I’ll probably delete this in the morning.
The dragonfly
Is but a fly
With glittering wings,
A delicate thorax,
And shimmering colors.
It flits quite a bit,
It dazzles and whizzles
It circles and dizzles,
But I’ve never seen one –
Not once –
Ever –
Breathe fire.
Have you?
I’ll probably dizzle this in the morning.
The Canada goose
Is on the loose
The Canadian geese
Evade the police
If seen in your counties
Please call the mounties
If loitering in lobbies
Call for the bobbies
Don’t try to chase ‘em
Don’t try to race ‘em
Just frolic and caper
And put ‘em on paper.
And that’s all I’ve got for today.
Time to caper off and delete this…in the morning.
‘Tis the season!
The garden paintbox cracks open –
Lovely tubes of reds and yellows,
Watercolors splashed among leaves,
Calling out a cheery hello to your neighbors
“Hello! I’m just passing through!
Happy to pose for photos!”
Don’t forget:
Jesus is the reason for this season, too.
‘Tis also the season for deleting. Deleting happens.
It turns out that using the dictation feature on my keyboard, isn’t always as intuitive as you would think. Nevertheless, it seemed like a good option to spare my arm some typing. So here it goes!
I’ve got a few pieces of artwork that I finished last week before deciding to give my arm a break.
Most of these, as usual, are copies of things I found on Pinterest, with the exception of the owl which I drew from a photo.
Is the owl a fowl?
Certainly not! Perish the thought!
Is the owl very nice?
Certainly not! Just ask the mice!
Has the owl gone crazy?
Certainly not! Nor is he lazy.
Does the owl bill and coo?
Certainly not! What’s wrong with you?
Will the owl teach and preach?
Certainly not! Just hear him screech!
Is the owl a night sleeper?
Certainly not! He’s a night peeper!
About the owl
I’ve told you a lot
You now are an expert
On what he is not.
The end.
…in the morning.
When robins appear
And lay their beautiful eggs
Spring is what hatches
When blog posts appear, deleting is what hatches.
When you have a summery day in March
You sit on your garden bench,
Even though dry stalks and faded glories
Are the only things left in it.
A distant train whistle sings,
The faithful owl keeps watch
(I am amazed that no one stole it
Over the long winter – hooray!)
The spring-warm sun greets my face
Bringing on fit of sneezing (does that happen to others?).
Once – twice – thrice…I think I’m done.
I wish those killdeer that I hear would come visit.
I brought four books out to read,
Which seems like an absurdly optimistic pile.
Instead I sit, watch, listen,
And hope there are wisps of poems in the breeze.
This morning I was chased and harassed
By a goblin named Anxiety
Until finally I knelt by my bedside
To hash it out with the Lord.
Be anxious for nothing…
Let your requests be made known to God.
I told Him everything – really, I did!
The goblin stood by to remind me what I was anxious about.
It was a revolving door there for awhile:
Anxiety out, peace in; peace out, anxiety in.
But I just kept taking every thought captive to the obedience of Christ
Until that old goblin slunk away in disgrace.
Hours later, I’m out under a fresh blue sky
In this Hallelujah Garden
Where God’s greening up the earth
And banishing the goblins of the morning.
I’ve been reading a book of poetry by Billy Collins and thought I’d take a stab at his style of conversational poems.
I’ll probably banish this hob-bloggin in the morning.
In honor of my dad’s birthday today (he would have been 98), I’d like to share a rewrite of the poem “Sea Fever” by John Masefield that he wrote to celebrate his own love of canoeing up in the Boundary Waters.
I must go back to the lakes again,
To the lonely lakes and the sky,
And all I ask is a sturdy canoe
And a compass to steer her by,
And the paddle’s kick and the wind’s song
And the white caps shaking,
And a gray mist on a quiet lake
And a bright dawn breaking.
I must go back to the lakes again,
For the call of the loon
Is a wild call and a clear call
That cannot be denied,
And all I ask is a windy day
With the white clouds flying,
And the Norway pines and the portage trails
And the sea gulls crying.
I must go back to the lakes again,
To the voyager’s gypsy life.
To the eagle’s way and the beaver’s way
When the wind’s like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn
From a laughing fellow paddler,
And a quiet sleep and a sweet dream
When the long day is over.
I must go delete this post again…
A couple paintings from back in the day:
I copied the cats from someone else’s work, but added my own words. I may have shared this painting on the blog before, but don’t feel like going back and checking. The nice thing is that even if I did, you don’t remember it either, so it’s like you’re seeing it for the first time anyway.
Original artwork and poem.
Hey, speaking of poetry, ten of my poems will be published later this year in a poetry anthology called “I’ve Got A Bad Case of Poetry.” Isn’t that fun? Thank you to those of you who contributed to the Kickstarter campaign.
I’ll probably delete this in the green leaf morning.
That title might be the best part of this post, by the way, but forge on just in case.
I took a few photos from my digital album today and subjected them to some upgrades (or not) through the use of photo editing programs.
What name would you give this fine specimen of a squirrel?
Somehow a haiku appeared on this photo, though not the product of AI, but LI (Lynniebee Intelligence).
Adding a green-ish background to these oranges just made the orange color pop a bit more. The oranges played an important part in the cake, by the way. Oh, haven’t I mentioned the cake yet? Read on!
And last, but not least, we ate cake, due to the celebration of my husband’s birthday. I won’t tell his age, but will give you the hint that yes, I still need him and feed him.
And day turned to night, the sky became dark, rain will turn into snow, and we are glad to be indoors.
This post will turn into empty seed bristles in the morning.
The poinsettia said, “I’m thirsty,”
But I was much too busy.
The poinsettia said, “I’m dry,”
But I just walked right by.
The poinsettia leaves were dropping
But I passed it without stopping.
The poinsettia leaves turned black
And I paid attention at last.
Don’t let this happen to your poinsettia.
I’ll probably delete this when the edges turn black.
Said the puffin to the penguin
You’ve got a lot of nerve
You waddle around pretending –
We know you’re not a bird!
Said the penguin to the puffin,
Oh goodness, just my luck –
I’ve met an orange-footed fop
Who thinks he is a duck.
Said the pelican to the penguin
Don’t mind this little puffin
He’s lacking in self confidence,
His ego needs some stuffin’
Said the puffin to the pelican
Oh look! A beak with wings!
You could rent that big mouth out
For critters to store their things.
Said the peacock to the pelican
Why bother with this ruffian?
Don’t you know better than
To trade insults with a puffian?
Said the puffin to the peacock
Look whose talking now?
A bird with eyes on his feathers
Is uglier than a cow!
Said the peacock to the puffin
Let’s settle this like birds
We’ll show off what we’ve got
And not rely on words
So the puffin flapped his feet
The penguin wore his tux
The peacock spread his tail
Which was so very deluxe
But the pelican was more clever
He made a wise decision
He opened his mouth wide
And swallowed them with precision.
I’ll probably swallow this post up tomorrow with precision.
Lynniebeemuseoday 