As the end of the day
merges into night
the clock pushes
the minutes into hours
turning over to the next day
What will tomorrow bring?
that will be told tomorrow
As time shrinks to midnight
I am grateful for all that is
All that has been told
Day merges to night
Turning over through midnight
As moments unfold
For #NaPoWriMo
This is a haibun, a combination of prose poem and haiku.
(WPC: Chaos)
They live in the wind
On the spray of the sea
They live with the heat
From the sun
Over me
This stretch of beach holds many memories for me. I have been visiting this place all my life. My parents and an Aunt and Uncle brought me here as a child to run on the sands, collect shells and paddle in the sea. I have been coming here from childhood to adulthood and as they say, a sunset is never the same, reminding me that memories remain and tomorrow will bring more to remember.
WordPress Challenge: Memory
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This is the land the sunset washes,
These are the banks of the Yellow Sea;
Where it rose, or whither it rushes,
These are the western mystery!
Night after night her purple traffic
Strews the landing with opal bales;
Merchantmen poise upon horizons,
Dip, and vanish with fairy sails.
Poem by Emily Dickinson No.13 The Sea of Sunset
Photograph my own ©JaniceTSalmon2014
This weeks WordPress Photo Challenge:
“Share a photograph inspired by a favorite poem, verse, story, or song lyric. Bonus points if you share why the particular text resonates with you. (Though you certainly don’t have to!) If you’re not feeling especially literary or musical this week, see if you can capture the beauty of morning or evening half-light in your corner of the globe”.
You know I love Emily Dickinson poetry, so who better. The photo was taken in my town at the channel on a glorious evening in Spring 2014.
Snowdrops are a delightful sight in February. They give a bright feel to mossy grounds which sparks a little joy on a grey day. These flowers are known to have approximately 20 variations of species and can grow up to 30cm tall. The botanical name is Galanthus, gala in Greek means “milk” and anthos, meaning “flower”(Wikipedia.org).
Although they are cultivated far and wide it is thought that they are native to eastern Europe. It is believed that many soldiers of the Crimean War brought small bundles of these bulbs back to Britain, but were first documented in Botanical text in the 16th century (www.nhm.ac.uk). Today they are cherished and there are dedicated Snowdrop Gardens open throughout the UK.
The snowdrops delicate nature has attracted the attention of many poets. Emily Dickinson, the garden lover, often uses metaphors to describe elements of nature. In the poem “I taste a liquor never brewed” she is giving praise to her garden, “drunk” on the intoxication of scent, beauty and botanical skills in cultivation. She uses metaphor to convey feelings, in my opinion, of her joy in the garden. I love the last stanza as she refers to the “seraphs” (a variety of snowdrop) as they “swing their snowy hats”.
I taste a liquor never brewed –
From Tankards scooped in Pearl –
Not all the Vats upon the Rhine
Yield such an Alcohol!
Inebriate of air – am I –
And Debauchee of Dew –
Reeling – thro’ endless summer days –
From inns of Molten Blue –
When “Landlords” turn the drunken Bee
Out of the Foxglove’s door –
When Butterflies – renounce their “drams” –
I shall but drink the more!
Till Seraphs swing their snowy Hats –
And Saints – to windows run –
To see the little Tippler
Leaning against the – Sun!
By Emily Dickinson.
William Wordsworth also thought of these little white flowers as angelic. In his poem “On seeing a tuft of snowdrops in a storm”, he uses words such as “faithful and immortal”.
When haughty expectations prostrate lie,
And grandeur crouches like a guilty thing,
Oft shall the lowly weak, till nature bring
Mature release, in fair society
Survive, and Fortune’s utmost anger try;
Like these frail snow-drops that together cling,
And nod their helmets smitten by the wing
Of many a furious whirlblast sweeping by.
Observe the faithful flowers! if small to great
May lead the thoughts, thus struggling used to stand
The Emathian phalanx, nobly obstinate;
And so the bright immortal Theban band,
Whom onset, fiercely urged at Jove’s command,
Might overwhelm, but could not separate!
By William Wordsworth.
Dailypost – Winter’s Delicate Flower
http://www.poetryfoundation.org/
http://www.nhm.ac.uk/natureplus/blogs/wildlife-garden/2014/01/27/snowdrop-history?fromGateway=true
https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Galanthus
Photographs by Medicinalmeadows.com
It’s still early and the light
from the dimming sun
is fading out of sight.
Clouds cast their net but
a stream of yellow beams
seeps to illuminate time.
A whisp of cold with a
crisp caress chills as the
sun sinks behind the hills.
Darkness will pull up
the moon and born is a
velvet sky adorning the stars.
For the WPC: Time
In the grip of winter
Only a sip of light
Can come into sight
The sky may fall
Consoled from a cloud
Land adorns a shroud
A mournful breeze
Heard to sanctify
Then whispers a sigh
