Sweet Pea Vision by Poet Alfred Noyes

“A Child’s Vision” by Alfred Noyes

Under the sweet-peas I stood
And drew deep breaths, they smelt so good.
Then, with strange enchanted eyes,
I saw them change to butterflies.

Higher than the skylark sings
I saw their fluttering crimson wings
Leave their garden-trellis bare
And fly into the upper air.

Standing in an elfin trance
Through the clouds I saw them glance…
Then I stretched my hands up high
And touched them in the distant sky.

At once the coloured wings came back
From wandering in the zodiac.
Under the sweet-peas I stood
And drew deep breaths.
They smelt so good.

By Alfred Noyes

Alfred Noyes was a British poet. He was born 16th September, 1880, Wolverhampton, Staffordshire, UK. He passed away 28 June, 1958, on the Isle of Wight. A traditional English poet, mainly remembered for his lyrical verse. The heart-wrenching “The Highwayman” and “Drake” are his best known works and illustrate his love of the sea.

It is said that the Romantic poets such as Tennyson and Wordsworth greatly influenced him. In 1949, due to his increasing blindness, Noyes dictated all his subsequent works. He also wrote for children and in 1952 he published a very popular children’s book “Daddy Fell into the Pond” and other poems.
Info: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/alfred-noyes

🌺 An annual plant of the pea family, sweet-pea flowers are cultivated throughout the world for their beautiful petals and soft perfume. Their rather unflattering botanical name is Lathyrus odoratus but the meaning comes from the Greek word lathyros meaning pea and the Latin word odoratus, meaning fragrant. Alfred certainly liked them!

❤ Gretchen Bernet-Ward

Good Life Ingredients

https://www.britannica.com/biography/Christopher-Morley
♥ Gretchen Bernet-Ward

‘The Empty Glass’ by Henry Lawson

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

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

that all my speeding tickets are when I am quietly driving

along on

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 20^th century poet, short story writer, and novelist.

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

♥ Gretchen Bernet-Ward

bAYLY’S bEDAZZLED mOTH

“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 1800s Queensland Australia

‘Blank Pages’ Edith Lovejoy Pierce said…

IMG_20210101_094626 — Out goes the old © Gretchen Bernet-Ward 2021

“We will open the book, its pages are blank. We are going to put words on them ourselves. The book is called Opportunity and its first chapter is New Year’s Day”

IMG_20210101_100253 — In comes the new © Gretchen Bernet-Ward 2021

Edith Lovejoy Pierce (1904-1983) was a twentieth-century poet and pacifist.

Pierce was born in 1904 in Oxford, England. She married an American in 1929 and moved to the U.S. the same year. She and her husband lived in Evanston, Illinois. Information Boston University.

♥ Gretchen Bernet-Ward

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

‘Ode to the Cat’ by Pablo Neruda

IMG_20200706_185218 — Rescue cat JoJo does not want to sleep © Gretchen Bernet-Ward

EXTRACT FROM ‘ODE TO THE CAT’

by Pablo Neruda

… Oh independent wild beast

of the house

arrogant

vestige of the night,

lazy, gymnastic

and alien,

very deep cat,

secret policeman

of bedrooms,

insignia

of a

disappeared velvet,

surely there is no

enigma

in your manner,

perhaps you are not a mystery,

everyone knows of you

and you belong

to the least mysterious inhabitant,

perhaps everyone believes it,

everyone believes himself the owner,

proprietor,

uncle

of a cat,

companion,

colleague,

disciple

or friend

of his cat …

READ THE FULL POEM

https://www.librarything.com/topic/26410
Listed Number 8 but originally from ‘Odes to Common Things’ by poet Pablo Neruda

There are several different translations from Chilean Spanish to English:
https://leonarddurso.com/2013/07/22/from-ode-to-a-cat-by-pablo-neruda/
http://unmasking.tripod.com/poemless/pn20.htm
https://amiracarluccio.com/2017/10/19/long-poems-ode-to-a-cat-by-pablo-neruda-oda-al-gato/
https://www.poemhunter.com/poem/ode-to-the-cat/

PROFILE

Pablo Neruda (1904–1973) born Parral, Chile.
Attended Chile University and became a poet, politician, activist, diplomat.
National Prize for Literature Chile (1945)
International Peace Prize (1950)
Lenin Peace Prize (1953)
American Academy of Arts and Letters (Foreign Honorary ∙ Literature ∙ 1968)
Nobel Prize in Literature (1971)
Golden Wreath (1972)

He was perhaps the most important Latin American poet of the 20th century and for a deeper look at his intriguing life I recommend https://www.wikiwand.com/en/Pablo_Neruda