purplestoneblog

Spring lights up life

like candles on a birthday cake

birthing wishes, hopes, fresh

new, sweet dreams of promise

quick, before summer heat

saturates every little thing, slows down all progress.

TTOT 22.04.08.

1. It’s April Poetry Month!
2. So far I have been able to write and post a poem a day for pspoetry.
3. I so grateful to be back to normal, whatever my normal is.
4. Lovely weather restoring my energy.
5. Binaural beats healing music on You Tube. Great for my lungs.
6. No fee for You Tube music and lots of other opportunities.
7. My newest publication of Running with the Horses memoir.
8. My latest memoir was pure joy to write. I relived happy times while writing it.
9. My first order of Running with the Horses sold out. Second order due on Monday.
10. I’m bursting with thankfuls!

 Love’s Recipe

To Love is to respect

With humor reflect

Joy is yours to expect

Hay on Wye, Wales

A medieval market town of stone, painted trim

convenient clock tower rising above all

ancient cobbled streets, oddly orchestrated

more magnificent when rained upon

forty-two bookshops last time I was there

antiquarian, new, used, rare, every genre

a bindery, maps, music, Murder & Mayhem

ethnic restaurants, taverns, pubs with low,

exposed, thick, beamed ceilings, dark with age

immense fireplaces hold a side of beef on a spit

men at the bar appear as old as the pub, tales to

match of highwaymen and the king’s rampage

ghosts of old cling to walls, settle in oil paintings

clipper ships, sails full-blown, depicting earlier life

taking a path downhill from town to the River Wye

it come upon me, runs gently, gurgling, glistening

water flows over, around rocks, gently, sounds softened

a path to share, shaded by trees, bushes, flowers abound

beloved, tumble-down, 12th century, Norman castle

protected by Richard Booth, fondly titled King of Hay

his plan to restore lumbered on, ‘til a Trust takes over

I met him, purchased books about, by, and from him

his dreams, work, inspired, transformed a whole town

yearly festival of books, 10 glorious days, acting, singing

readers, writers, and the curious, famous and not so

a ghost wakes me in the wee hours of the morning

in an ancient B & B built in 1492, my host tells me

a lovely woman in satin, peach of color, bejeweled

someone I knew in a past life was revisiting me.

Its charm began the moment we stepped from the side parking lot to walk the path through the small wooded area over the picturesque bridge that spanned the wee creek and led to the side entrance. Pausing at the bridge for a moment was a must-do each time. We never entered any other way.

I was a novice at the beginning of the racing journey and not greatly knowledgeable when it ended. Yet I did absorb bits and pieces by observing and listening whenever I heard the word horse mentioned. I picked a few winners too, mostly by devotion to the feminine entering as jockeys, an uncommon situation at that time. I also followed my instinct for the long shots and the racing form for the favorites. These were pre-internet years when information was not readily available at my fingertips. Of course, I won’t say that I didn’t use a bit of intuition from time to time, either. Available on Amazon.com in paperback or ebook.

The Captain

you feed me faithfully twice a day

crunchy, dry food at 7:30 a m

scrumptious, meaty Fancy Feast at 4 p m

snacks in the afternoon while you lunch

you stroke my shiny, black fur with love

rub my jaw below my ears with zest

causing me to meow in contentment

I love curling up on your lap

but you refuse to let me run your life

and chase everyone else out of it! why is that?

Living back in town

loving it, yet missing the forest

longing for nature’s way

communicating with me

trees saying welcome back, to me

spirits running, racing by, for me

to see

along the lakeside

over the gullies

around a copse

sending love into the air

I breathe it in

Occoneechee State Park

restores my inner nature..

The Robin –arlene s bice

One lovely afternoon, while I was reading in my sunroom

A well written story of a lifetime remembered from long ago

While I grunted, near to smile, I looked and saw a robin all a rile

He tried to nibble, all aglow, nipping at my flowers all in a row-

“What’s he doing,” I pondered, “nipping at my flowers all in a row-

            Singly thus and naught I know.”

Ah, for certain I rely it was the middle of July

And each individual bloom teased that bird

I watched it closely—I had grown those blooms

From seeds and soil;–to full blown, my word—

Out of books, other advice and what I heard—

            Forever now I ought to know.

And the sun continued to shine in my cheerful sunroom

Contented me—I sat and the storybook settled within;

At this moment, the passion of the story, I kept on reading;  

He tried to nibble, all aglow, nipping at my flowers all in a row-

“What’s he doing,” I pondered, “nipping at my flowers all in a row-

            Only nibbling and naught I know.”

Soon my reading grew intensive, pausing no further,

“Dear author said I,” your understanding I beg;

Forgive me, I was dozing, while the robin was still in a rile

As the robin nibbled, all aglow, nipping at my flowers all in a row-

“Why does he continue,” I wondered, “nipping those flowers all in a row-

            I want but naught I know.”

And the Robin, ignoring me, still nibbles the blooms, gently

In my garden of flowers looking so lively and lovely;

As his eyes look up at me from time to time, determined,

And the sun begins to fade slowly from my ignoring vision

Still glued to the pages I’m avidly reading my vision

            affirms exactly what I need to know!

Home to Me

Home is carried with me

snuggled in my heart

wrapped by things I love

like a tremendous hug

art, books, letters, cards

memories of yesteryears

promises for tomorrow

happy with chosen friends

like-minded, open, loving

caring, sharing, receiving

a full life of words written

read, spoken, cherished.