So many types and shapes of us,
Yet all of us are cool,
Romantics like to make a fuss,
Don’t want to seem a fool.
We make a loving, thoughtful gift,
Our stunning beauty heals,
Heartbroken lovers mend a rift,
How wonderful it feels.
Tag Archives: poem
Hawk
I think this is a broad-winged hawk. If anyone knows for sure, I’d be interested in your opinion.
I’m sitting on the railing
To scour the place for prey,
Can’t risk my eyesight failing,
Or I won’t eat today.
What’s that? You think I’m lying?
I’ve eaten well today?
Just sitting ’round, not trying?
My beak gave me away?
…Oops!
Common Columbine
A warning to the people’s pet,
If you decide to eat me,
Just don’t be shocked how sick you’ll get,
So leave me as you meet me.
*Disclaimer: I think hummingbirds are exempt from harm when they drink the nectar. I hope so anyway.
Crossbills
With crossing bills, I crack a seed,
The sunflowers are best,
It’s easy for me, there’s no need
To put it to the test.
But did you see, my lady fair,
How I hang upside down?
Why don’t you smile then, if you dare?
It isn’t nice to frown.
Oh, now I see the game you play,
As if we’ve never met,
You hardly deign to say good day,
You’re playing hard to get.
Flowers at the Beach
Today we spent a few hours on a nearby island beach that sees little use because it is only accessible by boat.
I was surprised to see the sandy fields blooming with tiny wildflowers.
I don’t know the names of all these flowers but the blue ones (below) look like tiny violas. I’m sure they have a proper name but I don’t know what it is. The little white flowers on the reddish stems might be saxifraga.
But this one I know. It is Oregon grape (berberis aquifolium, or holly-leaved barberry). Those yellow flowers turn into blue berries that look like a cluster of tiny grapes. I’ve read that the berries also have many health benefits, but they should be washed before eating. I’ve never enjoyed eating them raw. They are very tarty, but they make an excellent Oregon grape jelly.
Notice the dry moss all around the flowers. Even the moss has tiny blooms. The island has a rather dry climate so it makes its own unique, messy, but very pretty, flower garden.
More flowers will bloom here in the next weeks. I recognized leaves of lupins, and many other new shoots from various plants coming up from last year’s stock that has gone to seed.
Tiny but precious and ever so frail,
Bravely we bloom though the chill may prevail,
Few eyes will see us, and fewer admire,
We’ll stand courageously ’til we expire.
Chicken Little’s Sky
When Chicken Little saw this sky, she knew there was trouble ahead, so she squawked her famous lines and said, as you know:
Bok-bok-bok!
The SKY is falling,
And WE must tell the KING!
BoddOCK bok!
Well, who would’ve thunk that a chicken could forecast this dramatic weather phenomenon?!
The very next day, the sky actually DID fall. That big dark cloud fell onto the ground and covered the whole valley.
And then, as Carl Sandburg said:
The fog comes in
on little cat feet.
It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.
They say that “No man is an island,” but these fir trees aren’t too sure about that.
The Frog Prints
I followed the frog prints and found a real frog prince. Now, before we begin, Froggie wants everyone to know … he REALLY is a prince. He just needs a kiss.
(Unfortunately, anyone who has picked him up lately has told him, “KISS you? … I’d rather have a talking frog.”)
Gelatine fingers
Hold on when he lingers,
Racing stripe – fashion
To show he has passion.
In one eager bound
He will leap to the ground,
Hop to obscurity
Quick for security.
M is for Mice
Where is your mother, little mice?
You’d better get back into your nest.
Mama Mouse was found in an old apple box that, once she had jumped into it, was too high for her to jump out of.
Mama Mouse was exhausted from all the jumping efforts, and lay still after her rescue, soaking up the warmth until she recovered from her ordeal.
In a few moments, she perked up, and remembering her children, rushed to save them.
M is for Mighty Maisie the mama mouse and her three blind mice.
I know that some people are afraid of mice, but how do you think they feel about us?
Here is one of my favourite poems by Rose Fyleman:
Mice
I think mice
Are rather nice.
Their tails are long,
Their faces small.
They haven’t any chins at all.
Their ears are pink,
Their teeth are white.
They run about
The house at night.
They nibble things
They shouldn’t touch
And no one seems
To like them much.
But I think mice
Are nice.
A Lady of Leisure
My sister-in-law’s dog, a Coton de Tulear, would like to introduce herself to you.
Hi! My mom calls me Eleanor Rigby when she wants me to pay attention to her, but usually I’m just plain – well, not so plain, really – Ellie.
It’s been a trying day today,
No postman going by,
No other dogs came by to play,
And I will tell you why.
Today has been a holiday,
The businesses closed,
Most folks won’t go to work today,
And so for you I’ve posed.
I’m lying here on my day off,
Don’t need to do my job,
Of barking at each passing toff,
Or anyone who’d rob.
I take it easy on my couch,
That has my doggie throw,
My mistress surely is no slouch,
“A pillow? There you go!”
Oh, what a life this is for me,
There’s nothing that I lack,
I close my eyes and nap ’til three,
And then I’ll have a snack.
Bob the Cat
I’m pretty sure this is a bobcat (not a lynx – which looks very similar). If you see one of these fellows in your neighbourhood, make sure you keep your little dog or cat in the house while the big guy is prowling around.
This guy was NOT in my yard, and I’m thankful for that.
If you have Bob visiting your neighbourhood, be sure not to leave pet food outside, or have a lot of birdseed lying around your bird feeding station. You may find them interested in your fruit trees when the fruit is ripe. A healthy bobcat probably won’t attack you. It is more interested in your favourite squirrels that live in your woodshed.
If you’re out for a walk in the woods and you see a bobcat, it’s probably a good idea to pick up any small children you may have with you. We can never know how desperate a bobcat may be.
Robert and Roberta Cat
Say they’re bobcats and that’s that.
Bob and Bobbi hunt for squirrels,
Even one that jumps and twirls.
Chase them up and down the tree,
Sneaking up when they don’t see.
Evening time they have a rest,
That’s the time they like the best.
Snug inside their little den,
Under tree roots now and then,
Sometimes underneath a cliff,
Perched beneath a ledge to sniff.
wordsfromanneli 