Category: Poetry

Ode to Buttons

Buttons, buttons everywhere,

they’re on this and over there.

They’re on clothes and touch-screens.

They’re on phones and washing machines

They can be found in boxes or jars,

or in neat rows on planes and cars.

Being on the button is good,

pushing peoples, you never should.

Some buttons are big, some are small.

Some buttons do nothing at all,

some are outies others innies,

silly buttons on our bellies.

You may have a cute button nose,

to enjoy the smell of sweet rose.

While buttoned up or buttoned down,

in the rain or strolling in town.

Buttons in all shapes, any size,

having a spare is always wise.

Buttons for eyes on our stuffed friends.

Uses for buttons never ends.

We glue them on paper plates,

making gifts for special dates.

Add string then sprinkle glitter on,

next curly yarn, name in crayon.

Some are toggles, some are switches.

Some like snaps to hold up breeches.

No zippers for me, I prefer,

buttons to hold all together.

Glad to share my buttons with you,

we’re all buttoned up, story through.

Rhyme’s done, time to button my lip,

I’ll say goodbye, have a safe trip.

By Steve Kittell

https://www.childrens-stories.net/poems-and-rhyming-stories/buttons_steve~kittell.htm

© images Gretchen Bernet-Ward 2023

Not buttons but bowl of baby mandarins just for fun © image Gretchen Bernet-Ward 2023

‘The Giver’ by Sara Teasdale

New Sandals © Gretchen Bernet-Ward 2023

The Giver

You bound strong sandals on my feet,

You gave me bread and wine,

And sent me under sun and stars,

For all the world was mine.

Oh, take the sandals off my feet,

You know not what you do;

For all my world is in your arms,

My sun and stars are you.

By Sara Teasdale


Sara Teasdale (born 8 August 1884 Missouri U.S. and died 29 January 1933 New York New York) An American poet whose short, personal lyrics were noted for their classical simplicity and quiet intensity.

https://www.britannica.com/biography/Sara-Teasdale

‘Smile’ Poem

Universal fact © Gretchen Bernet-Ward 2023

Smile—A Poem 

Smiling is infectious,
You catch it like the flu.
When someone smiled at me today,
I started smiling too.
I passed around the corner
and someone saw my grin.
When he smiled I realised
I’d passed it on to him.
I thought about that smile,
then I realised its worth.
A single smile, just like mine
could travel round the earth.
So, if you feel a smile begin,
don’t leave it undetected.
Let’s start an epidemic quick,
and get the world infected!

by Spike Milligan (Possibly)
Irish Writer, Poet, Comedian, Actor.

NOTE: Author/illustrator Jez Alborough also attributed to this poem.

Firecat smile fan the flames © Dot Bernet 2018

Poetry of Geometry and Sociometry

Geometry © Gretchen Bernet-Ward 2022

Geometry Class
by Michael Devoe

In geometry we learn how to measure the distance between things

The space between things

The empty space between lines

How long is the shadow cast by a branch on a tree if it is two o’clock
and the branch is east facing
and seven feet above the ground

A train departed Madrid in rush hour at 5:40pm
and arrived in Barcelona at 8:15pm
it went 63mph for 50 minutes
how fast did it go the rest of the way if it is 386 miles between the cities

A trove of treasure held 300 cubic inches of gold
and had a six inch square face
how long was the box

If it takes three seconds for my phone to chime after you send a text message
and it takes two seconds for my brain to recognise your name on my phone
how long will my stomach flutter if I’ve loved you for one month…

Assuming my stomach flutters for that long
and you ended our burgeoning relationship yesterday
to stay comfortable in your current surroundings
and we both don’t want to give up how real it all feels
how much silly putty does it take to fill the empty space in my chest

If Wal-Mart sells silly putty for $1.36 per package and each package contains 4oz. of silly putty and I work for $13.51 per hour and $13.30 of each hour’s wage goes towards bills and other essentials how long will I have to work in order to save enough money to buy all the silly putty required to fill my chest with it, assuming I live in Oregon where there is no sales tax and that I only drink one six pack at $8.99 a week

More importantly though

If I fill my chest with silly putty, will my heart bounce back after it’s dropped next time.

