The Ragtag Daily Prompt this morning is GREEN
We’re enjoying wafts of spring here, lots of sunshine and puddles alternating with colder days and more snow. No sign of green, but a lot of brittle brown grass showing up. It’s a start. 😉
Like the Canadian poet Archibald Lampman, I delight in our colourful seasons. Although the word GREEN doesn’t appear in this verse, you get the idea, so I’ll post it as my response to the prompt.
I love the warm bare earth and all
That works and dreams thereon:
I love the seasons yet to fall:
I love the ages gone,
The valleys with the sheeted grain,
The river’s smiling might,
The merry wind, the rustling rain,
The vastness of the night.
I love the morning’s flame, the steep
Where down the vapour clings:
I love the clouds that float and sleep,
And every bird that sings.
I love the purple shower that pours
On far-off fields at even:
I love the pine-wood dusk whose floors
Are like the courts of heaven.
I love the heaven’s azure span,
The grass beneath my feet:
I love the face of every man
Whose thought is swift and sweet.
I let the wrangling world go by,
And like an idle breath
Its echoes and its phantoms fly:
I care no jot for death.
Time like a Titan bright and strong
Spreads one enchanted gleam:
Each hour is but a fluted song,
And life a lofty dream.
The Ragtag Daily Prompt this morning is HUG.
In response I’ll offer this poem from Saskatchewan poet Roy Lobb, who was born in Ontario about 1892 and lived in the Melfort, SK, district.
TO MY SON
Two little arms and two little legs
each night would kick and toss;
ten little scratchy finger nails;
all these belonged to Ross.
Ringlets and curls on a high-set brow,
with blue eyes peeking through;
little stub nose and flushy cheeks
as fair as heaven’s dew.
A loving heart in a wee broad chest,
reserved a place for me;
stood near the gate and waved good-bye
as far as I could see.
Two little feet ran down the lane
to meet me coming home;
those happy thoughts I’ll treasure dear
wherever I may roam.
A little brown pup close by his side
would wag his tail in glee;
each night when I came home from work,
they’d want to play with me.
Two little arms around my neck
would start to scratch and tickle,
saying, “Dad, I’ll give you one big hug
if you give me a nickel.”
At close of day he’d climb my knee
and cuddle in a heap,
saying “Daddy, tell me a story now
before I go to sleep.”
The Ragtag Daily Prompt for today is the word SOUND.
My response will be this poem by Canadian poet Archibald Lampman:
How still it is here in the woods. The trees
Stand motionless, as if they did not dare
To stir, lest it should break the spell. The air
Hangs quiet as spaces in a marble frieze.
Even this little brook, that runs at ease,
Whispering and gurgling in its knotted bed,
Seems but to deepen with its curling thread
Of sound the shadowy sun-pierced silences.
Sometimes a hawk screams or a woodpecker
Startles the stillness from its fixed mood
With his loud careless tap. Sometimes I hear
The dreamy white-throat from some far-off tree
Pipe slowly on the listening solitude
His five pure notes succeeding pensively.
1861 – 1899
As you may have guessed, I was going to post Edna Jacques’ poem about the birds that came to her yard in spring. I decided not to for fear of the Copyright Infringement Police, but I forgot to remove the title. My apologies for the confusion!
However, I’ll give you another poem about little birds. This one by Canadian poet Archibald Lampman is a bit more complex, but just as good, I think.
Over the dripping roofs and sunk snow-barrows,
The bells are ringing loud and strangely near,
The shout of children dins upon mine ear
Shrilly, and like a flight of silvery arrows
Showers the sweet gossip of the British sparrows,
Gathered in noisy knots of one or two,
To joke and chatter just as mortals do
Over the days long tale of joys and sorrows;
Talk before bed-time of bold deeds together,
Of thefts and fights, of hard-times and the weather,
Till sleep disarm them, to each little brain
Bringing tucked wings and many a blissful dream,
Visions of wind and sun, of field and stream,
And busy barn-yards with their scattered grain.
By Archibald Lampman
For my contribution to National Poetry Month today, I’m going to write about a famous western Canadian poetess, Edna Jacques. (Pronounced Jakes) She was our Edgar Guest, a poet who wrote about home, often her prairie home during the Depression years. Altogether she wrote some 3,000 poems and published about half a dozen books of her verses, most of them available, as used copies, on Amazon.
Edna Jacques was born in Collingwood, Ontario in 1891 and moved with her family to a homestead SE of Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan when she was eleven. She married Ernest Jamieson at age 20 and they had one daughter. If I recall correctly, he later had mental health problems, so Edna did not have an easy life — still she wrote cheerful verses about nature, the seasons and domestic life in general. Altogether she wrote some 3,000 poems and published about half a dozen books of her verses.
You can find a few online and I’d like to post one of her verses here, but she only died in Sept 1978. Which means that technically they are still under copyright and I don’t want legal problems. 🙂