Oyster Mushrooms

Oyster mushrooms growing on a decaying tree in Princess Preserve Park.  Oyster mushrooms grow throughout North America. If it rains enough and it's not too hot or cold, you can find them any month of the year, although they're most common in the second half of autumn.

'Little Girl Lost' by William Blake from Songs of Experience

The Little Girl Lost
By William Blake from 'Songs of Experience'

In futurity
I prophesy
That the earth from sleep
(Grave the sentence deep)
Shall arise, and seek
For her Maker meek;
And the desert wild
Become a garden mild.

In the southern clime,
Where the summer's prime
Never fades away,
Lovely Lyca lay.

Seven summers old
Lovely Lyca told.
She had wandered long,
Hearing wild birds' song.

'Sweet sleep, come to me,
Underneath this tree;
Do father, mother, weep?
Where can Lyca sleep?

'Lost in desert wild
Is your little child.
How can Lyca sleep
If her mother weep?

'If her heart does ache,
Then let Lyca wake;
If my mother sleep,
Lyca shall not weep.

'Frowning, frowning night,
O'er this desert bright
Let thy moon arise,
While I close my eyes.'

Sleeping Lyca lay,
While the beasts of prey,
Come from caverns deep,
Viewed the maid asleep.
Continue Reading: http://www.poetryloverspage.com/poets/blake/little_girl_lost.html

'Step Among the Stairs led to Heaven's Gate'

Dinah in Heaven
By Rudyard Kipling 1932

She did not know that she was dead,
  But, when the pang was o'er,
Sat down to wait her Master's tread
  Upon the Golden Floor,

With ears full-cock and anxious eye
  Impatiently resigned;
But ignorant that Paradise
  Did not admit her kind.

Persons with Haloes, Harps, and Wings
  Assembled and reproved;
Or talked to her of Heavenly things,
  But Dinah never moved.

There was one step along the Stair
  That led to Heaven's Gate;
And, till she heard it, her affair
  Was--she explained--to wait.

And she explained with flattened ear,
  Bared lip and milky tooth--
Storming against Ithuriel's Spear
  That only proved her truth!

Sudden--far down the Bridge of Ghosts
  That anxious spirits clomb--
She caught that step in all the hosts,
  And knew that he had come.

She left them wondering what to do,
  But not a doubt had she.
Swifter than her own squeal she flew
  Across the Glassy Sea;

Flushing the Cherubs every where,
  And skidding as she ran,
She refuged under Peter's Chair
  And waited for her man.
Continue reading http://www.poetryloverspage.com/poets/kipling/dinah_in_heaven.html

'Moonlight Through My Window'

Moonlight Through My Window

Moonlight shining through
my window pane,
Awaken me from slumber;
Shinning my room so bright
With illuminating light,
Stretching across the bed
Touching my fingers,
Careressing my face,
With moonlight kisses,
Calling me not to linger,

Beams of delicate light
Floating from the sky,
Like a candle's burning light
Flickering shadows on the floor;
Looking out into the night
An orange-crowned moon
Gazing down from the heavens,
Brighter then all the stars,
Glowing through the night,

In darkness all was quiet,
Birds settled in their nests,
The wind softly blowing,
Tree limbs swaying
Reflecting leafly shadows;
Movements of the night
Dancing in the meadows;
All the earths dark corners
Were brought into the light.

By PL Fallin

'The Arms of An Angel'

The Arms of an Angel

The arms of an angel,

A vision of light,
You brighten my world
Throughout the darkness of night.
Your stretched out arms,
Carries me into the heavens,
On a carpet of dreams
Into dawn's early light.
On the earth's green floor
I gaze at the wonders,
I can see the colors
Beneath the rushing waters,
Reflections of light,
Sprinkles of star dust,
Moonbeams Dancing
Across nightly shadows,
The morning sun comes,
The magic is gone,
I awake to find
A new day has begun.

By PL Fallin

'The Water Nymphs' by Ellis Parker Butler

The Water Nymphs by Ellis Parker Butler

They hide in the brook when I seek to draw nearer,
Laughing amain when I feign to depart;
Often I hear them, now faint and now clearer—
Innocent bold or so sweetly discreet.
Are they Nymphs of the Stream at their playing
Or but the brook I mistook for a voice?
Little care I; for, despite harsh Time’s flaying,
Brook voice or Nymph voice still makes me rejoice.

Ellis Parker Butler American Author, Humorist and Speaker Born: December 5, 1869; Muscatine, Iowa. Died: September 13, 1937; Williamsville, Massachusetts.

