Poetry Friday - Tigers

Yahoo News continually amazes me. I am not a big fan of wading through masses of newsprint; so I sometimes click on Yahoo’s access points and follow where they lead, thus tigers.

“Tigers rediscovered in Indian rainforests” caught my eye. In early September it was reported that, perhaps miraculously, at least 20 tigers were detected in a rainforest of western India - a place where all tigers were reportedly killed by poachers.

O course I accept the fact that humans have to come first in survival, but I have great hope that a means can be found that allows humans and God’s other creatures to coexist - no more extinctions.

In honor of tigers:

The Tyger
by William Blake
from The Norton Anthology of English Literature
Fourth Edition

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand, dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder, & what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? & what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears,
And water'd heaven with their tears,
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?

Tyger! Tyger! burning braight
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

In my book . . . a beautiful balance has been restored.

Poetry Friday (On Monday) - Autumn

Again - Poetry Friday on Monday

Autumn at last. September 23 marked the autumnal equinox - fun words to say! And words that give hope for a cooler temperature in south Mississippi!

Using my favorite reference book, the dictionary, I find that autumn means a period of maturity. Maturity means a state of ripeness, and ripeness means fully prepared to something. So . . . Those of us who can be described as mature in age are just now fully prepared to do something - maybe something great!

In honor of Autumn:

Gathering Leaves
by Robert Frost

Spades take up leaves
No better than spoons.
And bags full of leaves
Are light as balloons.

I make a great noise
Of rustling all day
Like rabbit and deer
Running away.

But the mountains I raise
Elude my embrace.
Flowing over my arms
And into my face.

I may load and unload
Again and again
Till I fill the whole shed.
And what have I then?

Next to nothing for weight,
And since they grew duller
From contact with earth.
Next to nothing for color.

Next to nothing for use.
But a crop is a crop,
And who's to say where
The harvest shall stop?

One of my favorite uses of the word leaf is in the phrase turn over a new leaf -to start anew.

So

In my book . . . It is never to late to live. "And who's to say where the harvest shall stop?" Autumn can mean life joy!

Poetry Friday - Hummingbirds

I have a friend who is dedicated to hummingbirds. She feed 100's of them many, many gallons of what they love. And they love her. They seek her out each spring. I have known one to sit on her shoulder.

In honor of hummingbirds:

A route of Evanescence With a revolving Wheel -
A Resonance of Emerald -
A Rush of Cochineal -
And every Blossom on the Bush Adjusts its tumbled Head -
The mail from Tunis, probably,
An easy Morning's Ride -

And

Within my Garden, rides a Bird
Upon a single Wheel -
Whose spokes a dizzy Music make
As 'twere a travelling Mill -

He Never stops, but slackens
Above the Ripest Rose -
Partakes without alighting
And praises as he goes,

Till every spice is tasted -
And then his Fairy Gig
Reels in remoter atmospheres -
And I rejoin my Dog,

And He and I, perplex us,
If positive, twere we -
Or bore the Garden in the Brain
This Curiosity -

But He, the best Logician,
Refers my clumsy eye -
To just vibrating Blossoms!
An Exquisite Reply!

Both poems by Emily Dickinson
(I told you she is one of my favorites!)

Fact: The hummingbird heart is about 20% of its body volume and beats about 500 times a minute.

In my book . . . a heart that beats for these tiny miracles vibrates with a joyful noise.

Poetry Friday (On Monday) - Spiders

Internet problems puts Poetry Friday on Monday!

Spiders are one creepy crawly that I am not afraid of. If they leave me alone, I leave them alone. In fact, one of the best pets ever in my home was a tarantula - no vet trips, no baths - just a cricket every now and then, a cage clean out, and she was set. She was a beautiful rose tarantula named Bug. However, there are those who suffer from arachnophobia. These poor souls would not find the gigantic web located in Texas as interesting as I did. Spiders spun a web covering over 200 yards of a nature trail in Lake Tawakoni State Park. While the web itself I would find as beautiful as that described in the following poem, what it now holds I would find horrifying. Millions of mosquitoes are caught in the web!

The spider spun a silver web
Above the gate last night
It was round with little spokes
And such a pretty sight
This morning there were drops of dew
High on it, one by one;
They changed to diamonds, rubies red.
When they were lit with sun.
A spider's nice to have around
To weave a web so fine
One which to string the drops of dew
That catch the bright sunshine.

By Truda McCoy
From Poetry Place Anthology

And of course, there is:

"The Spider and the Fly"

The Caldecott Honor book adaptation by Tony DiTerlizzi is a dazzling rendition of this cautionary tale.

And let's not forget:

Little Miss Muffet
Sat on a tuffet,
Eating of curds and whey;
There came a big spider,
And sat down beside her.
And frightened Miss Muffet away.

From The Real Mother Goose

In my book . . . We should all remember the well known adage about weaving a tangled web.

Oh what a tangled web we
Weave,
When first we practice to
Deceive!

Sir Walter Scott Marmion, Canto vi. Stanza 17