poem

Wild Grapes

Posted on Updated on

What tree may not the fig be gathered from?
The grape may not be gathered from the birch?
It’s all you know the grape, or know the birch.
As a girl gathered from the birch myself
Equally with my weight in grapes, one autumn,
I ought to know what tree the grape is fruit of.
I was born, I suppose, like anyone,
And grew to be a little boyish girl
My brother could not always leave at home.
But that beginning was wiped out in fear
The day I swung suspended with the grapes,
And was come after like Eurydice
And brought down safely from the upper regions;
And the life I live now’s an extra life
I can waste as I please on whom I please.
So if you see me celebrate two birthdays,
And give myself out of two different ages,
One of them five years younger than I look-

One day my brother led me to a glade
Where a white birch he knew of stood alone,
Wearing a thin head-dress of pointed leaves,
And heavy on her heavy hair behind,
Against her neck, an ornament of grapes.
Grapes, I knew grapes from having seen them last year.
One bunch of them, and there began to be
Bunches all round me growing in white birches,
The way they grew round Leif the Lucky’s German;
Mostly as much beyond my lifted hands, though,
As the moon used to seem when I was younger,
And only freely to be had for climbing.
My brother did the climbing; and at first
Threw me down grapes to miss and scatter
And have to hunt for in sweet fern and hardhack;
Which gave him some time to himself to eat,
But not so much, perhaps, as a boy needed.
So then, to make me wholly self-supporting,
He climbed still higher and bent the tree to earth
And put it in my hands to pick my own grapes.
‘Here, take a tree-top, I’ll get down another.
Hold on with all your might when I let go.’
I said I had the tree. It wasn’t true.
The opposite was true. The tree had me.
The minute it was left with me alone
It caught me up as if I were the fish
And it the fishpole. So I was translated
To loud cries from my brother of ‘Let go!
Don’t you know anything, you girl? Let go!’
But I, with something of the baby grip
Acquired ancestrally in just such trees
When wilder mothers than our wildest now
Hung babies out on branches by the hands
To dry or wash or tan, I don’t know which,
(You’ll have to ask an evolutionist)-
I held on uncomplainingly for life.
My brother tried to make me laugh to help me.
‘What are you doing up there in those grapes?
Don’t be afraid. A few of them won’t hurt you.
I mean, they won’t pick you if you don’t them.’
Much danger of my picking anything!
By that time I was pretty well reduced
To a philosophy of hang-and-let-hang.
‘Now you know how it feels,’ my brother said,
‘To be a bunch of fox-grapes, as they call them,
That when it thinks it has escaped the fox
By growing where it shouldn’t-on a birch,
Where a fox wouldn’t think to look for it-
And if he looked and found it, couldn’t reach it-
Just then come you and I to gather it.
Only you have the advantage of the grapes
In one way: you have one more stem to cling by,
And promise more resistance to the picker.’

One by one I lost off my hat and shoes,
And still I clung. I let my head fall back,
And shut my eyes against the sun, my ears
Against my brother’s nonsense; ‘Drop,’ he said,
‘I’ll catch you in my arms. It isn’t far.’
(Stated in lengths of him it might not be.)
‘Drop or I’ll shake the tree and shake you down.’
Grim silence on my part as I sank lower,
My small wrists stretching till they showed the banjo strings.
‘Why, if she isn’t serious about it!
Hold tight awhile till I think what to do.
I’ll bend the tree down and let you down by it.’
I don’t know much about the letting down;
But once I felt ground with my stocking feet
And the world came revolving back to me,
I know I looked long at my curled-up fingers,
Before I straightened them and brushed the bark off.
My brother said: ‘Don’t you weigh anything?
Try to weigh something next time, so you won’t
Be run off with by birch trees into space.’

It wasn’t my not weighing anything
So much as my not knowing anything-
My brother had been nearer right before.
I had not taken the first step in knowledge;
I had not learned to let go with the hands,
As still I have not learned to with the heart,
And have no wish to with the heart-nor need,
That I can see. The mind-is not the heart.
I may yet live, as I know others live,
To wish in vain to let go with the mind-
Of cares, at night, to sleep; but nothing tells me
That I need learn to let go with the heart.

 

– Robert Frost

www.aromaticcoffees.co.uk

Please visit the above, and click out on a Google link – help me pay for the time it takes to makes these daily posts

a2

A Hillside Thaw

Posted on Updated on

To think to know the country and now know
The hillside on the day the sun lets go
Ten million silver lizards out of snow!
As often as I’ve seen it done before
I can’t pretend to tell the way it’s done.
It looks as if some magic of the sun
Lifted the rug that bred them on the floor
And the light breaking on them made them run.
But if I though to stop the wet stampede,
And caught one silver lizard by the tail,
And put my foot on one without avail,
And threw myself wet-elbowed and wet-kneed
In front of twenty others’ wriggling speed,-
In the confusion of them all aglitter,
And birds that joined in the excited fun
By doubling and redoubling song and twitter,
I have no doubt I’d end by holding none.