"You Look at Things"

You Look at Things

You look at things
Through his eyes.
He looks at things
Through yours,
An orange-breasted Robin,
A dark blue sky.
He is not there but
He knows and you know,
That where ever he may be,
You are tasting together
The foliage of fall,
The cold air of winter,
The warm rays of summer,
The misty showers
of early-spring weather.
It is the look
Where love dwells.

By PL Fallin

Bizarre and Exotic Red Bromeliad

Its red bloom resembles a tasty pineapple. With its spectacular color and exotic look.  We have a dozen blooming in the front yard. Bromeliads could be somewhat compared to orchids. In fact, many people have naively called them orchids, even though they are an entirely different plant family member. Part of that comparison has to do with the fact that they live natively side-by-side in the same trees. Most people have them as house plants, our plants grow outside and thrive in the Floridian climate under large shade oak trees. 

Sonnet: 'Lift Not The Painted Veil Which Those Who Live' by Percy Bysshe Shelley

 

Lift Not The Painted Veil Which Those Who Live
by Percy Bysshe Shelley 

Lift not the painted veil which those who live
Call Life: though unreal shapes be pictured there,
And it but mimic all we would believe
With colours idly spread,—behind, lurk Fear
And Hope, twin Destinies; who ever weave
Their shadows, o'er the chasm, sightless and drear.
I knew one who had lifted it—he sought,
For his lost heart was tender, things to love,
But found them not, alas! nor was there aught
The world contains, the which he could approve.
Through the unheeding many he did move,
A splendour among shadows, a bright blot
Upon this gloomy scene, a Spirit that strove
For truth, and like the Preacher found it not.

Published by Mrs. Shelley, Posthumous Poems, 1824

'The Day is Done' by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The Day is Done

 by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 1807-1882

 

The day is done, and the darkness

Falls from the wings of Night,

As a feather is wafted downward

From an eagle in his flight.

 

I see the lights of the village

Gleam through the rain and the mist,

And a feeling of sadness comes o'er me

That my soul cannot resist:

 

A feeling of sadness and longing,

That is not akin to pain,

And resembles sorrow only

As the mist resembles the rain.

 

Come, read to me some poem,
Some simple and heartfelt lay,
That shall soothe this restless feeling,
And banish the thoughts of day.

 

 Click on Link to read entire poem

'Wind On The Hill' by A.A. Milne

 



Wind On The Hill by A.A. Milne
No one can tell me,
Nobody knows,
Where the wind comes from,
Where the wind goes.

It's flying from somewhere
As fast as it can,
I couldn't keep up with it,
Not if I ran.

But if I stopped holding
The string of my kite,
It would blow with the wind
For a day and a night.

And then when I found it,
Wherever it blew,
I should know that the wind
Had been going there too.

So then I could tell them
Where the wind goes…
But where the wind comes from
Nobody knows.

'Come Out With Me' by A.A. Milne

Come Out with Me by A.A. Milne

There's sun on the river and sun on the hill . . .
You can hear the sea if you stand quite still!
There's eight new puppies at Roundabout Farm-
And I saw an old sailor with only one arm!

But everyone says, "Run along!"
(Run along, run along!)
All of them say, "Run along! I'm busy as can be."
Every one says, "Run along,
There's a little darling!"
If I'm a little darling, why don't they run with me?

There's wind on the river and wind on the hill . . .
There's a dark dead water-wheel under the mill!
I saw a fly which had just been drowned-
And I know where a rabbit goes into the ground!

But everyone says, "Run along!"
(Run along, run along!)
All of them say, "Yes, dear," and never notice me.
Every one says, "Run along,
There's a little darling!"
If I'm a little darling, why won't they come and see?

'Halfway Down' by A.A. Milne

Halfway Down by A.A. Milne 

Halfway down the stairs
is a stair
where i sit.
there isn't any
other stair
quite like it.

i'm not at the bottom,
i'm not at the top;
so this is the stair
where
I always
stop.

Halfway up the stairs
Isn't up
And it isn't down.
It isn't in the nursery,
It isn't in town.
And all sorts of funny thoughts
Run round my head.
It isn't really
Anywhere!
It's somewhere else
Instead!

 A. A. (Alan Alexander) Milne (1882-1956), famous for his stories about Winnie the Pooh and Christopher Robin, Tigger, Piglet and the rest, was a soldier in the Great War from 1915 to 1919 -- including the Battle of the Somme.

