My Paintings

Take Your Children By Hand

Take your children by hand and a paper bag                                                                                 Hurry, don't let your feet too slowly drag                                                                                    Into the woods today we're headed for sure                                                                                                     Going to let nature give us a memorable tour                                                         
                                                                                                                                                             Now sun is yellow and warm making bright our faces                                                                             Soon we'll be in cool dark green whispering places
Big things we see, gigantic boulders, tall pine trees
We're looking for tiny things hidden under rocks                            
logs and leaves

We might find a Lady Slipper and give it to Mom
A Jack-in-the-Pulpit we could give to Uncle Rom
Sweet berries are every where, but we mustn't eat
Watch the birds, see if they do make them a treat

Shush, I hear a sound coming from that hallow log                                                                          on the ground
It might be a frog, chipmunk, or possibly a fairy
sneaking around
"I believe your imagination has gone off in a whirl
You funny child, it's only a fluffy brown squirrel"

The sun now a orange and red in the lower cooler
darkened sky,
To the birds, frogs, chipmunks, squirrels, and                                                                                  possibly a fairy say goodbye
Get your rocks, berries, Lady Slippers, your leaves, moss and wood
When we get home and empty your bag, we'll see that you did really good

Place the moss in the garden, rocks and wood on your shelf in a row,
Your golden leaves pressed in wax paper and hung in the kitchen window.
All that fresh air, running and climbing has made you a sleepy head,
Eat your supper, have your hot shower, then off you go to bed.

Dreaming about the Lady slippers, frogs, squirrels and possibly a fairy no longer in its secret place,
When morning comes and your refreshed, check the bag, make sure it's empty---just saying in case.                                                              
  
Author Eileen Clark 

Image:https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/10790

My Poems ~ Others poems

The Wind

flickr.com

I saw you toss the kites on high
And blow the birds about the sky;
And all around I heard you pass,
Like ladies’ skirts across the grass–
O wind, a-blowing all day long,
O wind, that sings so loud a song!


I saw the different things you did,
But always you yourself you hid.
I felt you push, I heard you call,
I could not see yourself at all–
O wind, a-blowing all day long,
O wind, that sings so loud a song!


O you that are so strong and cold,
O blower, are you young or old?
Are you a beast of field and tree,
Or just a stronger child than me?
O wind
, a-blowing all day long,
O wind, that sings so loud a song!

Robert Louis Stevenson

My Poems

Nantucket Birds

It’s gray cloudy and blustery on this November day 

Brown tattered leaves blowing every which way

Little birds are flying among the crusty leaves

Not sure watch is which my eyes tend to deceive


 I will stay and I’ll watch so I can tell them apart

Those landing on the feeder would be a good start

The feeder is plenty filled and standing very tall

A large variety of  seeds, I think I bought them all 


I live on the now cold shores of old Nantucket

The blend of feed I make in a big steel bucket


So many homes are empty at this time of year

Our little feathered friends find less food I fear


I make the blend with berries milo and sunflower seeds

The bucket holds enough for this whole winters needs

Quickly on the feeder three or four birds zoom in to dine


Once they have found me they’ll be back all the time


I look  forward to seeing them in the early spring

Outside my kitchen window I will hear them sing

Looking plump and healthy is so pleasing to my eyes

Knowing the time I took making this blend was wise


From past years the birds know these trees are the best

On the very strong branches they will build their nest

Mothers tell the youngins, your twiggy legs I would not pull

Starting in October always with the best this feeder will be full


by Eileen Clark

Image:https://www.michiganaudubon.org/winter-bird-feeding-tips/

My Poems ~ Others poems · Poetry

Spring in New Hampshire

simply-beautiful-world:

❥‿↗⁀simply-beautiful-world
agoodthinghappened:

From imgfave.com

TOO GREEN THE SPRINGING APRIL GRASS, 
TOO BLUE THE SILVER-SPECKLED SKY, 
FOR ME TO LINGER HERE, ALAS, 
WHILE HAPPY WINDS GO LAUGHING BY, 
WASTING THE GOLDEN HOURS INDOORS, 
WASHING WINDOWS AND SCRUBBING FLOORS. 
TOO WONDERFUL THE APRIL NIGHT, 
TOO FAINTLY SWEET THE FIRST MAY FLOWERS, 
THE STARS TOO GLORIOUSLY BRIGHT, 
FOR ME TO SPEND THE EVENING HOURS, 
WHEN FIELDS ARE FRESH AND STREAMS ARE LEAPING, 
WEARIED, EXHAUSTED, DULLY SLEEPING.
Claude McKay – 1889-1948
Claude McKay
Claude McKay, who was born in Jamaica in 1889, wrote about social and political concerns from his perspective as a black man in the United States, as well as a variety of subjects ranging from his Jamaican homeland to romantic love.

image-Found on divinespirit3.tumblr.com

Art & Artest · My Poems ~ Others poems

While yet we wait for spring

2-21-2011 10;03;21 AM

While yet we wait for spring

While yet we wait for spring, and from the dry
And blackening east that so embitters March,
Well-housed must watch grey fields and meadows parch,
And driven dust and withering snowflake fly;
Already in glimpses of the tarnish’d sky
The sun is warm and beckons to the larch,
And where the covert hazels interarch
Their tassell’d twigs, fair beds of primrose lie.
Beneath the crisp and wintry carpet hid
A million buds but stay their blossoming;
And trustful birds have built their nests amid
The shuddering boughs, and only wait to sing
Till one soft shower from the south shall bid,
And hither tempt the pilgrim steps of spring.

Robert Seymour Bridges

(1844 – 1930) was a British poet.