Procrastination Wednesday, Jan 22 2014 

Since I am not, apparently, able to get the work done that I must get done before a deadline…

Winter

I watched the sun set on its time

The mockery it made

Of my careful hours

It shattered the clock I kept

My neat divisions

Equitable of night and day

It vanished from its sky

After the Solstice Friday, Dec 27 2013 

In the monochrome world

Of silent snow

Only the young beech

Flies the fallen’s golden banners

No sunlit shadows

Beneath the wood’s expanse

Black limbs

Against a grey sky.

The earth has turned its course

Still we will wait for

The witch hazel has yet

To forecast the spring

The Key Bird’s Night Thursday, Dec 12 2013 

And still I recall

The snapping crunch of snow

The trees creaking protest to the stars

The long walk home by frozen fields

To the house beneath the oaks

And the crescent moon

Orion was my guide

Straight ran his hounds

The cold road home

Listening to the key bird

Keey rist, keeey rist

Cold out there

Cold out there

Doggerel Saturday, Nov 16 2013 

New England Cathedral

The cathedral of the trees

Soaring, living, singing

Has as its veiled ceiling

Heaven’s blue vault

Unshadowed by stain

Life rests untorn

Anchored upon enduring stone

Where fault and pain

Are, with mute patience born,

Awaiting the undestroyed fire

Asleep in the world’s tomb

Fiddling Friday, Sep 27 2013 

about with old writing lurking on old hard drives…  Fall, it seems, brings out the attempted writer in me… so nothing directly connected with here!

And shall I mourn

All the passing days of this world?

Ah, to love

Is to be pierced

With the arrows of the dying;

Were it not so beautiful

My sorrow would be the less.


From the guestbook Thursday, Jun 13 2013 

“An Acrostic To a Young Lady on the day her wedding to Maurits C.C. van Loben Sels:
Helen Ellsworth – lovely name!
Echo of thy strength and sweetness
Love, that’s made of flowers and flame,
Envies thee thy rare completeness.
Name like music on our life
Earnest, mellow, gentle, singing
Let us, ere its long eclipse,
Linger on its bell-like ringing
Seven names though thou shalt wear,
Worthy, noble and complete,
On them thinking now I swear
(Rose by any name so sweet)
Thou, when memory fails, shalt be
Helen Ellsworth still to me.”

by Robert Underwood Johnson, May 31, 1905
Not a bad acrostic. Line 3-4 rises above the rest, quite the turn of phrase there.
I ought to add: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Robert_Underwood_Johnson for information on the author!

From the Guestbook Thursday, Mar 7 2013 

September, 1915

“A Tribute to Mrs. Ellsworth

Thou wouldst be loved?

Then let thy heart

From its present pathway part not

Being everything which now thy art but

Nothing which thou art not

And thus thy quiet ways, thy grace

Thy more than beauty

Will ever be a theme of praise

And love a simple duty.”

Anna Barnes

That ‘but’ on the end of line 4 doesn’t seem to scan well, but what do I know! I can’t figure out who Anna Barnes was, there is a middle name but the initial is illegible.  The Mrs. Ellsworth would have been Helen Yale.  I must say that our standards of literacy seem to have dropped if that is the sort of thing one casually jots down in a guestbook….

Fall Sunday, Oct 21 2012 

In October the days shorten, the last ragged golden filigree is stripped from the trees, and the clouds chase the light.  The foreknowledge of November’s wild darkness makes the last, glorious life of October even more vivid.

I watched the sun set on its day.

The mockery it made

Of my owned hours.

It vanished from my eye

Regardless of the time

I had yet to run.

The last cloud shattered light

Burnt out the hurrying leaves

Falling down to night.

Random guest book entry Sunday, Sep 30 2012 

“‘That though I come

In winter’s guise

The flight of years

Has left me wise

Oh Carey! Choose

The glance of truth,

Ripe age prefer,

To heedless youth!”

This decidedly enigmatic poem was written in the by Annie Elliot Trumbull, from Hartford in 1880.  Enigmatic because of the allusion to ‘Carey’; who is it?

Annie was born in 1857, died 1949, and was the daughter of James Hammond Trumbull, Connecticut’s first State Librarian, noted philologist, and antiquarian.  Annie was an author, writing short stories and taking a definite interest in Hartford/Connecticut history.  That she knew Julie and WWE comes as no surprise.

Leo or August storms Sunday, Aug 19 2012 

Is A: doggerel, B: little to do with New England

The dry wind in the manes of lions

Brings the mind back

To hot summer nights

When silent lightening snapped

Beyond the walls of the world

And eternity stretched

In the moment

Before the great gold cat

Came to kill

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