A lovely place to play...

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An excerpt:

     The attic was a lovely place to play. The large, round, colored pumpkins made beautiful chairs and tables. The red peppers and the onions dangled overhead. The hams and the venison hung in their paper wrappings, and all the bunches of dried herbs, the spicy herbs for cooking and the bitter herbs for medicine, gave the place a dusty-spicy smell.

     Often the wind howled outside with a cold and lonesome sound. But in the attic Laura and Mary played house with the squashes and the pumpkins, and everything was snug and cosy.

~ from Little House in the Big Woods,

written by Laura Ingalls Wilder

When I was growing up, I, too, thought our attic was a lovely place to play. We did not store food in our attic, however. Ours was filled instead with boxes and bags of all sizes. Each one contained cast-off, long-forgotten items. I loved poking through them, looking for "treasure". My mom also kept her guitar in our attic. I spent many a day sitting next to our attic window, watching dust particles floating through the sunshine and strumming on that guitar, making up little songs to go with the tune.

I was in elementary school when I first read the Little House books. I remember reading the passage above and thinking that the sight and smell of all those foods would make an attic even more wonderful to play in. The image has stuck with me ever since. Does Laura and Mary's attic sound like a place you would like to play in?

Thanksgiving

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Thanksgiving

The year has turned its circle,
The seasons come and go.
The harvest is all gathered in
And chilly north winds blow.
Orchards have shared their treasures,
The fields, their yellow grain.
So open wide the doorway-
Thanksgiving comes again!

~ Author unknown

I can't believe how quickly the year has flown by -- can you? Thanksgiving is almost here once more. Open wide that doorway and welcome it in! :)

November Morning

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November Morning

A tingling, misty marvel
Blew hither in the night,
And now the little peach-trees
Are clasped in frozen light.

Upon the apple branches
An icy film is caught,
With trailing threads of gossamer
In pearly patterns wrought.

The autumn sun, in wonder,
Is gayly peering through
This silver tissued network
Across the frosty blue.

The weather vane is fire tipped,
The honeysuckle shows
A dazzling icy splendor,
And crystal is the rose.

Around the eaves are fringes
Of icicles that seem
To mock the summer rainbows
With many colored gleam.

Along the walk, the pebbles
Are each a precious stone;
The grass is tasseled hoarfrost,
The clover jewel sown.

Such sparkle, sparkle, sparkle
Fills all the frosty air,
Oh, can it be that darkness
Is ever anywhere!

~ Evaleen Stein

I like Stein's descriptions in this poem. They remind me of times when the world outside my window has glittered with ice or frost. I especially like the phrases "trailing threads of gossamer", "fringes/Of icicles", and "tasseled hoarfrost". Which words do you like best in this poem?

Fall Wind

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Fall Wind

Pods of summer crowd around the door;
I take them in the autumn of my hands.

Last night I heard the first cold wind outside;
the wind blew soft, and yet I shiver twice:

Once for thin walls, once for the sound of time.

~ William Stafford

I like the phrases "pods of summer" and "autumn of my hands". Reading this poem makes me shiver, too! How about you?

It is time, now.

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An excerpt:

     Now frost lies thick on the fields at dawn, and the winged ones pass overhead in great numbers, calling out their good-byes. It is Taqountikeeswush, the Moon of the Falling Leaves. The Creator's gifts have been harvested, dried, and tucked away in auqunnash in the bosom of Earth Mother. They will provide for the People all through the long, cold months to come, the long, cold months of Papone. It is time, now. Time for the People to come together, together to give thanks.

~ from Nickommoh!: 

A Thanksgiving Celebration,

written by Jackie French Koller

Taqountikeeswush - Harvest Month

auqunnash - pits dug into the earth and lined with mats

Papone - winter

Across time and cultures, people have gathered together to celebrate the harvest and give thanks. I'm looking forward to doing the same next week. How about you?

