorrow’s wind, if it be wild,
Should waste them all.
The crows above the forest call;
Tomorrow they may form and go.
O hushed October morning mild,
Begin the hours of this day slow.
Make the day seem to us less brief.
Hearts not averse to being beguiled,
Beguile us in the way you know.
Release one leaf at break of day;
At noon release another leaf;
One from our trees, one far away.
Retard the sun with gentle mist;
Enchant the land with amethyst.
Slow, slow!
For the grapes’ sake, if they were all,
Whose leaves already are burnt with frost,
Whose clustered fruit must else be lost—
For the grapes’ sake along the wall.

by Robert Frost

Autumn Fires

In the other gardens

And all up the vale,

From the autumn bonfires

See the smoke trail!

Pleasant summer over

And all the summer flowers,

The red fire blazes,

The gray smoke towers.

Sing a song of seasons!

Something bright in all!

Flowers in the summer,

Fires in the fall!

Robert Louis Stevenson

A Cup of Tea

A Cup of Tea

When the world is all at odds

And the mind is all at sea

Then cease the useless tedium

And brew a cup of tea.

There is magic in its' fragrance,

There is solace in its' taste;

And laden moments vanish

Somehow into space.

And the world becomes a lovely thing!

There's beauty as you'll see;

All because you briefly stopped

To brew a cup of tea.

Author Unknown

~

Teacup and saucer: Old Country Roses, Peppermint Damask

2002 Royal Albert, Ltd.

A Tree

What Is a Tree? 

What is a tree
Well doubtless he
Who dwells in city streets by choice 
May never know.
But souls that breathe expanding life outdoors
Know trees as brothers, friends; and feel aglow 
With kindred fellowship and common voice. 

Yes, bees do know
And birds have made
The trees their lifelong homes
And what is nearer or more intimately ours than home?

What is a tree? 
The soul of God! 
Whose budding leaves and blossoms in the Spring
Bespeak Creation.
Whose shade in Summer cools
The burning heat of life and brings us peace;
Whose bronzing colors in the Autumn landscape glow
With pride of fruitfulness, God's bounty, man's maturity.
Whose bare strong arms in Winter steadfast hold
Against- the ice and storms of life when courage sags
When green and sap of youth have lost their bold
Firm power and interest lags. 

What is a tree?
Oh! Yes, I know! 'Tis God.
'Tis His own way to speak His majesty,
His voice, His power, His love, His mystery.. 

G.T. Dunlop

Imagination & Flowers

This is a poem that my mother would read to me when I was a child. She enjoyed the poetry of Robert Louis Stevenson and shared that love with her children. I think this is a perfect poem for spring! Read the first line and stop to think about it. "All the names I know from nurse..." creates a word picture that sets the stage for the rest of the poem. In your imagination, can you see Lady Hollyhock, wild bee wings, and tiny dames?

The Flowers

All the names I know from nurse:
Gardener's garters, Shepherd's purse,
Bachelor's buttons, Lady's smock,
And the Lady Hollyhock.
Fairy places, fairy things,
Fairy woods where the wild bee wings,
Tiny trees for tiny dames
These must all be fairy names!
Tiny woods below whose boughs
Shady fairies weave a house;
Tiny tree tops, rose or thyme,
Where the braver fairies climb!
Fair are grown-up people's trees,
But the fairest woods are these;
Where, if I were not so tall,
I should live for good and all.

~ Robert Louis Stevenson ~

The daffodils are done and now the tulips are a riot of color in my flower beds. Viewing the changes in the garden as spring advances is like watching a colorful fashion show!

A Cozy Rain and a Teapot

Spring speaks of flowers, green grasses, nesting birds, and rain! It seems that passing showers feel it their responsibility to introduce summer. The poet, Longfellow, reminds us that into each life some rain must fall. Sadly, that's true. But if it's going to fall, don't you think it should be a cozy rain and involve something as comforting as a cup of tea?

"The best kind of rain, of course, is a cozy rain. This is the kind the anonymous medieval poet makes me remember, the rain that falls on a day when you'd just as soon stay in bed a little longer, write letters or read a good book by the fire, take early tea with hot scones and jam and look out the streaked window with complacency."  

Susan Allen Toth
England for All Seasons

Teapot on my mantle today: Lomonosov porcelain teapot from St. Petersburg, Russia. Originally the products from this factory were made exclusively for the Russian ruling family of Romanov and the Imperial Court. After 100 years production started for the general population.

This little beauty was a Christmas gift years back from my youngest son. He was just to the age where he had started earning his own money and ordered it online as a wonderful gift! Every time I use it or see it, I am reminded of his thoughtfulness.

This post is linked to Bernideen's Tea Time meme and Sandi's Rose Chintz Cottage Tea meme today.

