I’ll probably delete this in the morning.
Alas, I have not made enough progress on the Henri Matisse painting to feature it this week. I will try to console you in your deep (DEEP) disappointment over that by sharing some bunnies with you.
And for good measure, I’ll throw in an impromptu poem:
A bevy of bunnies,
A riddle of rabbits,
A houseful of hares,
Those wascally wabbits!
You’re welcome.
It’s been my habit
To delete my blabit
Before the dawn
Of the rascally rabbit.
What do birds think about icicles?
Does it ruffle their feathers
In icy cold weathers
When icicles glitter
On the eaves of their feeder?
Do these Swords of Damocles
Make them feel ill at ease?
Or are they oblivious
To moments so perilous?
I listened all day,
To hear what they’d say,
But alas, they aren’t talking
In spite of my stalking.
So what do birds think about icicles?
I don’t know! Do you?
The Sword of Damocles will hang over this post in the morning.
Ah, the coming of spring… Hope is in the air, trees are putting out tiny curled up things that will unfurl into leaves, the birds are gathering for their spring chorus every morning, snow is melting, and the poets are doing their poesy thing with joy. It’s a grand time.
It was one of those March days when the sun shines hot and the wind blows cold; when it is summer in the light and winter in the shade.
Charles Dickens
If you live where March comes on like that, you know what CD is talking about.
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.
William Wordsworth
Next time you’re outside on a spring day, be William Wordsworth and write about it like that.
Daffodowndilly
She wore her yellow sun bonnet,
She wore her greenest gown;
She turned to the south wind
And curtsied up and down.
She turned to the sunlight
And shook her yellow head,
And whispered to her neighbor:
”Winter is dead.”
A.A. Milne
That is exactly what daffodils are saying when they flutter and dance and turn their heads to one another.
In the morning, one blog post will whisper to another, “The Blog is Dead.”
Our last writing assignment for the class was to write a poem inspired by the book The Magician’s Nephew. I chose to write one from the viewpoint of the jackdaw, featured in the glorious creation scene in the book. You might not “get” this poem if you haven’t read the book, but I hope you enjoy it anyway (and please do read all the Chronicles of Narnia). It felt incomplete without an illustration so I did a quick sketch for the occasion.
Darkness, then light
Stillness, then flight
The Singer makes,
The world awakes.
Sweetest singing
Sends me winging
I am Jackdaw
Hear me caw!
His nose to my beak
He is all that I seek
All eyes now on him
We leave our own kin.
His eyes steady burn
Our hearts strangely warm
Then breath like a fire
Soars ever higher
“You trees, be walking!
You beasts, be talking!
All Narnia is yours,
Seas, woods and stars.
I give you yourselves;
I give you myself.
“But on this bright morning
I give you clear warning,
The beasts who don’t speak
You must love and well treat.
Never walk in their ways
Lest your talking shall cease,
And your minds are undone;
You’ll be once again Dumb.”
“Hail Aslan, our King,”
We creatures all sing.
“We hear and obey,”
We gratefully say.
“And when you say ‘don’t’
We will not, we won’t.”
Perky with cheer
I sing out, “No fear!”
At the top of my voice.
(Unfortunate choice.)
Embarrassment deep,
I pretend I’m asleep.
While the others soon after
Erupt into laughter.
But joy upon joys
Aslan blesses the noise.
Humor’s divine,
So jokes are just fine.
I made the first joke!
I’m that kind of bloke!
Oh the stories they’ll tell
(I’ll be known quite well).
But wait, it gets better,
Hold on to your feathers,
For don’t you see?
The first joke was me!
The first joke was me!
I’m filled with glee,
I fall off the horse
But have wings, of course.
I’m flying, I’m happy
I’m funny, I’m flappy
I am Aslan’s Jackdaw
Just hear me caw!
I’ll probably wait for the caw of the jackdaw to delete this…in the morning.
Green gold leaves, reaching
Into deepest, darkest blue,
Illumine the night
I never said it would be great haiku.
I also never said I wouldn’t delete it in the morning. Things happen.
I got another new set of paints entitled “Woodlands.”
