poem

Peony Pondering 

My Garden of Prayer

“My garden beautifies my yard
and adds fragrance to the air…

But it is also my cathedral 

and my quiet place of prayer…

So little do we realize

that ‘the glory and the power’

Of He who made the universe

lies hidden in a flower.”

~ Helen Steiner Rice

The Mint Julep 

THE MINT JULEP

“Then comes the zenith of man’s pleasure.

Then comes the julep ­­– the mint julep.
Who has not tasted one has lived in vain.

…Then when it is made, sip it slowly.
August suns are shining,
the breath of the south wind is upon you.
It is fragrant, cold and sweet – it is seductive.
No maiden’s kiss is tenderer or more refreshing,
no maiden’s touch could be more passionate.
Sip it and dream – you cannot dream amiss.
Sip it and dream – it is a dream itself.”

~ 19th Century American Journalist

Lilacs Outside My Window 

When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom’d
by Walt Whitman

“When lilacs last in the dooryard bloom’d, 
And the great star early droop’d in the western sky in the night, 
I mourn’d, and yet shall mourn with ever-returning spring. 

Ever-returning spring, trinity sure to me you bring,
Lilac blooming perennial and drooping star in the west,
And thought of him I love.”

The Hopeful Romantic Hyacinth

HYACINTH 

by Edna St. Vincent Millay

“I am in love with him
To whom a hyacinth is dearer
Than I shall ever be dear. 
On nights when the field-mice
Are abroad, he cannot sleep. 
He hears their narrow teeth 
At the bulbs of his hyacinths. 
But the gnawing at my heart…
He does not hear.”

Stripy, the Green-Eyed Lady

The Cat

“You get a wife, you get a house,
Eventually you get a mouse. 
You get some words regarding mice,
You get a kitty in a trice. 
By two a.m. or thereabouts,
The mouse is in, the cat is out. 
It dawns upon you, in your cot,
The mouse is silent, the cat is not. 
Instead of kitty, says your spouse,
You should have got another mouse.”
~ Ogden Nash

Sea Mist Slickers

“Tree-top spires and exterior gables
Form the image of New Hampshire stables
And three-story homes along misty shores
With waves playing leapfrog across porch floors
Where foamy bubbles turn creams to sables.

Screaming seagulls perch on walls of wet stone
Not reading the signs of “Caution: Flood Zone”.
O’er head more birds drift on wings of the fog
While caps of high tide slam a ship-wrecked log.
And tourists, amazed, get drenched to the bone.” 

~ Gail Dorna