"I Stood Upon the Peak, Amid the Air"

Pikes Peak

I stood upon the peak, amid the air;
Below me lay the peopled, busy earth.
Life, life, and life again was everywhere,
And everywhere were melody and mirth,
Save on that peak, and silence brooded there.
I vaunted then myself, and half aloud
I gloried in the journey I had done:
Eschewing earth and earth’s seductive crowd,
I’d scaled this steep, despite the rocks and sun;
Of such a feat might any man be proud!
But, as I boasted thus, my burro brayed;
I turned, and lo! a tear was in his eye,
And as I gazed, methought the burro said:
“Prithee, who brought you up this mountain high —
Was it your legs or mine the journey made?
”Then moralled I: The sturdiest peak is Fame’s!
And there be many on its very height,
Who strut in pride and vaunt their empty claims,
While those poor human asses who delight

By Eugene Field (1850-1895)
(written April 6, 1887)

'Out Where the West Begins' by Arthur Chapman 1917

Out Where the West Begins

Out where the handclasp’s a little stronger,
Out where the smile dwells a little longer,
That’s where the West begins;
Out where the sun is a little brighter,
Where the snows that fall are a trifle whiter,
Where the bonds of home are a wee bit tighter,
That’s where the West begins.

Out where the skies are a trifle bluer,
Out where friendship’s a little truer,
That’s where the West begins;
Out where a fresher breeze is blowing,
Where there’s laughter in every streamlet flowing,
Where there’s more of reaping and less of sowing,
That’s where the West begins;

Out where the world is in the making,
Where fewer hearts in despair are aching,
That’s where the West begins;
Where there’s more of singing and less of sighing,
Where there’s more of giving and less of buying,
And a man makes friends without half trying —
That’s where the West begins.

 

From Out Where the West Begins 1917 by Arthur Chapman

PL Fallin Butterfly Wings Gallery II

Butterflies come in all sizes, colors and shapes.  I never can get enough of their brilliant colors and the gracefulness of their delicate wings. This gallery has a variety of colors from white and black to brilliant orange. The different backdrops adds to the uniqueness of each butterfly.

Lake Bottom Ducks -- No Sruples!

When visiting my mom, we typically go for a walk at a local park, Lake Bottom.  The park has more ducks then what is healthy for a fresh air walk. I tried to keep my distance. The park is a peaceful place but you have to watch where you step!!!  We follow the trail that leads around the edge of the park next to the surrounding community where the ducks do not hang out.  They prefer being by the lake. Ducks have no scruples and they out number the humans 4 to 1.  It is not a place I would want to have a picnic even though I saw many people with picnics!  I notice they used the tables away from the lake.  That is the only way you could stay away from the smell!

'Playing Barefoot Along the River Bank'

In the last decade Columbus, Georgia has build a River Walk Park along the Chattahoochee River.  It is miles of sidewalks, parks, and scenic views of the river.  That was not the case when I was growing up in Columbus.  Between 5 - 8 years old, my family lived in cotton mill houses on the Chattahoochee River.  Behind our little white 4 room house the Chattahoochee River flowed against the edge of our backyard.  It wasn't much of a backyard since it sloped downhill with black dirt and ended at the Chattahoochee River bank.  I remember playing alone on the river bank many times.  I would slide down the black dirt slope and wave my feet in the murky muddy waters. I only wore shoes to school but not for play.  I was always running outdoors barefooted.  I collected water bugs and put them in a jar.  I would climb back up the hill covered in muddy black dirt.  I never fell into the rushing waters which was very lucky for me indeed.

Large river rats hide in the rocks on the bank and would slip into our house at night.  It was frightful hearing those large rats race across my bedroom floor.  I was afraid to get out of my bed at night because of the rats.  They were at least a foot long and/or as big as an adult cat.  My parents worked in the cotton mills at that time and they were in their early 20's.  They allowed me a tremendous amount of freedom running around the river bank and the neighborhood.  I don't remember them every asking me where I had been.  My mom would call my name from the back porch when she wanted me to come home for supper.  I usually heard her calling my  name regardless of where I was. 

My little friends and I would get into plum fight wars.  There were a lot of plum trees growing wild close to the river and picking green plums and throwing them at your friends was so much fun!  Plum battles were common during the summer months.  We also played baseball with broken tree limbs and used broken pine planks as bases.  I don't know where we came up with a ball but we managed.  I almost sound like a street kid don't I?  I was a river kid who like 'Huckberry Finn' lived on the river bank and made my friends there; played there; had adventures there.  I played barefoot along the river bank and it was memories I will always cherish.  I didn't know I was poor since all my friends were poor like me. We were river bank kids from poor, hard-working, cotton mill families and happy.