A collection of poems by Michael DeVoe is available:

Where She Left Me – Michael DeVoe

https://hellopoetry.com/michael-devoe/

https://hellopoetry.com/tag/geometry/

I like geometric imagery but don’t appreciate the mechanics.
However, I do enjoy the clever confusion of this poem and the end twist.

♥  Gretchen Bernet-Ward

We stopped for lunch at the Gatton campus of University of Queensland and admired this heritage-listed Foundation Building constructed in 1896 and used for events and conferences.

Mouse in the House!

Our House Mouse chalk drawing © Gretchen Bernet-Ward 2022

MISSING

Has anybody seen my mouse?

I opened his box for half a minute,

Just to make sure he was really in it,

And while I was looking, he jumped outside!

I tried to catch him, I tried, I tried….

I think he’s somewhere about the house.

Has anyone seen my mouse?

Uncle John, have you seen my mouse?

Just a small sort of mouse, a dear little brown one,

He came from the country, he wasn’t a town one,

So he’ll feel all lonely in a London street;

Why, what could he possibly find to eat?

He must be somewhere. I’ll ask Aunt Rose:

Have you seen a mouse with a woffelly nose?

He’s just got out…

Poem by

A.A. (Alan Alexander) Milne (1882-1956), famous for his stories about Winnie the Pooh, Christopher Robin, Tigger, Piglet and the crew who lived in Hundred Acre Wood.
https://www.britannica.com/biography/A-A-Milne

♥  Gretchen Bernet-Ward

‘The Empty Glass’ by Henry Lawson

The Empty Glass © Gretchen Bernet-Ward 2022

The Empty Glass

by Henry Lawson, 1906

—

There are three lank bards in a borrowed room —

Ah! The number is one too few —

They have deemed their home and the bars unfit

For the thing that they have to do.

Three glasses they fill with the Land’s own wine,

And the bread of life they pass.

Their glasses they take, which they slowly raise —

And they drink to an empty glass.

—

(There’s a greater glare in the street to-night,

And a louder rush and roar,

There’s a mad crowd yelling the winner’s name,

And howling the cricket score:

Oh! The bright moonlight on the angels white,

And the tombs and the monuments grand —

And down by the water at Waverley

There’s a little lone mound of sand.)

—

Oh, the drinkers would deem them drunk or mad,

And the barmaid stare and frown —

Each lays a hand on the empty glass

Ere they turn it upside down.

There’s a name they know, in a hand they know,

Was scratched with a diamond there —

And they place it in sight — turn on more light —

And they fill their glasses fair.

—

There’s a widow that weeps by the Hornsby line,

And she stood by him long and true —

But the widow should think by the Hornsby line

That others have loved him too,

‘Twas a peaceful end, and his work was done,

When called with the year away;

And the greatest lady in all the land

Is working for her to-day.

—

If the widow should fear for her children’s fate,

Or brood on a future lot,

In a frivolous land with her widowed state

In a short twelve months forgot.

She can lay her down for a peaceful rest

And forget her grief in sleep,

For his brothers have taken an oath to-night,

An oath that their hearts can keep.

—

They have taken an oath to his memory,

A pledge they cannot recall,

To stand by the woman that stood by him,

Through poverty, illness and all.

They are young men yet, or the prime of life,

And as each lays down his trust,

May the world be kind to the left behind,

And their native land be just.

—

(Silence of death in town to-night,

And the streets seem strangely clear —

Have the pitiful slaves of the gambling curse

Fled home for a strange new fear?

Oh, the soft moonlight on the angels white,

Where the beautiful marbles stand —

And down by the rollers at Waverley

There’s a mound of the golden sand.)

—

Henry Lawson, 1906, Australian poet

Source:

http://www.ironbarkresources.com/henrylawson/EmptyGlass.html

https://www.britannica.com/biography/Henry-Lawson

♥ Gretchen Bernet-Ward

Clouds, No Daffodils

Clouds from Mt Coot-tha lookout, Brisbane © Gretchen Bernet-Ward 2022

I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud 

By WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

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…..

