Welshmen gather on St David's Day
To toast winter’s worst away
Chapel folk toast with tea
Which, like suds, induces pee
Invariably wet, St. David’s Day!
Endnote: In addition to being the patron saint of Wales, St. David is also the patron saint of poets and vegetarians. Where the latter came from, I haven’t a clue. Unfortunately, I don’t have a more elevated rhyme to offer on the feast of poets.
On the feast day of Matthias
Trees start pumping like Goliaths
Their resinous elixir is a wonder
One can ponder
Whilst in staus insomnias
Endnote: February 24 is the feast of St.Matthias. He was the apostle chosen to replace Judas after his unlamented demise. Old weather lore maintains that he sends sap through the trees this time of year.
When I am an old woman, I shall wear purple
with a red hat that doesn't go, and doesn't suit me.
And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
and satin candles, and say we've no money for butter.
I shall sit down on the pavement when I am tired
and gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells
and run my stick along the public railings
and make up for the sobriety of my youth.
I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
and pick the flowers in other people's gardens
and learn to spit.
You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat
and eat three pounds of sausages at a go
or only bread and pickles for a week
and hoard pens and pencils and beer nuts and things in boxes.
But now we must have clothes that keep us dry
and pay our rent and not swear in the street
and set a good example for the children.
We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.
But maybe I ought to practice a little now?
So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.
Endnote: I am posting this marvelous piece by Jenny Joseph to help my dear sister, Joan, celebrate her big 6-0 birthday today. It was unfortunately appropriated by the 'Red Hat Society,' a group of nonconforming conformists that I have no affection for.
| (at St. Mary's) may the tide that is entering even now the lip of our understanding carry you out beyond the face of fear may you kiss the wind then turn from it certain that it will love your back may you open your eyes to water water waving forever and may you in your innocence sail through this to that Endnote: Lucille Clifton, a wonderful poet and former poet laureate of Maryland, passed away on February 13. She was a winner of the National book award and was nominated for the Pulitzer prize more than once. For additional biographical information and to read more of her poems go to www.poets.org. |
My lamp is a seductively proportioned femme fatale
Whose shade is a flamboyant hat maker’s delight
The chapeau enfolds her light bulb head like an outre sombrero
Her face an alluringly enigmatic mask,
Vague featured like an unfinished sculpture
Her polished brass patina a form fitting gold lame gown,
Akin to a vintage Marilyn Monroe ensemble
Her iridescent gown flares at the bottom
Into a mermaid’s tail
Not a chimera, but Carmen Miranda!
Endnote: An exercise in finding the uncommon in a common object via simile and metaphor. Revised 0n 2/18/10
What is a collage constructed of words?
A kaleidoscope of many shapes and myriad colors
Which mirrors life’s nuances and commonality
Evokes bitter-sweet memories of love, loss, and gratitude
Extends my connection from one noble spirit to all sentient life
Crafted from native woods of the rainforest,
Draws me by its natural beauty
And expands my connection to the great circle of life
Connects me to the uniquely human art of polyphonic music, the universal language
A white cube with dark letters embossed on each of its sides
Opens a door to the creative use of language,
The first step to true communication,
More than talking, one soul connecting to another
A lovingly fashioned clay mug of innovative design
Suggests the solidity of earth
Wedded to a young boy’s pristine vision of how color and pattern speak,
A miraculous transmutation which induces an awed sense of connection
To the boy who fashioned it and the dormant artist in all of us
A miniature crystal turtle enchants by its quiet loveliness
And the knowledge that it was presented by a loving father
To his daughter
To assuage an old fear they both shared
Suggests the pleasures of another simpler time,
A joy filled childhood and the grandmother who was its’ loving
embodiment
A lovely tasseled shawl, an unexpected gift from a casual friend,
Her thoughtfulness touches a very deep place
Such an experience is a miracle of grace,
The fruit of true connection
A golden pendant with an Arabic symbol for the name of Allah
Represents, by its’ purity and quiet grace,
The essence of perfect love, the ultimate connection
Phil, Willie, and Chuck, a prescient rodential trio
February, along with January, was introduced onto the Roman calendar by Numa Pompilious when the calendar was extended from ten to twelve months. The word February comes from the word 'februa' - which means cleansing or purification, and reflects the rituals undertaken before Spring. The Romans and the Celts regarded February as the start of spring. Other names for February: The Anglo Saxons called February 'Sol-monath' (cake-month), because cakes were offered to the gods during that month. February was also known to the Saxons as 'sprout-kale' from the sprouting of cabbage or kale. Having only 28 days in non-leap years, February was known in Welsh as 'y mis bach' - the little month. In Shakespeare's time, the second month of the year was called 'Feverell'. In Isaac Newton's time one hundred years later it had become 'Februeer'. The modern name, February, is only about a hundred years old.
Endnote: From station WMPT’s “Tea Times” newsletter. The statue is of Numa Pompilious, second king of Rome.
