showeredwithgrace

Rose Red discovered another reptile in her stuffed animal collection and brought it out to add to the rest.

The Crocodile

How doth the little crocodile

Improve his shining tail,

And pour the waters of the Nile

On every golden scale!

How cheerfully he seems to grin,

How neatly spreads his claws,

And welcomes little fishes in,

With gently smiling jaws!

~Lewis Carroll

We are having fun with poems this year.  In the mornings when Rose Red and I make our morning offering we also go to this book and pray Cynthia Rylant's daily prayer out loud together ~ I'll say . . . "today is Wednesday shall we pray this special prayer for Wednesdays? (getting that name of the 'day of the week' in there as well) . . .

"Wednesday make me full of light.

Guide my heart both

day and night.

Give me gladness,

give me grace.

Shine your love

upon my face."

~ from Cynthia Rylant's 'Give Me Grace'

We are also reciting our monthly 'Chicken Soup with Rice' poems when Rose Red updates the date on her calendar each day.  These are our funny poems.  I also pick one poem a month that I feel has vivid imagery for us recite.  It is these 'vivid' poems that we will be incorporating into some form of 'art'.  Perhaps paint ~ or chalk ~ or wool . . .  it's a thought in progress.

Our poem for October ~

Who Has Seen the Wind?

Who has seen the wind?

Neither I nor you;

But when the leaves hang trembling,

The wind is passing through.

Who has seen the wind?

Neither you nor I:

But when the trees bow down their heads,

The wind is passing by.

~ Christina Rossetti

"Fine plums, yellow, blue,

apples bright, full-grown,

juicy pears, all green and grey,

currants glowing red and clear.

Summer has flown

and autumn's here."

~ from Christopher's Harvest Time by Elsa Beskow

For whimsical fun ~ we loved that his name was 'September' !

Rose Red has been very excited about following the calendar this year and asks every day if it is still September.  She will be so excited tomorrow to discover it is finally October!  She has memorized our September poem and tomorrow we will begin October's poem. 

October

In October

I'll be host

to witches, goblins

and a ghost.

I'll serve them

chicken soup

on toast.

Whoopy once

whoopy twice

whoopy chicken soup

with rice.

~ from Chicken Soup with Rice by Maurice Sendak

I think we all remember this book!  Rose Red and I have taken to reciting September's poem each day we look at our calendar.

September

In September

for a while

I will ride

a crocodile

down the

chicken soupy Nile.

Paddle once

paddle twice

paddle chicken soup

with rice.

~ Maurice Sendak (Chicken Soup with Rice:  A Book of Months)

Our poem for September . . .

The Harvest

The silver rain, the shining sun,

The fields where scarlet poppies run,

And all the ripples of the wheat

Are in the bread that I do eat.

So when I sit for every meal

And say a grace, I always feel

That I am eating rain and sun,

And fields where scarlet poppies run.

~Alice C. Henderson

I love you, wind o' the Autumn, that came from I know not where,
To lead me out of the toiling world to a ballroom fresh and fair,
Where the poplars tall and golden and the beeches rosy and red
Are setting to woodland partners and dancing the stars to bed!

Oh! say, wild wind o' the Autumn, may I dance this dance with you
Decked out in your gown of moonmist and jewelled with drops of dew?
For I know no waiting lover with arms that so softly twine,
And I know no dancing partner whose step is so made for mine!

~ by William Henry Ogilvie

Head toward Whimsy for today's full 'Poetry Friday' roundup.  I've selected an old favorite from when I was a child by George MacDonald.

The Girl Who Lost Things

There was a girl that lost things—
Nor only from her hand;
She lost, indeed—why, most things,
As if they had been sand!

She said, "But I must use them,
And can't look after all!
Indeed I did not lose them,
I only let them fall!"

That's how she lost her thimble,
It fell upon the floor:
Her eyes were very nimble
But she never saw it more.

And then she lost her dolly,
Her very doll of all!
That loss was far from jolly,
But worse things did befall.

She lost a ring of pearls
With a ruby in them set;
But the dearest girl of girls
Cried only, did not fret.

And then she lost her robin;
Ah, that was sorrow dire!
He hopped along, and—bob in—
Hopped bob into the fire!

And once she lost a kiss
As she came down the stair;
But that she did not miss,
For sure it was somewhere!

Just then she lost her heart too,
But did so well without it
She took that in good part too,
And said—not much about it.

But when she lost her health
She did feel rather poor,
Till in came loads of wealth
By quite another door!

And soon she lost a dimple
That was upon her cheek,
But that was very simple—
She was so thin and weak!

And then she lost her mother,
And thought that she was dead;
Sure there was not another
On whom to lay her head!

And then she lost her self—
But that she threw away;
And God upon his shelf
It carefully did lay.

And then she lost her sight,
And lost all hope to find it;
But a fountain-well of light
Came flashing up behind it.

At last she lost the world:
In a black and stormy wind
Away from her it whirled—
But the loss how could she mind?

For with it she lost her losses,
Her aching and her weeping,
Her pains and griefs and crosses,
And all things not worth keeping;

It left her with the lost things
Her heart had still been craving;
'Mong them she found—why, most things,
And all things worth the saving.