Remember this poem from school days?
Complete verse on Poetry Foundation
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/45521/i-wandered-lonely-as-a-cloud

♥ Gretchen Bernet-Ward


I have been WP blogging 5 years so that is 10,000 views per year – maybe! GBW 2022

D H Lawrence and the Swan

Swan © Gretchen Bernet-Ward 2022

Relativity

I like relativity and quantum theories
because I don’t understand them
and they make me feel as if space shifts about
like a swan that can’t settle,
refusing to sit still and be measured;
and as if the atom were an impulsive thing
always changing its mind.

by

D. H. Lawrence (1921)


David Herbert Richards Lawrence (1885 – 1930) was an English novelist, poet, essayist, critic, playwright, and painter. 

Australian wild
swans are black

WILD BIRD RESCUES, GOLD COAST, QUEENSLAND
http://wildbirdrescues.com.au/feeding-native-birds/feeding-swans-and-ducks/
Read why you should NOT feed wild swans!

♥ Gretchen Bernet-Ward

Our La Niña Summer Rain

Rain dripping through the trees © Gretchen Bernet-Ward 2022

Summer January 2022 and Queensland has been blessed by La Niña (or buffeted by her) experiencing high winds, thunder, lightning, pelting tropical rain, flooding rivers, and vigorous plant and wildlife growth.

Plus an unexpected visit of tsunami waves from Tonga’s cataclysmic volcanic eruption. I actually heard the deep eerie rumbles. The sound crossed the Pacific Ocean to arrive thousands of kilometres away in Brisbane. Next morning the sunrise had a golden orange hue, created by volcanic ash fallout. My thoughts and prayers go out to the Kingdom of Tonga and Pacific island nations, and to aid, search and rescue teams during the difficult and heart-breaking times ahead.

For now, I sit on the verandah in the humidity watching the raindrops fall on damp leaves and recall James Whilt’s imaginative poem ❤️ Gretchen Bernet-Ward

The Rainstorm

by

James W. Whilt

*

Here in the deep tangled forest
All is quiet and still,
While far to the west the thunder,
Re-echoes from hill to hill.


And the lightning’s flash, ever vivid,
In great gashes knives the air;
The rain comes down in torrents,
A deluge everywhere!


Bathing the heat-sick flowers
That they may bloom once more;
Painting the grass a greener hue,
That grows by our cabin door;


Making the pastures fresher,
For the cows and shepherd’s herds,
Making the pools by the road-side —
Bath tubs for the birds.


Then the thunder peals louder and louder,
Firing its shrapnel of rain.
The clouds charge after each other,
And the drouth is defeated again.


Then through a rent in the clouds
The sun’s searchlight casts its ray,
And the Rain-God looks over the valley
And sees the result of the fray.


And as He sees his conquest,
His victory’s flag is unfurled,
In a beautiful coloured rainbow —
He is telling all of the world.


What a victory was his, what a triumph!
It’s flashed down the Milky Way,
Then the sentinel stars dot the heavens,
And the dew-drops sound taps for the day.

*

Visit https://discoverpoetry.com/poems/poems-about-rain/

Poems number 24 and 25

Summertime rainstorm © Gretchen Bernet-Ward 2022

Cats and Extreme Sleeping

Image © Gretchen Bernet-Ward 2021

Cats Sleep Anywhere

Cats sleep anywhere, any table, any chair.
Top of piano, window-ledge, in the middle, on the edge.
Open drawer, empty shoe, anybody’s lap will do.
Fitted in a cardboard box, in the cupboard with your frocks.
Anywhere! They don’t care! Cats sleep anywhere.

Eleanor Farjeon (1881 – 1965)
Author poet songwriter

Some of Eleanor Farjeon’s bookcover cats.

The inspiration for this post came from Platypus Man, blogger of Now I’m 64, and the beautiful cats which sleep on, or in, many objects around his garden which aptly demonstrate feline Extreme Sleeping techniques.

