Poetry: Spring in New Hampshire by Claude McKay

spring

Spring cleaning is both one of my least and most favorite yearly activities.  I enjoy the feeling of getting my house in proper order and washed up from the winter season’s coating of salt and dirt.  But….it can be rather depressing to spend a beautiful Saturday washing windows and cleaning out closets.  While I didn’t think I was alone in this viewpoint, I was quite pleased to have stumbled across this poem which perfectly explains that conflicting feeling.

Spring in New Hampshire

Too green the springing April grass,
Too blue the silver-speckled sky,
For me to linger here, alas,
While happy winds go laughing by,
Wasting the golden hours indoors,
Washing windows and scrubbing floors.
Too wonderful the April night,
Too faintly sweet the first May flowers,
The stars too gloriously bright,
For me to spend the evening hours,
When fields are fresh and streams are leaping,
Wearied, exhausted, dully sleeping.

 

However, if spring cleaning is on your mind, here are a few suggested posts to keep you inspired and focused!  Simply click on the picture to be view original post.

Cleaning Out Your Closet tutorial

Household hints

april cleaning

Enjoy the warm outdoors and your spring cleaning!

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Sources:

Cover Photo: Sounds of Spring by Franz Stuck, 1910

Spring in New Hampshire by Claude McKay, 1889-1948

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Poetry: The Snow Man by Wallace Stevens

Snow man cover
The cold has finally arrived, and with it, the lacy drifts of snow.  

 

The Snow Man

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Sources:

The Snow Man by Wallace Stevens (1879-1955)

John F. Carlson (1874-1945) Aisles of the Forest

Hendricks Hallett (1847-1921) – Winter Moonlit Scene


Poetry: The Holly and The Ivy

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One of my most favorite Christmas Carols, The Holy and The Ivy blends the beauty of nature with the story of Christmas.  My most favorite version of this carol is my Loreena McKennitt, who is also one of my most favorite artists.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hFLHWzPcwlQ

On this wonderful Christmas day, I hope you are able to reflect on the beauty of the holiday and the world around you!

The Holly and The Ivy

The holly and the ivy,
When they are both full grown
Of all the trees that are in the wood
The holly bears the crown
O the rising of the sun
And the running of the deer
The playing of the merry organ
Sweet singing of the choir

The holly bears a blossom
As white as lily flower
And Mary bore sweet Jesus Christ
To be our sweet Saviour
O the rising of the sun
And the running of the deer
The playing of the merry organ
Sweet singing of the choir

The holly bears a berry
As red as any blood
And Mary bore sweet Jesus Christ
To do poor sinners good
O the rising of the sun
And the running of the deer
The playing of the merry organ
Sweet singing of the choir

The holly bears a prickle
As sharp as any thorn;
And Mary bore sweet Jesus Christ
On Christmas Day in the morn.
O the rising of the sun
And the running of the deer
The playing of the merry organ
Sweet singing of the choir

The holly bears a bark
As bitter as any gall;
And Mary bore sweet Jesus Christ
For to redeem us all.
O the rising of the sun
And the running of the deer
The playing of the merry organ
Sweet singing of the choir

Source: From the Sans Day Carol


Poetry: “Thanksgiving” By Edgar Albert Guest (1881-1959)

Gettin’ together to smile an’ rejoice,
An’ eatin’ an’ laughin’ with folks of your choice;
An’ kissin’ the girls an’ declarin’ that they
Are growin’ more beautiful day after day;
Chattin’ an’ braggin’ a bit with the men,
Buildin’ the old family circle again;
Livin’ the wholesome an’ old-fashioned cheer,
Just for awhile at the end of the year.

Greetings fly fast as we crowd through the door
And under the old roof we gather once more
Just as we did when the youngsters were small;
Mother’s a little bit grayer, that’s all.
Father’s a little bit older, but still
Ready to romp an’ to laugh with a will.
Here we are back at the table again
Tellin’ our stories as women an’ men.

Bowed are our heads for a moment in prayer;
Oh, but we’re grateful an’ glad to be there.
Home from the east land an’ home from the west,
Home with the folks that are dearest an’ best.
Out of the sham of the cities afar
We’ve come for a time to be just what we are.
Here we can talk of ourselves an’ be frank,
Forgettin’ position an’ station an’ rank.

Give me the end of the year an’ its fun
When most of the plannin’ an’ toilin’ is done;
Bring all the wanderers home to the nest,
Let me sit down with the ones I love best,
Hear the old voices still ringin’ with song,
See the old faces unblemished by wrong,
See the old table with all of its chairs
An’ I’ll put soul in my Thanksgivin’ prayers.

Wishing you all a very Happy Thanksgiving!

~Aimee

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Poetry: The Log Fire

Around this time of year, my cable company puts on a free option of a crackling fire.  It lasts for about an hour and comes with a variety of choices for music…soothing instrumental, classic carols, or just the simple sound of a crackling fire.  I absolutely LOVE it and put it on often…especially since I do not have a fireplace of my own.  Yet I can imagine the warmth the digital fire would produce and the gentle smell of wood and smoke it would create, and I am quite at peace.

So during these longer, colder nights, place an extra log in the fireplace, and let the calm wash over you…

the log fire

 

The Log Fire by Daniel Henderson

Cover Painting: Carl Herpfer (1836-1897) – The Love Letter


Poetry: September Midnight

What is more beautiful and comforting than a fall harvest?  

One of my favorites times of the year is Autumn.  It is that magic season when the sun can be shinning as bright as can be, yet the cold snap of air keeps you in a wonderful, comfortable state.  Days such as these are perfect for heading outside to enjoy in one of nature’s last hurrahs before winter claims all.  Brown may be the color on the ground, but it has birthed a bounty of colorful harvests that adorns markets, fields, and front porches.

But when the warm sun hides away, and the large, harvest moon emerges, the landscape changes to a silvery tone of self-preservation.  Nature, both flora and fauna, are readying themselves for the impending frost and a long winter’s nap.

In honor of this enchanting time, I offer this poem:

September Midnight

September Midnight by Sara Teasdale (1914)

 



Travel: By Edna St. Vincent Millay

Many of us are born with a wandering soul.  That insatiable desire to always see what is past the next mountain peak or what potential beauty awaits around the next bend of the river, drives one’s life.  Some may view these dreamers to never be satisfied or unable to “settle” in one place, but I see them as entrepreneurs, explorers, and kindred spirits.

This poem is for them:

Travel Poem

~Aimee

Cover Painting by Ray Ottulich

Poem Painting: The Old Railroad Bridge by Leslie White