The tower stood guard,
seeking the face of enemy and friend alike,
the first line of defense and the final battleground,
but the ancient stones had also seen secret loves shared,
heard the echoes of children’s laughter,
and tolled the hours of the day for centuries.
sinking behind the growth of bordering wood,
the tower reminisced and was silent.
(Photo Taken at Longwood Garden’s, Pennsylvania)
I met the most beautiful child today.
We shared only a moment,
But she stole my heart away.
The sight of her was all entrancing,
Her crown of curls; her giggles
Her tip-toe dancing.
She reached for me without a shred of hesitation.
The sparkling jewelry I wore
An irresistible invitation.
She smiled sweeter than a cherub above,
Her blue eyes sparkled,
and she cooed like a dove.
Time will turn and I’ll grow old,
Yet she will always be
This Beautiful child in my Memory.
It is a beautiful thing. There are so many types of rain, really, and I couldn’t tell you which sort I prefer more (unless we are including the fluffy, white, frozen variety that I love most of all, in copious quantities, as frequently as possible.)
There’s the light, misty kind that I tend to envision whenever someone talks about Great Britain. That type of drizzly, foggy rain that hangs over the landscape, penetrating every crevice, enveloping whatever it touches in a hazy shroud, and leaving ten thousand beads of incandescent diamonds in its wake that sparkle and scintillate when the light reappears. (Sounds divine, doesn’t it?) Oh, it’s also that deceptively inconsequential form of rain that doesn’t look like much until you walk out in it without your bumbershoot.
There’s the freezing drizzle, or frizzle; that sinister variety of rain that usually arrives overnight and surreptitiously transforms the garden path, car park, or the front steps into a skating arena suitable only for Olympic athleticism. It’s that quirky classification of rain that warps and blurs everything into unrealistic, Photoshop-worthy deviations of reality that makes most of us grab our camera’s (ie. Phones) to record and share the surreal, Dr Suess-iness of it all. This category of precipitation doesn’t initially impress either, so you generally disregard it until you have to go out and then promptly wind up on your arse.
There are a myriad classifications of thunderstorms as well. Those that pop up in the middle of a sweltering, summer day just long enough to make us all run for cover; the kind that create a lot of noise for 20 minutes and then disappear into a haze of steam. There are those that roll overhead in the hiatus of evening, fast and furious, full of sound and fury, (signifying nothing?) that do little more than make a mess, generally. And then there are those magnificent, cacophonous, tempests that jar you from sound sleep in the middle of the night with ear-splitting thunder and shocks of lightening that leave you wondering if you couldn’t hide under the bed with the cat.
There’s also the awe-inspiring, stop-you-dead-in-your-tracks kind of rain that makes you stare out the window in astonishment, forces you off the road in your car because you can’t see one inch ahead or behind, and makes you wonder for a fleeing, transitory moment if there isn’t an arc being built someplace nearby that you perhaps ought to be booking passage on: those torrential downpours of cats and dogs (and monkeys.)
Then there’s the steady, pervasive, day-long kind of rain that sweeps over the earth, softly falling hour by hour, never flooding, never rumbling, never wreaking havoc. This is the kind of rain that looks like a painting by Monet or Van Gough; that smells so sweet you inhale the scent of it deeply and can’t help sighing. It’s also that sort of precipitation that makes you want to pull off your shoes like a child, go out and splash in the puddles.
We can’t control the rain; what kind of rain it is, how hard it falls or for how long, but we can control how we respond to it so that we neither wind up soaking wet wishing we had protection from the rain, staring in dumb-struck wonder at the rain fearing what might happen next, nor landing on our arses because the unanticipated variability of the rain caught us completely off guard. Rather, we can stop to enjoy the rain, inhale deeply, and allow ourselves to be refreshed and renewed before we plod on.
Images found on Google
There is a Quietude to the Embers of Night
That drifts through my Memory,
Spilling its Peaceful Melody
Into the Frenzy of my turbulent Sight.
Cascading Ribbons of Violet Haze
Reach from Heaven to, thus, Entrance me,
While Softest Mists of Starlight Glaze
The whirl of my Distracted energy.