She found her precious mother,
Who not the least had died;
And then she found that other
Whose heart had hers inside.

And next she found the kiss
She lost upon the stair;
'Twas sweeter far, I guess,
For ripening in that air.

She found her self, all mended,
New-drest, and strong, and white;
She found her health, new-blended
With a radiant delight.

She found her little robin:
He made his wings go flap,
Came fluttering, and went bob in,
Went bob into her lap.

So, girls that cannot keep things,
Be patient till to-morrow;
And mind you don't beweep things
That are not worth such sorrow;

For the Father great of fathers,
Of mothers, girls, and boys,
In his arms his children gathers,
And sees to all their toys.

~ by George MacDonald

Poetry Friday is being hosted today by AmoXcalli  ~ if you'd like to check it out.  Here is my selection for the day ~ one of my favorites ~ by Kahlil Gibran.

Kahlil Gibran ~ 'On Children'

Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you, yet they belong not to you.
You may give them your love but not your thoughts.
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.
You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, and He bends you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;  For even as he loves the arrow that flies, so He loves also the bow that is stable.

For the rest of the round up check out HipWriterMama's blog .  I've chosen this poem by Robert Frost ~ because I have Autumn on my mind ~ and I've always loved it.

~

Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.

~ Robert Frost

Driving home from our son's football game I was reciting nursery rhymes to Rose Red to help pass the time ~ the football game was 'away' (two hours away).  Guess which rhyme really tickled her fancy and kept her laughing and asking for it "again" ?

There Was A Little Girl

There was a little girl,
And she had a little curl
Right in the middle of her forehead.
When she was good
She was very, very good,
And when she was bad she was horrid.

~Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

This does not bode well for me.

I missed getting my entry in for the Poetry Friday round up this week ~ hectic day !  However I'll post an old favorite of mine anyway.  If you'd like to see the rest of the round up head over to Semicolon.

A Blessing

Just off the highway to Rochester, Minnesota,
Twilight bounds softly forth on the grass.
And the eyes of those two Indian ponies
Darken with kindness.
They have come gladly out of the willows
To welcome my friend and me.
We step over the barbed wire into the pasture
Where they have been grazing all day, alone.
They ripple tensely, they can hardly contain their happiness
That we have come.
They bow shyly as wet swans. They love each other.
There is no loneliness like theirs.
At home once more, they begin munching the young tufts of spring in the darkness.
I would like to hold the slenderer one in my arms,
For she has walked over to me
And nuzzled my left hand.
She is black and white,
Her mane falls wild on her forehead,
And the light breeze moves me to caress her long ear
That is delicate as the skin over a girl's wrist.
Suddenly I realize
That if I stepped out of my body I would break
Into blossom.

~ James Wright

*for the full poetry round up go here ! The Dream Keeper

Bring me all of your dreams, You dreamer, Bring me all your Heart melodies That I may wrap them In a blue cloud-cloth Away from the too-rough fingers Of the world. ~Langston Hughes

We took a trip to the zoo today so Rose Red could see some of the animals we have been reading about in her farm books.  Like the goat .  .  .

the goose .  .  .

and the farm tractors were a big hit too!

We also saw a few of our local favorites which I'll save for another post .  .  .

And I leave you with this ~ 

Giraffes
I like them.
Ask me why.

Because they hold their heads up high,
Because their necks stretch to the sky,
Because they're quiet, calm and shy,
Because they run so fast they fly,
Because their eyes are velvet brown,
Because their coats are spotted tan,
Because they eat the tops of trees,
Because their legs have knobby knees.

Because.
Because.
Because. That's why

I like giraffes.

from Weaving Charlotte's Web

There is heard a hymn when the panes are dim, And never before or again, When the nights are strong with a darkness long, And the dark is alive with rain. Never we know but in sleet and in snow, The place where the great fires are, That the midst of the earth is a raging mirth And the heart of the earth a star. And at night we win to the ancient inn Where the child in the frost is furled, We follow the feet where all souls meet At the inn at the end of the world. The gods lie dead where the leaves lie red, For the flame of the sun is flown, The gods lie cold where the leaves lie gold, And a Child comes forth alone. GK Chesterton

Baby

by George MacDonald

Where did you come from, baby dear?
Out of the everywhere into the here.

Where did you get your eyes so blue?
Out of the sky as I came through.

What makes the light in them sparkle and spin?
Some of the starry spikes left in.

Where did you get that little tear?
I found it waiting when I got here.

What makes your forehead so smooth and high?
A soft hand stroked it as I went by.

What makes your cheek like the warm white rose?
I saw something better than anyone knows.

Whence that three-cornered smile of bliss?
Three angels gave me at once a kiss.

Where did you get this pearly ear?
God spoke, and it came out to hear.

Where did you get those arms and hands?
Love made itself into bonds and bands.

Feet, where did you come, you darling things?
From the same box as the cherub’s wings.

How did they all just come to be you?
God thought about me and so I grew.

But how did you come to us, you dear?
God thought about you, and so I am here.