sunday morning poem - and baking, cleaning and a walk

 

a poet's cat, sedate and grave

as poet well could wish to have

was much addicted to inquire

for nooks to which she might retire,

and where, secure as mouse in chink,

she might repose, or sit and think.

from "the retired cat"

by william cowper (1731-1800)

cat poems, page 84, new directions, 2018

----

we had a big breakfast this morning before going our separate ways for the day. chanda went to see a movie with her friends (a documentary titled the history of concrete) and greg and i worked out the area we want to paint in the bathroom so i know how much paint to get. he then vacuumed and dusted and straightened up the large bedroom while i baked a batch of chocolate chip cookies (some with walnuts) which i've been wanting to do for two weeks now, ever since our neighbor was nice enough to watch the cats while we were away at the house.  

the cats had to be put away as they became uncontrollable when i unwrapped the butter for the cookie dough.

it gets dark earlier and earlier each evening . . 

we still have many green trees . . 

and the berries are out (but not sure what plant this is) . . 

goldenrod still in bloom . . 

goldenrod gone to seed . . 

the oaks and maples are beginning to turn . .

spiders and skeletons seem to be the main theme for halloween decorations this year . . 

and many, many gourds . . 

sunday morning poem and sunday things

 

i started early - took my dog

i started early - took my dog -

and visited the sea -

the mermaids in the basement

came out to look at me -

and frigates - in the upper floor

extended hempen hands -

presuming me to be a mouse -

aground - open the sands -

but no man moved me - till the tide

went past my simple shoe -

and past my apron - and my belt

and past my boddice - too -

and made as he would eat me up -

as wholly as a dew

open a dandelion's sleeve -

and then - i started - too

and he - he followed - close behind -

i felt his silver heel

open my ancle - then my shoes

would overflow with pearl -

until we met the solid town -

no one he seemed to know -

and bowing - with a mighty look -

at me - the sea withdrew -

by emily dickinson (1830-1886)

the complete poems of emily dickinson, page 254, poem 520, little brown and company, 1960

----

we had breakfast with chanda before she caught the train out to the house for another few days of volunteer work.

pluto in the morning . .

i had a fun and lovely zoom knitting meeting with denise and friends in the afternoon. (denise has sewn a new full length pants outfit from a gift of special couture fabric and michael has been spinning and knitting while healing from a bicycle accident - i worked on my sock with yarn from beautiful knitters in london).

afterwards, greg and i walked to chelsea square . . 

as i was craving their matzoh ball soup.

this feels very christmasy . .

morgan has been working on a beautiful quilt . .

and chanda and adam went on a hike and she sent this photo of lichen she saw along the way,

and this cute squirrel who greeted her at the house.

greg and i saw the moon rising on our walk home after dinner . . it's slowly waxing.

morning poem and sunday breakfast

morning

it tastes like silver

the morning

amidst the garden's

pallor

in the corner

are snow-dusted shadows.

in flowerpots

the absence of jasmine.

by concha méndez (1898-1986)

----

greg, chanda and i had breakfast together before greg and i went out to meet his friend who has been in town visiting for a few days.

greg is the official breakfast egg maker . . 

(making sunny side up eggs)

and then we were out into the rainy day to meet his friend peggy at chelsea piers (she had been on a cruise around the island with her traveling companions).

morning poem

 

like her the saints retire

like her the saints retire,

in their chapeaux of fire,

martial as she!

like her the evenings steal

purple and cochineal

after the day!

"departed" -- both -- they say!

i.e. gathered away,

not found,

argues the aster still --

reasons the daffodil

profound!

by emily dickinson (1830-1886)

sunday morning poem

i meant to do my work today

i meant to do my work today--

but a brown bird sang in the apple-tree

and a butterfly flitted across the field,

and all the leaves were calling me.

and the wind went sighing over the land,

tossing the grasses to and fro,

and a rainbow held out its shining hand--

so what could i do but laugh and go?

by richard le gallienne (1866-1947)

morning poem

my grandfather and home

i

my grandfather used to count the days for return with his fingers

he then used stones to count

not enough

he used the clouds birds people

absence turned out to be too long

thirty-six years until he died

for us now it is over seventy years

my grandpa lost his memory

he forgot the numbers the people

he forgot home

ii

i wish i were with you grandpa

i would have taught myself to write you

poems volumes of them and paint our home for you

i would have sewn you from soil

a garment decorated with plants

and trees you had grown

i would have made you

perfume from the oranges

and soap from the skys tears of joy

couldnt think of something purer

iii

i go to the cemetery every day

i look for your grave but in vain

are they sure they buried you

or did you turn into a tree

or perhaps you flew off with a bird to the nowhere

iv

i place your photo in an earthenware pot

i water it every monday and thursday at sunset

i was told you used to fast those days

on ramadan i water it every day

for thirty days

or less or more

v

how big do you want our home to be

i can continue to write poems until you are satisfied

if you wish i can annex a neighboring planet or two

vi

for this home i shall not draw boundaries

no punctuation marks

by mosab abu toha (born 1992)

things you may find hidden in my ear, pages 17-18 (city lights books, 2022)

sunday poem

 

a rose shoulders up

don't ever be surprised

to see a rose shoulder up

among the ruins of the house:

this is how we survived.