Spinning Cosmic Ocean of Dreams
Turn my Thoughts to Peaceful Rest,
While You Sing Eternally
Of One Single Breath.
Beautiful Image found at : barbarashdwallpapers.com
Love Speaks Softly when the Night is Dark,
Igniting Hope with the tiniest Spark.
Love Speaks Gently when despair is near,
Coaxing Trust where there is only fear.
Love Speaks Kindly when anger’s in full fury,
Encouraging Patiently to eliminate worry.
Love Speaks In Prayer when there is Need,
Bridging the Divide to Tenderly Intercede.
Love Speaks in Whispers Heard by the Soul,
Mending the Sorrow to Make Everything Whole.
Beautiful Photograph found at: wallpaperweb.org/wallpaper/nature
Spring Comes Softly
Amidst the Snows,
The Sparkling, Scintillating, Glittering Glows,
That Touch our Holidays with Frosty Cheer,
While we Gather round the Fire, Drawing Near
in Heart, in Spirit, in the Silence so Deep,
While our Memories Diligently Keep
Spring coming Softly
Amidst the Snows,
Smiling her Promise where Winter Bows.
Spring is Reaching outward from the Narrow Confines of Winter,
Painting the barren starkness with Light, Bright Shades of Green,
Bold Viridian Blushing Fair,
Newly Born Spring throwing back her Hair;
Smiling in the Scintillating Light as the Robin Redbreast enters,
Perching on the Fragrant Arms of Yawning forsythia to Preen.
Golden Streaming Sunlight Caresses the Blossoms of Rosy Hue,
Perfume of Youth and Beauty Lilting Upon the Jocund Breeze,
Brash Auburn Disappearing,
Amidst Spring’s Renewal, Cheering;
Balmy Breeze Dances on Twilight’s Coyness, to Infuse,
Tranquility Surrendering to Captivate and Please.
Spring is Blushing in the early Shades of Dawn,
Robed in Supplication of Winter’s Mighty Braun,
Breath of Lilac Poised upon Delicate Denouement.
Beautiful Photo found at: sphotos-e.ak.fbcdn.net
The Silver Light of Winter
Has Spread her Arms and Laid Her head
Upon the mantle of the Frozen earth
To Kiss the Birth of Spring Instead.
The Pearlescent Light of April
Sweetly Smiles over Waking fields,
Verdant greens within Her Hand,
As Flowing colours of Renewal She Wields.
The Balmy Glow of Springtime
Tenderly Laughs in Jocund Glee,
Embracing all of Life within
Her Ornate, Fragrant Tapestry.
Beautiful Original Artwork by: Bente Schlick
Brilliance Lending Illumination,
Touching All that I See and Know,
Casting Shadow across Trepidation,
Transcending Spectacle, Masterful Show.
Time Spinning in the Echoing Hush,
Strokes the Hours of Listless Fear,
While Subtle Incantations Rush
Like Streaming Light, Enticing and Clear.
Hallowed Music of Creation,
Singing in the Vast Unknown,
Lyric flowing without Cessation,
Praising Perfection in Evidence Shown.
Diaphanous and Seraphic Song,
Whispering in the Expanse of Night,
Guiding me back where I Belong,
In Blazing, Glorious, Tranquil Light.
Spirit Reaching for Blessed Spirit,
Rhapsody of Harmonious Sound,
Whisper so my Soul may Hear it,
Wandering Lost, by Grace am Found.
.The Music and Muse category by Morgan shares Poetry and the Music which Inspired it.
Exquisite Music: Crown of Creation by Jonathan Goldman
Beautiful Image found at : wallsave.com
Ocean of Time
Sweet River of Life
This Worry; This Strife
Majestic and Fine
And Far Outshine
The Chaos we mere Mortals
Ever Present, Ever Shimmering
Intangible and True,
Life and Breath
River of Time
Ocean of Rest
The Music and Muse category by Morgan shares Poetry and the Music which Inspired it.
Beautiful Music by Karl Jenkins