The Mist and All

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The Mist and All

I like the fall,
The mist and all.
I like the night owl’s
Lonely call—
And wailing sound
Of wind around.

I like the gray
November day,
And bare, dead boughs
That coldly sway
Against my pane.
I like the rain.

I like to sit
And laugh at it—
And tend
My cozy fire a bit.
I like the fall—
The mist and all—

~ Dixie Willson

I love the sounds in this poem, the rhythm and rhymes. Willson's words paint a picture in my head -- I  imagine myself relaxing by a crackling fire, rocking back and forth in a rocking chair, perhaps, and gazing out my window at the autumn mist. What do you see or hear or feel when you read the poem?

Down to Sleep

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Down to Sleep

November woods are bare and still;
November days are clear and bright;
Each noon burns up the morning's chill;
The morning's snow is gone by night.
Each day my steps grow slow, grow light,
As through the woods I reverent creep,
Watching all things lie "down to sleep."

I never knew before what beds,
Fragrant to smell, and soft to touch,
The forest sifts and shapes and spreads;
I never knew before how much
Of human sound there is in such
Low tones as through the forest sweep,
When all wild things lie "down to sleep."

Each day I find new coverlids
Tucked in, and more sweet eyes shut tight;
Sometimes the viewless mother bids
Her ferns kneel down full in my sight;
I hear their chorus of "good-night";
And half I smile, and half I weep,
Listening while they lie "down to sleep."

November woods are bare and still;
November days are bright and good;
Life's noon burns up life's morning chill;
Life's night rests feet which long have stood;
Some warm soft bed, in field or wood,
The mother will not fail to keep,
Where we can "lay us down to sleep."

~ Helen Hunt Jackson

Maybe it is only because she keeps repeating the words "down to sleep", but Jackson's poem reminds me of a lullaby, or a bedtime story. I can picture the trees, the undergrowth, the wild creatures all settling in for a long winter's nap. Reading this makes me want to curl up with a warm blanket and close my eyes... just for a few... short... minutes... zzzzzzz....

Splinter

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Splinter

The voice of the last cricket
across the first frost
is one kind of good-by.
It is so thin a splinter of singing.

~ Carl Sandburg

I love how Sandburg sets a mood in just four short lines. Reading his words leaves me feeling a little sad and fills my head with images of goodbyes, autumn, winter, the passage of time, and so much more. What does this poem say to you?

Who Are You, Little I

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who are you, little i

(five or six years old)
peering from some high

window;at the gold


of November sunset

(and feeling:that if day
has to become night

this is a beautiful way)

~ e. e. cummings

I am a big fan of e.e. cummings and his poetry. This poem is no exception. I love the nostalgic feeling in the words -- I, too, remember looking out my window as a young girl, watching the sun set. And I, too, believe that sunsets are a beautiful way for day to become night. Reading this poem makes my heart happy. :) What do you feel when you read it?

Good Company

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Good Company

When other flowers
Have gone away,
The goldenrod
And asters stay.

The asters with
Their purple blooms,
The goldenrod
In yellow plumes

Linger, though
The others flee,
And keep
October company.

~ Author unknown

The idea of the goldenrod and asters keeping October company makes me smile. :) I love to see them, too, their bright blooms adding color to the autumn scenery. I like the rhymes in this poem and the word "linger". What do you think of the poem?

Autumn, Queen of Year

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Autumn, Queen of Year

When the pumpkins are so yellow
And the vines with grapes abound,
When the melons are so mellow
And the nuts fall to the ground;
When persimmons lose their bitters,
And the apples are so red;
When we love to eat corn fritters
Since the roasting ears have fled;
When vacation days are over
And the children go to school,
They no longer play in clover,
But must learn "Arithmos-rule,"
When weird Hallowe'en's most naughty elves
With gnomes and sprites appear,
While fat Thanksgiving fills the shelves -
'Tis AUTUMN, QUEEN OF YEAR.