"For many years St Petersburg was one of Europe's great centres for the production of porcelain. The Imperial Porcelain Factory, founded in 1744, was just one of a number of manufacturers in the city producing bespoke high-quality crockery, ornaments and decorative pieces for the fabulously wealthy aristocrats and merchants who lived here. Renamed the Lomonosov factory by the Soviets, the company has now reverted to its original name and set up a number of franchise locations across the city selling exquisite gifts and dinner sets in pre-Revolutionary, Soviet-themed and contemporary artistic designs." 

For Tea Forsake

Many estates are spent in the getting, 
since women for tea forsake spinning and knitting, 
and men for punch forsake hewing and splitting.  

~Benjamin Franklin~

A Spring Day

We're having chilly spring weather. The wind machines in the nearby apple orchard are very noisy as they work away. Their motors and the noise of the blades as they cut through the air make a rumble throughout the nights this week. Slowly, but surely, nature is braving the chill enough to show beautiful buds and blossom faces.

Even the lawn is starting to green up. It won't be much longer before everything erupts!

The daffodils bring cheer; a solid mass of light yellow ruffs and lemon yellow faces! You can just about hear them roar!

The weeping flowering cherry is the only flowering tree that is in full bloom. It's pretty with its single, white blossoms, but it makes me miss the double, pink blossoms from a cherry tree that grew old and had to be cut down last autumn.

After a morning walk around the yard, where I was seeking signs of spring, it's time for a hot cup of tea. Today's tea is Murroughs Welsh Brew, a traditional blend of African and Indian teas. The tin says that they were selected for their strength, colour and smoothness of flavour. The manufacturer is located at Mumbles, South Wales (Mwmbwis, Abertawe). It was won in a give-away that Bernideen conducted last month. Thank you, Bernideen!

The teacup is a  Colclough, made in Longton, England.

All of this talk of spring, flowers, and tea reminds me of my mother and one of her favorite spring poems. It was one she recited from memory on many a spring day!

I wandered lonely as a cloud

That floats on high o'er vales and hills,

When all at once I saw a crowd,

A host, of golden daffodils;

Beside the lake, beneath the trees,

Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine

And twinkle on the milky way,

They stretched in never-ending line

Along the margin of a bay:

Ten thousand saw I at a glance,

Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they

Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:

A poet could not but be gay,

In such a jocund company:

I gazed--and gazed--but little thought

What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie

In vacant or in pensive mood,

They flash upon that inward eye

Which is the bliss of solitude;

And then my heart with pleasure fills,

And dances with the daffodils. 

William Wordsworth

Snow Ice Cream

 

February Poem

 

A Dreamer's Snowfall

 

Snow Flakes

Snow Flakes

by Emily Dickenson

I counted till they danced so

Their slippers leaped the town,

And then I took a pencil

To note the rebels down.

And then they grew so jolly

I did resign the prig,

And ten of my once stately toes

Are marshalled for a jig!

The Leaf

There is the size of the leaf:

Its unique shape,

Its unique color,

Its unique fragrance,

A taste all its own,

And it changes...sip by sip.

Ron Rubin, Tea Chings

When the Tea is Brought

When the tea is brought at five o'clock
And all the neat curtains are drawn with care,
The little black cat with bright green eyes
Is suddenly purring there.

Harold Monro

Tea time is for everyone! 

The Rose is Out of Town

"The morns are meeker than they were,

The nuts are getting brown;

The berry's cheek is plumper,

The rose is out of town.

The maple wears a gayer scarf,

The field a scarlet gown.

Lest I should be old-fashioned,

I'll put a trinket on."


by Emily Dickinson


Sparks Lake, Oregon 2012

Crimson Light on Autumn Forest

The seasons are changing. Autumn gives poets so much to write about. Descriptive words, colorful phrases, and imagined pictures of autumn work together so well in poetry and prose. I enjoy reading a poem quickly at first, and then re-reading it once or twice more so I can savor the words and the word-pictures that enter my mind as the repeat takes place. Take a moment to enjoy this autumn poem and see what pictures it paints in your mind.

"Summer's glory lies in ruins --- for the forest is afire --- Richly glows the crimson light on burnished dome and golden spire. Towers of jade collapse and rumble: walls of amber crack and crash. Leafy cities of the woodland fall in clouds of dust and ash.

Rafters of the green cathedrals --- roofs of beechen colonnades --- Hang in charred and burning beams across the blue and smoky glades. . . But Nature's unseen architects will work in silence day and night --- to build the mansions of the Spring upon this red and ruined site."

~ Poem ~ Patience Strong ~

~ Photo ~ Our cabin-neighbor's grandsons ~