Visit his website and be surprised here or https://64reflections.home.blog/2021/11/17/its-a-cats-life-its-a-wonderful-life/

Plant-a-Cat © Gretchen Bernet-Ward 2021

If anyone is interested in creating an Olympic sport for cats, look no further than Extreme Sleeping!

Suggested reading https://www.purina.co.uk/articles/cats/behaviour/common-questions/do-cats-dream

♥ Gretchen Bernet-Ward

Pumpkin Poem

Pumpkin seedling sprouts in a tea caddy © Gretchen Bernet-Ward 2021

PUMPKIN POEM

One day I found two pumpkin seeds.

I planted one and pulled the weeds.

It sprouted roots and a big, long vine.

A pumpkin grew; I called it mine.

The pumpkin was quite round and fat.

(I really am quite proud of that)

But there is something I’ll admit

That has me worried just a bit.

I ate the other seed, you see.

Now will it grow inside of me…?

I’m so relieved since I have found

That pumpkins only grow in the ground!

Source DLTK’s Crafts for Kids
https://dltk-holidays.com/fall/pumpkinpoem1.htm

  • Home-grown Kent Jap Pumpkin ready for cooking – June 2020
    © Gretchen Bernet-Ward

The Elephant

Elephants heading upstream © Gretchen Bernet-Ward 2021

The Elephant

“When people call this beast to mind,

They marvel more and more

At such a little tail behind,

So large a trunk before”

Hilaire Belloc

Joseph Hilaire Pierre René Belloc (1870 – 1953) was an Anglo-French writer and historian and one of the most prolific writers in England during the early twentieth century. Belloc was also an orator, poet, sailor, satirist, writer of letters, soldier, and political activist.

♥ Gretchen Bernet-Ward

John B Tabb was Ahead of His Time…

Image © Gretchen Bernet-Ward 2021

… or have we gone backwards?

The small green book nearest the candle is simply titled “Poems”, a volume of verse by John B Tabb. Each poem is on a single page and has been written in similar length to Twitter and Instagram. All the way from 1894—I had to share it with you!

There are 172 pages, one short poem per page, extolling nature, love, life and death. I guess Tabb wanted only his poetry to shine because there is nothing personal inside.

The first page has an important red logo with lilies and Latin written on it, not for the poet but the company insignia of Copeland and Day, Boston, MDCCCXCIV (1894)

The second page states “Entered according to the Act of Congress, in the year 1894, by Copeland and Day, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington.”

The back page reads “This first edition of poems by John B. Tabb is limited to five hundred copies, which have been printed during the autumn of 1894 by John Wilson and Son, Cambridge, Massachusetts.”

A slim volume which appears to have been well handled over many years, and the pale deckle parchment is showing its age—see below.

The big question is “How did this volume arrive at a book fair in Brisbane Australia 127 years later?”

GBW 2021

After the formality of the front pages comes a seven page index (in tiny print) which has intriguing titles listed under headings. I guess the first are general rhymes, the next Quatrains and then Sonnets.

Here are some of my favourites—

The Phonograph

Hark! What his fellow-warblers heard
And uttered in the light,
Their phonograph, the mocking-bird,
Repeats to them at night.

Imagination

Here Fancy far outdoes the deed;
So hath Eternity the need
Of telling more than Time has taught
To fill the boundaries of Thought.

The Dandelion

With locks of gold to-day;
To-morrow, silver gray;
Then blossom bald. Behold,
O man, thy fortune told!

Evolution

Out of the dusk a shadow,
Then, a spark;
Out of the cloud a silence,
Then, a lark;
Out of the heart a rapture,
Then, a pain;
Out of the dead, cold ashes,
Life again.

Compensation

How many an acorn falls to die
For one that makes a tree!
How many a heart must pass me by
For one that cleaves to me!