~ Winifred Sackville Stoner, Jr.

I like how Stoner calls Halloween "weird" and Thanksgiving "fat". I enjoy her rhymes, too. But my favorite thing about this poem is how autumn is named queen of the year. What do you like (or dislike) about the poem?

October's Bright Blue Weather

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October's Bright Blue Weather

O sun and skies and clouds of June
And flowers of June together,
Ye cannot rival for one hour
October's bright blue weather;

When loud the bumblebee makes haste,
Belated, thriftless vagrant,
And goldenrod is dying fast,
And lanes with grapes are fragrant;

When gentians roll their fringes tight,
To save them for the morning,
And chestnuts fall from satin burs
Without a sound of warning;

When on the ground red apples lie
In piles like jewels shining,
And redder still on old stone walls
Are leaves of woodbine twining;

When all the lovely wayside things
Their white-winged seeds are sowing,
And in the fields, still green and fair,
Late aftermaths are growing;

When springs run low, and on the brooks
In idle, golden freighting,
Bright leaves sink noiseless in the hush
Of woods, for winter waiting;

When comrades seek sweet country haunt
By twos and twos together,
And count like misers hour by hour
October's bright blue weather.

O sun and skies and flowers of June,
Count all your boasts together,
Love loveth best of all the year
October's bright blue weather.

~ Helen Hunt Jackson

Sunny October skies are my favorite of the year! I love the title of this poem and the many images that Jackson paints with her words -- they are all things that I adore about this month, too. I especially like the phrases "leaves of woodbine twining" and "white-winged seeds". Which words stand out the most to you? Do you agree with Jackson's sentiment on October's bright blue weather?

Ochre

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This week I'd like to talk about the word ochre [oh-ker], which can also be spelled ocher. (But I prefer the first spelling.) Used as a noun, ochre means "any of a class of natural earths, mixtures of hydrated oxide of iron with various earthy materials", according to Dictionary.com. I want to focus on the word as an adjective, however, and in this case it means the color of ochre -- which ranges from a pale yellow to an orangish or reddish yellow. To me, ochre seems like the quintessential color of autumn. Here are a few examples of this word in a sentence:

I love walking through the woods in the fall, 

under a blazing canopy of crimson and ochre leaves.

The field was filled with pumpkins of all sizes, 

some a deep orange, some ochre, and a few with still 

a tinge of green.

Anna pulled the bulky, ochre-colored sweater 

out of her closet. "This will be perfect for a 

chilly autumn morning," she thought.

Can you think of other things that are the color of ochre? How would you use this word?

A world where there are Octobers...

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An excerpt:

     October was a beautiful month at Green Gables, when the birches in the hollow turned as golden as sunshine and the maples behind the orchard were royal crimson and the wild cherry trees along the lane put on the loveliest shades of dark red and bronzy green, while the fields sunned themselves in aftermaths.

     Anne revelled in the world of color about her.

     "Oh, Marilla," she exclaimed one Saturday morning, coming dancing in with her arms full of gorgeous boughs, "I'm so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers. It would be terrible if we just skipped from September to November, wouldn't it? Look at these maple branches. Don't they give you a thrill -- several thrills? I'm going to decorate my room with them."

~ from Anne of Green Gables,

written by L. M. Montgomery

I agree wholeheartedly with Anne -- I'm SO glad I live in a world where there are Octobers. I've decided in the last few years that this is my favorite month. (Though I like all the seasons and months!) I love the beautiful colors everywhere, the crunchy leaves underfoot, the delicious foods we eat this month (at our house we eat all kinds of dishes made with pumpkins or apples, along with chili and different kinds of soups), our tradition of apple-picking, and, of course, anything to do with Halloween! How about you -- do you agree with Anne?