by mosab abu toha (born 1992)

things you may find hidden in my ear, page 99 (city lights books, 2022)

sunday poem

 

we love what we have

we love what we have, no matter how little,

because if we don't, everything will be gone. if we don't,

we will no longer exist, since there will be nothing here for us.

what's here is something that we are still

building. it's something we cannot yet see,

because we are a part 

of it.

someday soon, this building will stand on its own, while we,

we will be the trees that protect it from the fierce

wind, the trees that will give shade

to children sleeping inside or playing on swings.

by mosab abu toha (born 1992)

things you may find hidden in my ear, page 49 (city lights books, 2022)

morning poem and sunday afternoon

 

daughter

i ask her to remember, 

not because i want to hear the story again,

but because i want to watch her face relive

the moment. that moment, her eyes sparkle with longing,

i can see how she flies from the tent

to a time when she leapt

through our farm in every direction with eyes closed,

only stopping at the fence, where our orange trees

embrace our neighbors' olive trees.

some fallen oranges would tell her to open her eyes,

to pick them up and put them in a plate on our doorstep,

where children returning from school

would stop to gulp some.

i love the smell of oranges best

when she remembers.

by mosab abu toha (born 1992)

from page 37, forest of noise, published 2024 

----

i walked to the vintage pop up store chanda and i had visited friday to pick up the striped pants i liked that were on sale. i'm glad i did. they're very comfortable and they're something other than blue jeans, which i tend to wear every day. i met greg by cooper union/astor place and we popped into the muji store to see how much their suitcases were - chanda needs one. i don't know why she doesn't have one. i guess she was using an old one of morgana's all these years . . or morgana took her's back to london. anyway, they were a little pricey so she'll probably go to tj maxx. greg had never been in muji before and was excited about their pens and notebooks; now he's a big fan. afterwards, we walked to chobani in soho for one of their yogurt specialities, but they've changed their menu so we had an iced chocolate at burdick instead . . not such a bad trade off . . then we stopped at pet bar for a large bag of kitty litter which greg had to put in the basket of a citibike to pedal it home . .

now, hopefully i'll get to sleep a little earlier than last night . . 

(dinner this evening . . fresh tuna sauteed with olive oil, cumin, paprika, sea salt and pepper - picked up from the lobster place as our fish vendor no longer sells on saturdays at the green market. we really miss them!)

summer solstice

 

from blossoms

from blossoms comes

this brown paper bag of peaches

we bought from the boy

at the bend in the road where we turned toward

signs painted Peaches.

from laden boughs, from hands,

from sweet fellowship in the bins,

comes nectar at the roadside, succulent

peaches we devour, dusty skin and all,

comes the familiar dust of summer, dust we eat.

O, to take what we love inside,

to carry within us an orchard, to eat

not only the skin, but the shade,

not only the sugar, but the days, to hold

the fruit in our hands, adore it, then bite into

the round jubilance of peach.

there are days we live

as if death were nowhere

in the background; from joy

to joy to joy, from wing to wing,

from blossom to blossom to 

impossible blossom, to sweet impossible blossom.

by li-young lee (born 1957)

morning poem and sunday photos

she sights a bird

she sights a bird--she chuckles--

she flattens---then she crawls--

she runs without the look of feet--

her eyes increase to balls--

her jaws stir--twitching--hungry--

her teeth can hardly stand--

she leaps, but robin leaped the first--

ah, pussy, of the sand,

the hopes so juicy ripening--

you almost bathed your tongue--

when bliss disclosed a hundred toes--

and fled with every one--

by emily dickinson (1830-1886)

----

pancakes for breakfast with chanda and greg . . 

morgana did some springtime replanting and weeding . .  

dinner was delicious leftovers from last night.

korrina - enjoying a day off with wash.

sunday morning poem and a drive to long island

 

the end of may

the fragrant air is full of down,

of floating, fleecy things

from some forgotten fairy town

where all the folk wear wings.

or else the snowflakes, soft arrayed

in dainty suits of lace

have ventured back in masquerade,

spring's festival to grace.

or these, perchance, are fleets of fluff,

laden with rainbow seeds,

that count their cargo rich enough

though all its wealth be weeds.

or come they from the golden trees,

where dancing blossoms were,

that now are drifting on the breeze,

sweet ghosts of gossamer?

by katherine lee bates (1859-1929)

(photo from a family trip to the new york botanical garden, may 26, 2014)

----

marisa, tsering, greg and i went to see lizette in rehab. she was doing much better and she's hoping to go home soon. it was so nice to be together and to also meet her sister-in-law, fina. afterwards, we had a late breakfast at the great neck diner, where greg had eaten last sunday.

heading home . . 

in the evening, greg and i had ice cream at julietta's . . 

. . lemon sorbetto and vanilla gelato.