“We may use different words but emotions are eternal”

Who was this man John B Tabb? Well, his full name and title was Father John Banister Tabb (22 March 1845 – 19 November 1909) and he was an American poet, Roman Catholic priest, and professor of English Contents. He was born into a wealthy family in Amelia County, Virginia, was a blockade runner for the Confederacy during the Civil War, converted to the Roman Catholic Church in 1872, taught Greek and English at Saint Charles College (Ellicott City, Maryland) and was ordained as a priest in 1884. Among his other works, Father Tabb published eight poetry books and was widely published in prestigious magazines of the day including Harper’s Monthly and The Cosmopolitan. The Tabb Monument in Amelia County, Virginia, is dedicated to his memory.
Source https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_B._Tabb

♥ Gretchen Bernet-Ward

——oooOOOooo——

Image © Gretchen Bernet-Ward 2021

‘The Tide Rises, the Tide Falls’ Longfellow

Tidal flats of Wynnum Manly foreshore Moreton Bay, Queensland © Dot Bernet 2021

The Tide Rises, the Tide Falls

By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The tide rises, the tide falls,

The twilight darkens, the curlew calls;

Along the sea-sands damp and brown

The traveller hastens toward the town,

      And the tide rises, the tide falls.

Darkness settles on roofs and walls,

But the sea, the sea in the darkness calls;

The little waves, with their soft, white hands,

Efface the footprints in the sands,

      And the tide rises, the tide falls.

The morning breaks; the steeds in their stalls

Stamp and neigh, as the hostler calls;

The day returns, but nevermore

Returns the traveller to the shore,

      And the tide rises, the tide falls.

* * * * *

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, American poet (1807-1882)

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/44651/the-tide-rises-the-tide-falls

♥ Gretchen Bernet-Ward

Twilight falls on Wynnum Manly foreshore Moreton Bay, Queensland © Dot Bernet 2021

Highway Thrills with Bukowski

“Bright Red Car” from The Last Night of the Earth Poems by Charles Bukowski, author poet (Black Sparrow Press 1992) and yes, I know the car illustration is yellow but this car jousting is, well… just read it…

I try to avoid speed duels on the freeway but the most curious thing

is

that all my speeding tickets are when I am quietly driving

along on

my

own.

when I am in a high speed duel, darting in and out of lane

at near 100 m.p.h.

the police are never

about.

when I get tagged for speeding it is for cruising along,

day-dreaming, at a mere 70

m.p.h.

I received 3 such nonsensical tickets in 3 weeks so

I laid low for some time — 2 years, in fact, but today

out there

there was a fellow in a bright red car, I have no idea what

model or kind

and I have no idea of how it all started but I believe that

I started it:

I was in the fast lane going about 70

and I caught the flash of bright red in my rear view and

as he swung out to pass me on the right

he was doing 75

and there was time for him to pass

then cut into the fast lane ahead of me

but something made me hit the throttle and cut him

off

locking him in behind an old lady with a CHRIST

SAVES bumper sticker.

this seemed to piss him no end

and next I knew he had swung over on my bumper,

so close that his windshield and my taillights

seemed one.

this pissed me no end and I was being blocked by a

green Volks directly ahead

but I cut right through an opening and shot

ahead.

bright red went wild, spotted the far lane open,

roared over and gunned it

along.

after that, it was just me and bright red

jockeying for spots.

he would garner a lead, then with a crazy gamble

of lane change I would regain the

lead.

during this duel my destination was forgotten and I’m

sure his was

too.

watching him, I couldn’t help but admire his driving

skill; he took a few more chances than I

but I had a little bit the better machine

so it

just about evened out.

then

suddenly

we were alone: a freak break in the traffic

had set us free together

and we really opened

up.

he had a short lead but my machine slowly gained; I

inched up near him,

then I was at his side and I couldn’t help but

look over.

he was a young Japanese-American, maybe 18, 19

and I looked at him and

laughed.

I saw him check me out.

he saw a 70 year old white man

with a face like

Frankenstein.

the young man took his foot off the throttle and

dropped back

I let him go.

I turned the radio

on.

I was 18 miles past my destination but it

didn’t matter.

it was a beautiful sunny day.