A Leaf

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A Leaf

If I were a leaf
(but I wouldn't be)
I'd have to be tied
to a tree, tree, tree.
I couldn't walk off
(or skip or run)
and my nose would get burned
by the sun, sun, sun.
In summer I'd roast,
(in winter I'd freeze)
and all through October
I'd sneeze, sneeze, sneeze.

~ Aileen Fisher

Achoo! :)

I love the playfulness of this poem, the fun rhymes and Fisher's imagination. I don't think I would like to be a leaf. Would you?

A Football Poem

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A Football Poem

A football poem
Should hit hard
Like a nose guard,

Or spiral through the sky
Like a down-and-out pass
On real grass.

A football poem
Should score
Inside the five
On fourth and four.

A football poem
Should sweat, talk trash, and grunt…
Or punt.

~ J. Patrick Lewis, 

from Countdown to Summer: 

A Poem for Every Day of the School Year

I am not a football fan myself, yet I love this poem! I especially like how Mr. Lewis uses rhyme and football lingo to give his poem the feel of the sport. 

I haven't come across too many poems about football in all of my reading. Can you think of an uncommon poetry subject that you could write about?

September

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September

Lo! a ripe sheaf of many golden days 
Gleaned by the year in autumn's harvest ways, 
With here and there, blood-tinted as an ember, 
Some crimson poppy of a late delight 
Atoning in its splendor for the flight 
Of summer blooms and joys­
This is September. 

~ Lucy Maud Montgomery

The imagery in this poem makes me smile -- the many golden days of September, all gathered together like stalks of wheat along with a few moments of poppy red, surprising and delightful. We must bid goodbye to summer but at the same time we say hello to autumn. Are there words or phrases in this poem that resonate with you?

Pumpkin Picking

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Pumpkin Picking

Let's go picking in the pumpkin patch.
Now we're jiggling the old gate latch.
Gate swings wide and we step inside.
Pumpkins spread like an ocean tide.
You take the one like a fat balloon.
I'll take the one like an orange moon.
Hike to the house in fifty paces.
Then we'll carve out the pumpkin faces.

~ Sandra Olson Liatsos

One of my favorite things to do in October is to pick out my pumpkin (either from a pumpkin patch, like Liatsos writes about in her poem, or from the store), figure out what kind of face it needs, and then carve it!  It's messy and slimy, but I love it anyway. :)  How about you?

October Saturday

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October Saturday

All the leaves have turned to cornflakes.
It looks as if some giant's baby brother
had tipped the box
and scattered them upon our lawn --
millions and millions of cornflakes --
crunching, crunching under our feet.
When the wind blows,
they rattle against each other,
nervously chattering.

We rake them into piles --
Dad and I.
Piles and piles of cornflakes!
A breakfast for a whole family of giants!
We do not talk much as we rake --
a word here --
a word there.
The leaves are never silent.

Inside the house my mother is packing
short sleeved shirts and faded bathing suits --
rubber clogs and flippers --
in a box marked SUMMER

We are raking,
Dad and I.
Raking, raking.
The sky is blue, then orange, then gray.
My arms are tired.
I am dreaming of the box marked SUMMER.

~ Bobbi Katz

I love the image of the leaves as cornflakes, spilled by a giant!  I remember many autumn days when I was young, raking and raking, just like in this poem.  (We don't get many leaves in the yard at our current home, thank goodness.)  My arms would get tired, too.  I don't know that I dreamed of summer while doing it, but I might have dreamed of winter and Christmas.  Nowadays I try to just enjoy whichever season I'm in -- though it's much easier to appreciate autumn now that I don't have to rake! :)

Autumn

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Autumn

The morns are meeker than they were,
  The nuts are getting brown;
The berry's cheek is plumper,
  The rose is out of town.

The maple wears a gayer scarf,
  The field a scarlet gown.
Lest I should be old-fashioned,
  I'll put a trinket on.

~ Emily Dickinson

I love Dickinson's images of the world around her, decking itself out in its autumn finery.  What natural "trinkets" have you noticed so far this fall?