Books, gardens, birds, the environment, politics, or whatever happens to be grabbing my attention today.
Garden Bloggers' Bloom Day - October 2017/Poetry Sunday: Autumn Flowers by Jones Very
First, a poem about the beauty of late-blooming flowers.
by Jones Very
Still blooming on, when Summer-flowers all fade, The golden rods and asters fill the glade; The tokens they of an Exhaustless Love, That ever to the end doth constant prove.
To one fair tribe another still succeeds, As still the heart new forms of beauty needs; Till these, bright children of the waning year! Its latest born have come our souls to cheer.
They glance upon us from their fringed eyes, And to their look our own in love replies; Within our hearts we find for them a place, As for the flowers, which early Spring-time grace.
Despond not traveller! on life's lengthened way, When all thy early friends have passed away; Say not, " No more the beautiful doth live, And to the earth a bloom and fragrance give. "
To every season has our Father given Some tokens of his love to us from heaven; Nor leaves us here, uncheered, to walk alone, When all we loved and prized, in youth, has gone.
Let but thy heart go forth to all around, Still by thy side the beautiful is found; Along thy path the Autumn flowers shall smile, And to its close life's pilgrimage beguile. ~~~ And now, here are some of those late-bloomers from my zone 9a garden in Southeast Texas.
The coral vine is at its best just now.
Marigolds that have bloomed all summer continue to brighten my days.
And more lantana.
And still more lantana.
Hamelia patens with bumblebee.
'Coral Nymph' salvia.
'Coral Nymph' with pink Knockout roses and porterweed.
Rudbeckia black-eyed Susan.
Duranta erecta, golden dewdrops.
Bronze Esperanza with bee.
A bank of blue plumbago.
And, of course, what would October be without a few chrysanthemums sprinkled in.
Even though many of the summer flowers have faded, we find that each season does have gifts of its own. As the poet wrote:
Let but thy heart go forth to all around, Still by thy side the beautiful is found; Along thy path the Autumn flowers shall smile, And to its close life's pilgrimage beguile.
I hope that autumn flowers are smiling at you this Bloom Day. Thank you Carol of May Dreams Gardens for hosting us once again. Happy gardening.
In his speech accepting the Democratic nomination for president last Thursday, Vice-President Biden quoted from a work by the great Irish poet Seamus Heaney. I was not familiar with the poem and so I had to look it up. It is from a work entitled The Cure at Troy which was an adaptation by Heaney, written in verse, of Sophocles' play, Philoctetes . Philoctetes was a Greek master archer who was abandoned on a desert island by his fellow soldiers and countrymen and was later asked by the Greeks to return to fight in the Trojan War. The work was published in 1991 and in writing it, Heaney evidently was thinking of "The Troubles" in Northern Ireland. It seems to fit equally well our own troubles of today. It is a poem for all times. Verses from The Cure at Troy by Seamus Heaney Human beings suffer They torture one another, They get hurt and get hard. No poem or play or song Can fully right a wrong Inflicted and endured. The innocent in gaols Beat on their bars together.
I was introduced to the writing of C.J. Box through my local library's Mystery Book Club. Open Season , the first in Box's Joe Pickett series, was the club's selection for reading in June. Although I didn't get a chance to read it in time for the meeting, the discussion of it made me curious and I put it on my to-be-read list. I'm glad I finally got around to it this week. Box has created an enormously appealing character in Joe Pickett. A Wyoming game warden, Joe is a devoted family man with two young daughters and a pregnant wife when we first meet him. He and his family are able to barely scrape by financially on the meager salary of a state employee (Been there, done that!) , but Joe is a happy man, because he's living his dream. Being a game warden was what he always wanted to be. Not only Joe but his whole family are lovingly drawn by Box. We get to know them well and to like them and want them not just to endure but to triumph. Seven-year-old Sherid
I dip into poetry throughout the week. I do it quite randomly, without a plan or agenda. But I am often astonished to find that the poem I have randomly chosen is exactly the one that I needed at that particular moment. And so it was when I landed on this poem by Mary Oliver a few days ago. She writes: it is a serious thing just to be alive on this fresh morning in the broken world. Yes, exactly. Invitation by Mary Oliver Oh do you have time to linger for just a little while out of your busy and very important day for the goldfinches that have gathered in a field of thistles for a musical battle, to see who can sing the highest note, or the lowest, or the most expressive of mirth, or the most tender? Their strong, blunt beaks drink the air as they strive melodiously not for your sake and not for mine and not for the sake of winning but for sheer delight and gratitude – believe us, they say, it is a serious thing just to be alive on this fresh m