Even the name “Woodlands” felt poetical, so naturally, poetry ensued. The first one isn’t so much a poem as it is a bunch of phrases using the names of the paints in the palette (in bold). The second one had me reaching further for the images I wanted.
Woodlands I
I walk the sand ridge
Till I see a cavern in the mist,
And a bear in its shadows.
Looking for daylight,
I cross the stream,
Stepping on gray stones.
Suddenly, I’m in the thick of redwoods
And deep moss
And foxberry bushes.
At last I see the blue-green glitter
Of sunlight on the pond.
I was a bit perplexed by the color “foxberry,” but decided that if there is a foxberry, there must be a foxberry bush.
Woodlands II
The woodlands call –
Pine-scented voice,
Checkered sunlight,
Scattered bird song,
Skittering critters,
Whispering leaves,
Glitter-green pond,
Fallen acorns,
And the deep
dense
presence
Of the LORD God Almighty.
I might write out the second one in the blue space at the top of the painting. Thoughts? Opinions? Critiques?
I sense that a squirrel will gnaw on this post with its strong jaws and teeth in the morning.
The feline lady,
She sits on a crimson sea
Purring green and gray
I’ll purrobably be deleting this in the crimson morning.
My brother achieved 70 years recently, so naturally a poem had to be written in honor of this grand event.
Seventy years hath David B.
“I don’t feel very old,” said he.
“Speak for yourself,” opined one knee,
While his back groaned, saying “Golly gee!”
David objected, “I feel quite spry.”
His neck interjected, “That’s a lie!”
His bones just creaked with a little sigh,
And his brain took a break, saying “no reply.”
But David persisted, “I’m fit as a fiddle!”
His ears said, “What? Did he said ‘riddle?’”
“No rich food,” said his tummy in the middle,
(“But chocolate’s okay, if it’s just a little.”)
“I guess I’m getting on in years,”
Old David said, now switching gears.
“But full speed ahead! No time for tears.”
And the crowd around him gave three cheers.
So three cheers for David B!
(In three years, that will be me!)
Did you know that this post is getting on in years? Time to delete!
I’ve been hearing from friends over the last week that their poetry book has arrived in the mail – many sent me photos to let me know what it looked like.
This is such a complete thrill for me! It started in 2024 when my daughter sent me the information for submitting poems for this book project. I picked out 15 poems and sent them off, hoping, but not really expecting to get any of them accepted. When I found out that they took 10 of them for the book, I literally shouted and danced around the room for joy.
Some of you reading this were participants in the Kickstarter Campaign – I am so very thankful for your contributions. This whole experience has been amazing and encouraging for me as a writer.
Oh, give thanks to the LORD, for He is good!
For His mercy endures forever.
Psalm 136:1
Shout out to Bandersnatch Press for putting this book together and bringing it to completion, and to Emily Person, who did such a fabulous job with the illustrations. I’m very much looking forward to seeing the book, and to reading the poems contributed by the other authors.
I’ve got a bad case of needing to delete this in the morning…
I received a gift from a dear friend for my birthday, a lovely blank book with thick homemade paper, a book that says “Enter in and create!”
Note the fingerprint stain toward the bottom, my first act of creation being to get chocolate on it.
The very wordy book title – you’d expect no less from me if you’ve read my blog at all. “The Book of Small Musings, Random Ideas, Poetic Thoughts, Ink Drawings, and Humble Paintings.” A mouthful for sure. I should be careful about overpromising and underdelivering (probably too late for that).
I also got a new palette of paints for my birthday, Complexions. I tried them out on the first page of this book.
BEHOLD! A new palette of paints,
hues of complexions,
Skin tones of black, brown, red, pink, peach and yellow.
We look like a bouquet of earth colors
When we’re all together.
That’s all folks!
I’ll probably get a random idea or poetic thought about deleting this in the morning.
Every owl
Knows how to scowl
Like every ant
Knows how to crawl
Every owl
Knows how to hunt
Like every pig
Knows how to grunt
Every owl
Knows how to fly
Like every snake
Knows how to lie
Every owl
Can twist its neck
Like every bird
Knows how to peck
Every owl
Can call out “Whoo!”
So tell me now,
What can YOU do?
Every blog post knows how to be deleted. This one is no exception.
Lynniebeemuseoday 