A John Thornton Gallery of Yellow Flowers

I am preoccupied with yellow flowers and the scene from the BBC Masterpiece Theatre of John Thornton walking along the Hedges looking for the yellow flowers that Margaret loves.  "As happy as we were we can't go back..." but he showed her a person can go forward by placing the flower carefully inside his shirt pocket, close to his heart,.and he pulls out the Helston yellow daffodil to show her his love, thoughtfulness, and tenderness.  The color yellow evokes feelings of joy and lightheartedness and it is also a symbol of friendship, yellow blooms sends a message of new beginnings and happiness. 

Here a a gallery of yellow flower images from the deep South to the North (Florida, Georgia, Michigan and Wisconsin).

'Sea Fever' by John Masefield

 

Sea Fever

I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea's face, and a grey dawn breaking.

I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull's way and the whale's way, where the wind's like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.

From SALT-WATER POEMS AND BALLADS, by John Masefield, published by the Maxmillan Co., NY, © 1913

'Among the Rocks' by Robert Browning

 

Among the Rocks

Oh, good gigantic smile o’ the brown old earth,

This autumn morning! How he sets his bones

To bask i’ the sun, and thrusts out knees and feet

For the ripple to run over in its mirth;

Listening the while, where on the heap of stones

The white breast of the sea-lark twitters sweet.

 

That is the doctrine, simple, ancient, true;

Such is life’s trial, as old earth smiles and knows.

If you loved only what were worth your love,

Love were clear gain, and wholly well for you:

Make the low nature better by your throes!

Give earth yourself, go up for gain above!

 

By Robert Browning

'The Fire of Drift-Wood' by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

 

The Fire of Drift-Wood

We sat within the farm-house old,
Whose windows, looking o'er the bay,
Gave to the sea-breeze damp and cold,
An easy entrance, night and day.
Not far away we saw the port,
The strange, old-fashioned, silent town,
The lighthouse, the dismantled fort,
The wooden houses, quaint and brown.
We sat and talked until the night,
Descending, filled the little room;
Our faces faded from the sight,
Our voices only broke the gloom.
We spake of many a vanished scene,
Of what we once had thought and said,
Of what had been, and might have been,
And who was changed, and who was dead;
And all that fills the hearts of friends,
When first they feel, with secret pain,
Their lives thenceforth have separate ends,
And never can be one again;
The first slight swerving of the heart,
That words are powerless to express,
And leave it still unsaid in part,
Or say it in too great excess.
The very tones in which we spake
Had something strange, I could but mark;
The leaves of memory seemed to make
A mournful rustling in the dark.
Oft died the words upon our lips,
As suddenly, from out the fire
Built of the wreck of stranded ships,
The flames would leap and then expire.
And, as their splendor flashed and failed,
We thought of wrecks upon the main,
Of ships dismasted, that were hailed
And sent no answer back again.
The windows, rattling in their frames,
The ocean, roaring up the beach,
The gusty blast, the bickering flames,
All mingled vaguely in our speech;
Until they made themselves a part
Of fancies floating through the brain,
The long-lost ventures of the heart,
That send no answers back again.
O flames that glowed! O hearts that yearned!
They were indeed too much akin,
The drift-wood fire without that burned,
The thoughts that burned and glowed within.

By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

'A Boundless Moment' by Robert Frost

 

A Boundless Moment

He halted in the wind, and -- what was that
Far in the maples, pale, but not a ghost?
He stood there bringing March against his thought,
And yet too ready to believe the most.

"Oh, that's the Paradise-in-bloom," I said;
And truly it was fair enough for flowers
had we but in us to assume in march
Such white luxuriance of May for ours.

We stood a moment so in a strange world,
Myself as one his own pretense deceives;
And then I said the truth (and we moved on).
A young beech clinging to its last year's leaves

Robert Frost

'Cross the Bar' by Alfred Lord Tennyson

 

Cross the Bar by Alfred Lord Tennyson
Edit

Sunset and evening star,
And one clear call for me!
And may there be no moaning of the bar,
When I put out to sea,

But such a tide as moving seems asleep,
Too full for sound and foam,
When that which drew from out the boundless deep
Turns again home.

Twilight and evening bell,
And after that the dark!
And may there be no sadness of farewell,
When I embark;

For tho' from out our bourne of Time and Place
The flood may bear me far,
I hope to see my Pilot face to face
When I have crost the bar.