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[walton]

I Skyped with my 4-year-old granddaughter tonight, and she recited this poem for me.  I liked it so much I thought I would repeat it here:

The Crocus

The golden crocus reaches up

To catch a sunbeam in her cup.

 -Walter Crane-

[Bob1603]

We had a chatter that made the following post this season and I wanted to share it.  It is quite the poem!

Cottonwood Trees

I don't know the author of this beautiful short poem about the tree holding the Decorah Eagles. Here it is...

I think the tree is pleased to be used to cradle eaglets.
It must summon the breeze to rock them to sleep and urge its leaves to sprout for shade.
Music it sings soft at night to sooth the dreaming kings and queens it shelters.
Strong and silent it holds them near, radiating its joy and pleasure.

[baziunc]

GG, thanks for the interesting story of the history of Taps.  I love Taps... My father had a cornet when I was very little, and I loved it when he would sometimes play Taps on it.  Taps was played every evening at the summer camp I went to in the NC mountains during some of my elementary school years, and sometimes, as campers there, we would take a short hike to a pretty spot for Vespers and would always sing Taps there, too.  It's such a simple, serene, and beautiful melody and song.

Bob1603, that's a wonderful poem about Cottonwood Trees!  Thank you for sharing it here...  Was the chatter the author?  Or was it the chatter who said the author is unknown?  It's really nice!

In my way, I went to try to research who wrote that poem about cottonwoods, and stumbled upon this... the poetry of James Hearst, a farmer's son from Iowa, and friend of Robert Frost, and so much more.  I read through the Table of Contents, the Introduction about James Hearst, and the Editor's Preface.  Oh my - what a story!  A big, new discovery for me...  I've read a few of the poems just now, and see I will be busy with more of this!
It's in pdf form at:
http://www.cedarfalls.com/DocumentCenter/Home/View/978 - The Complete Poetry of James Hearst, published by University of Iowa Press, Iowa City
(There is a completely different kind of poem about a cottonwood tree on page 459 of that pdf file - also listed as page 497 of 562 - LOL - titled, "What Matters.")

[Bob1603]

Baz, to answer your question, the chatter did not mention any author and had no knowledge who wrote it.  I just have hunch that it was one of our Decorah chatters - not sure why I think that but the poem just seems to fit the Decorah cottonwoods.  And thank you for your discovery of James Hearst and his poems.  Research and learning can be so much fun! 

[baziunc]

Baz, to answer your question, the chatter did not mention any author and had no knowledge who wrote it.  I just have hunch that it was one of our Decorah chatters - not sure why I think that but the poem just seems to fit the Decorah cottonwoods.  And thank you for your discovery of James Hearst and his poems.  Research and learning can be so much fun!

Bob, that makes sense... I agree with you - that "Cottonwood Trees" poem sounds like it could have been written by a Decorah Eagles chatter.  It's really wonderful.  Thanks again for sharing it here.

[walton]

Thanks, gg! What wonderful images this brings to mind.

[glogdog]

gg - thanks for Bob's tribute.  Love the comparison of him to a stone causing ripples.  So true.   I also enjoyed The Eagle and Great Possessions.  That one got loud. 

Bob -  that's a neat little poem about the Cottonwood trees.  Thanks for sharing it.

[baziunc]

GARDENGIRL, thank you!  That poem is spot on!  I so enjoyed it and appreciate you sharing these gems with us here. 

[walton]

Thanks, gg - reminds me of when I was growing up and lived in the country.  Miss it!

[glogdog]

gg - love all of your Autumn/November, winter-like poems.  Thanks for sharing them with us.

I couldn't help but think of this poem tonight by Robert Frost, "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening".  I almost want to say, "Stopping by Nest on a Snowy Evening".    The snowfall on the nest right now is beautiful.  So here is Robert Frost's poem and a screen capture of N2B:

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
BY ROBERT FROST

Whose woods these are I think I know.   
His house is in the village though;   
He will not see me stopping here   
To watch his woods fill up with snow.   

My little horse must think it queer   
To stop without a farmhouse near   
Between the woods and frozen lake   
The darkest evening of the year.   

He gives his harness bells a shake   
To ask if there is some mistake.   
The only other sound's the sweep   
Of easy wind and downy flake.   

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,   
But I have promises to keep,   
And miles to go before I sleep,   
And miles to go before I sleep.

[walton]

Still one of my favorite winter poems:

I Heard a Bird Sing
 by Oliver Herford
     

I heard a bird sing
In the dark of December.
A magical thing
And sweet to remember.

"We are nearer to Spring
Than we were in September,"
I heard a bird sing
In the dark of December.

[gardengirl]

How lovely, walton, and it is so good to see you. The room has been kind of empty recently. Maybe we can open the door wide, light the candles, trim the tree, and make some cider. There is always a fire going. I am gathering chairs right now.

[gardengirl]

Feed the Birds

While you sit by your fireside,
Secure and snug and warm,
The little feathered songsters
Are battled by the storm.

They huddle in the pine trees,
By winter's tempest chilled;
Their welcome songs are silent,
Their golden notes are stilled.

Locked beneath a coat of ice,
The ground on which they feed,
Our little friends will perish
Unless we we supply their need.

Then let us feed the songsters
Throughout the bitter cold...
In summer they'll repay us
A thousand, thousand fold.



written by Myrtie Fisher Seaverns

[walton]

I looked through this thread last night. There are some beautiful thoughts in here. We need to keep it going. Such a peaceful place...

[gardengirl]

                                       


                                                                                                   The Snowflake


Before I melt,
Come look at me!
This lovely icy filigree!
Of a great forest
In one night
I make a wilderness
Of white;
By skyey cold
Of crystals made.
All softly, on
Your finger laid.
I pause that you
My beauty see;
Breathe, and I vanish
Instantly.


--Walter de la Mare