* * * * *

Charles Bukowski (August 1920 – March 1994) a German American author, an influential, prolific and transgressive 20th century poet, short story writer, and novelist. 

Reference https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/charles-bukowski

♥ Gretchen Bernet-Ward

bAYLY’S bEDAZZLED mOTH

Dazzled Moth © Gretchen Bernet-Ward 2021

“Fly away, pretty moth, to the shade

Of the leaf where you slumbered all day;

Be content with the moon and the stars, pretty moth,

And make use of your wings while you may. . .

But tho’ dreams of delight may have dazzled you quite,

They at last found it dangerous play;

Many things in this world that look bright, pretty moth,

Only dazzle to lead us astray”.

By Thomas Haynes Bayly

“Songs, Ballads, and Other Poems” by Thomas Haynes Bayly (October 1797 – April 1839) an English poet, songwriter, playwright, and novelist https://pennyspoetry.fandom.com/wiki/Thomas_Haynes_Bayly

♥ Gretchen Bernet-Ward

Take A Detour…

IMG_20201118_123239
Take a detour © Gretchen Bernet-Ward 2021

“The Road Not Taken” is a narrative poem by Robert Frost, published in 1916 as the first poem in the collection Mountain Interval.

The Road Not Taken

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveller, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves, no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and—
I took the one less travelled by,
And that has made all the difference.

By American poet Robert Lee Frost (March 1874 – January 1963)

Condamine River Sheep Shearers on the Track

Condamine River sheep shearers on the Track 1800s Queensland Australia

Your Precious Life

IMG_20200913_122610
Photo Gretchen Bernet-Ward 2020 — Quote from poem The Summer Day by Mary Oliver https://www.loc.gov/poetry/180/133.html

The Summer Day

Who made the world?

Who made the swan, and the black bear?

Who made the grasshopper?

This grasshopper, I mean-

the one who has flung herself out of the grass,

the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,

who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down-

who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.

Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.

Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.

I don’t know exactly what a prayer is.

I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down

into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,

how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,

which is what I have been doing all day.

Tell me, what else should I have done?

Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?

Tell me, what is it you plan to do

with your one wild and precious life?

—Mary Oliver

Mary Oliver (1935-2019) author and Pulitzer Prize winning poet.
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/mary-oliver

♥ Gretchen Bernet-Ward

Poetry Clipart 09

Your inner light still shines

This poem touched a chord within me . . .

Multi-talented storyteller, author and freelancer Chris Hall of luna’s on line says “Basically, I love writing in all its forms.  I tell stories – short fiction pieces, even poetry – maybe from a writing prompt or a piece of artwork I’ve seen, or maybe something topical which I’ve read.  For the past few months I’ve been writing serials on my blog e.g. Sinead’s Final Quest and Alys and Sparky.”

♥ Gretchen Bernet-Ward

Read on . . .

luna's on line

The image shows face of a woman. It is painted with luminous glitter paint and the features are highlighted with bright yellow lines, ending in a question mark on the forehead.Imprisoned inside a fragile façade

yet your inner light still glimmers

hope leaks out from every pore

and your smile still shines from deep within.

Confined within the corporeal

plagued by withering pain

yet the force that the fans your flame

is fuelled by a sharper source.

Your spark will not be extinguished

your spirit will not be crushed

not yet, while there’s hope

for another, better day.

Written in response to Sadje’s What Do You See #42 photo prompt.
Image credit: Lucas Pezetaon Pexels

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‘Trophy’ Poem

IMG_20200629_115807
Long forgotten heroes … or maybe not …

TROPHY

1st place

Legitimate

The first time I’ve won a

Trophy

In my entire life

And you weren’t there.

I was so excited

My body

SHOOK!

I never expected to win anything

At all

And

When I told you, I got

“Good job”

You encourage me to do this

Begged

Pleaded

Anything you could do

To make me join you in it

And then

I got

Everything

But not

Your joy

Poem by Alice Julia Miller
October 2013
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/497020/trophy/

Poetry Clipart 09♥ Gretchen Bernet-Ward