It takes the moon for this. The sun’s a wizard
By all I tell; but so’s the moon a witch.
From the high west she makes a gentle cast
And suddenly, without a jerk or twitch,
She has her speel on every single lizard.
I fancied when I looked at six o’clock
The swarm still ran and scuttled just as fast.
The moon was waiting for her chill effect.
I looked at nine: the swarm was turned to rock
In every lifelike posture of the swarm,
Transfixed on mountain slopes almost erect.
Across each other and side by side they lay.
The spell that so could hold them as they were
Was wrought through trees without a breath of storm
To make a leaf, if there had been one, stir.
One lizard at the end of every ray.
The thought of my attempting such a stray!

 

– Robert Frost

www.aromaticcoffees.co.uk

Please visit the above, and click out on a Google link – help me pay for the time it takes to makes these daily posts

a1

Norwegian Nature

Posted on Updated on

The eagle fly’s high
The whale dives low
the deer give a sigh
cry’s from the crow

Love of the four seasons
very clear reasons
the birth of the summer
woodpeckers drummer

the water is clear
fish are near
the gulls fly above
seals in Love

Norwegian Nature
you cannot manufacture
it is wild and free
buzzing from the bee

everything is very green
greener than you have ever seen
green turns to gold’s
as the autumn, unfolds

The nature in Norway
is happy everyday
it really is god’s country
some people do say

 

– David Darbyshire

www.aromaticcoffees.co.uk

Please visit the above, and click out on a Google link – help me pay for the time it takes to makes these daily posts

a7

The Slow Nature

Posted on Updated on

“Thy husband–poor, poor Heart!–is dead–
Dead, out by Moreford Rise;
A bull escaped the barton-shed,
Gored him, and there he lies!”

–“Ha, ha–go away! ‘Tis a tale, methink,
Thou joker Kit!” laughed she.
“I’ve known thee many a year, Kit Twink,
And ever hast thou fooled me!”

–“But, Mistress Damon–I can swear
Thy goodman John is dead!
And soon th’lt hear their feet who bear
His body to his bed.”

So unwontedly sad was the merry man’s face–
That face which had long deceived–
That she gazed and gazed; and then could trace
The truth there; and she believed.

She laid a hand on the dresser-ledge,
And scanned far Egdon-side;
And stood; and you heard the wind-swept sedge
And the rippling Froom; till she cried:

“O my chamber’s untidied, unmade my bed,
Though the day has begun to wear!
‘What a slovenly hussif!’ it will be said,
When they all go up my stair!”

She disappeared; and the joker stood
Depressed by his neighbor’s doom,
And amazed that a wife struck to widowhood
Thought first of her unkempt room.

But a fortnight thence she could take no food,
And she pined in a slow decay;
While Kit soon lost his mournful mood
And laughed in his ancient way.

 

– Thomas Hardy

www.aromaticcoffees.co.uk

Please visit the above, and click out on a Google link – help me pay for the time it takes to makes these daily posts

a6

Oh, How Silent Is The Nature

Posted on Updated on

Oh, how silent is the nature,
It only looks and only hears,
The people’s spirit in a rapture
Clings to a freedom — fast and fierce.

This planet will forget offences
Of him who trades, of him who kills,
And, as in reminiscences,
Druids will teach from greenish hills.

And, as in olden times, the poets
Will lead men’s souls up to heights,
Like Angel leads the dazzling comets
To a point, that is not in sight.

 

– Nikolai Stepanovich Gumilev

www.aromaticcoffees.co.uk

Please visit the above, and click out on a Google link – help me pay for the time it takes to makes these daily posts

a5

Your Relationship With Nature

Posted on Updated on

Your relationship with Nature speaks volumes about you
Do you only see Nature as a means to financial gain or are you one of those who
Love Nature for her beauty and love her wildlife and her trees
And her rivers, lakes and mountains and her fields and flowers and bees?

Your relationship with Nature tells of the sort of person that you are
Do you see Nature’s protectors as those who have gone too far
In their dispute with the developer in their fight for every tree
If this be so you support the environmental vandals or so ‘twould seem to me?

Your relationship with Nature about you more can say
Than all of your friends and enemies can or so ‘twould seem that way
For your apathy to Nature tells of your inner strife
And your attitude to Nature is your attitude to life.

Your relationship with Nature says far more about you
Than anyone else of you can say as their words may not be true
For if you love Mother Nature and with her live in harmony
Then you are working for the good of all of humanity.

 

– Francis Duggan

www.aromaticcoffees.co.uk

Please visit the above, and click out on a Google link – help me pay for the time it takes to makes these daily posts

a4

What Nature Brings

Posted on Updated on

Autumn leaves that turn to gold
Flowers that are bright and bold
Tremble in the cooling wind
Messages the autumn sends
Soon the winter storm so strong
We hope that it would not stay long
Now it’s almost time to change
And the landscape soon will rearrange
Spring will come before we know
This will bring a winter thaw
And then spring, oh glorious spring
Isn’t it exciting what nature brings?

 

– Marilyn Lott

www.aromaticcoffees.co.uk

Please visit the above, and click out on a Google link – help me pay for the time it takes to makes these daily posts

a3