Miscellaneous Collection by Gretchen Bernet-Ward
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
David Herbert Richards Lawrence (1885 – 1930) was an English novelist, poet, essayist, critic, playwright, and painter.
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
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
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/
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
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
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
… 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——
The Tide Rises, the Tide Falls
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
“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
“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
Thoughts Become Words 