A wee poet

Nanna er en liten poet.. *Stolt mormor*

Og nå har hun blogg selv, – trykk på Christi i bloggoversikten min!

Nanna is a wee poet.. *Proud gramma*

And now she has her own blog, – hit Christi in my blogging list!

Sweet as … cannot think of anything this sweet!

A baby girl...one of the most beautiful miracles in life,

one of the greatest joys we can ever know,

and one of the reasons why there is

a little extra sunshine,

laughter and happiness in your world today.

***

A little girl can be sweeter (and badder)

oftener than anyone else in the world.

She can jitter around, and stomp,

and make funny noises that frazzle your nerves

yet just when you open your mouth

she stands there demure

with that special look in her eyes.

A girl is Innocence playing in the mud,

Beauty standing on its head,

and Motherhood dragging a doll by the foot.

Alan Beck

***

Little girls are the nicest things

that happen to people.

They are born with a little bit

of angelshine about them,

and though it wears thin sometimes

there is always enough left

to lasso your heart. . .

Alan Beck

***

Little girls dance their way into your heart,

whirling on the tips of angel wings,

scattering gold dust & kisses in our paths.

***

The knowingness of little girls,

is hidden underneath their curls.

***

My name is NO NO but grandma calls me precious.

 

Back to the sea

I hold a shell up to my ear,
and listen.
Listen to the sea calling me,
me without gill or fin
back to my very origin.
Way back.

Back to the saline sea of my mother's womb.
Back to life's ultimate swim.
From a safe quiet sea
to begin my life and be.
Back further still.

Back to the moment of conception.
In a sea of love,
poised to start the first inning.
I am back to my very beginning.

 

Mollie Odell Bourne

The Open Sea

How swiftly flows the river,
as it hastens to be free,
away from land's binding fetters,
en route to the open sea.
The passage is a rough one,
that it tackles with seeming glee,
shooting dangerous, rocky rapids,
en route to the open sea.
When at last it's reached that goal,
fulfilling it's destiny,
it mingles with the salty brine,
found in the open sea.
How similar is the life of man,
struggling like you and me,
to reach that lofty promised land.
The sky is our open sea.

William Otto

For ev gjester,

– men ikke sett koppen slik!

For ev guests,

and hopefully you are too clever

to put the latte down like this…

The historian!

I dag ble Linda Melissa historiker, – mamma er kjempestolt!

Today Linda Melissa had her thesis hearing and is now a

full-fledged historian, – mamma is over the moon!

Master thesis: Imagined Pasts

Beatha an Staraidhe firinne~ The historian's food is truth

***

Though you are grown

Cynthia A. Sieving

I remember years ago,
you were so little then.
Sometimes,
I can't help but wish,
that you were small again.

I've cried when you've faced heartaches,
and saw, that as you grew,
nothing broke your Spirit,
instead it strengthened you.

I'm filled with mixed emotions,
as I hold back all the tears
and, with much pride remember,
back so many years.

When I first held you in my arms,
if only I'd have known,
the years would feel like moments
after you had grown.

You aren't a child,
though in my eyes,
I guess you'll always be,
that baby girl who changed my life,
and means the world to me.

Summertime…

Bed in Summer
by Robert Louis Stevenson

In winter I get up at night
And dress by yellow candle-light.
In summer quite the other way,
I have to go to bed by day.

I have to go to bed and see
The birds still hopping on the tree,
Or hear the grown-up people's feet
Still going past me in the street.

And does it not seem hard to you,
When all the sky is clear and blue,
And I should like so much to play,
To have to go to bed by day?

At the Sea-Side
by Robert Louis Stevenson

When I was down beside the sea
A wooden spade they gave to me
To dig the sandy shore.

My holes were empty like a cup.
In every hole the sea came up,
Till it could come no more.

June
by Elaine Goodale

For stately trees in rich array,
For sunlight all the happy day,
For blossoms radiant and rare,
For skies when daylight closes,
For joyous, clear, outpouring song
From birds that all the green wood throng,
For all things young, and bright, and fair,
We praise thee, Month of Roses!

For blue, blue skies of summer calm,
For fragrant odors breathing balm,
For quiet, cooling shades where oft
The weary head reposes,
For brooklets babbling thro' the fields
Where Earth her choicest treasures yields,
For all things tender, sweet and soft,
We love thee, Month of Roses!

Where Go the Boats?
by Robert Louis Stevenson

Dark brown is the river,
Golden is the sand,
It flows along forever,
With trees on either hand.

Green leaves a-floating,
Castles of the foam,
Boats of mine a-boating -
Where will all come home?

On goes the river
And out past the mill,
Away down the valley,
Away down the hill;

Away down the river,
A hundred miles or more;
Other little children
Shall bring my boats ashore.

Rain in Summer
by Henry W. Longfellow

How beautiful is the rain!
After the dust and heat,
In the broad and fiery street,
In the narrow lane,
How beautiful is the rain!

How it clatters along the roofs,
Like the tramp of hoofs!
How it gushes and struggles out
From the throat of the overflowing spout!

Across the window pane
It pours and pours;
And swift and wide,
With a muddy tide,
Like a river down the gutter roars
The rain, the welcome rain!

In the country, on every side,
Where far and wide,
Like a leopard's tawny and spotted hide,
Stretches the plain,
To the dry grass and the drier grain
How welcome is the rain!

Midsummer Joys
by Winifred Sackville Stoner, Jr.

Give me the joys of summer,
Of SUMMER QUEEN so fair,
With wealth of lovely flowers
And fruits and sun-kissed air!

Talk not to me of winter
With ice and frost and snow,
Nor changing spring and autumn
When howling winds will blow.

No, I will take the joys
Of SUMMER every time,
So to this Queen of Seasons
I dedicate my rhyme.

Min datters eldste sønn

My daughter's oldest son

Nicholas Mathias, 1 – 5 år/years old.

Født/born 29. juni/29th of June 2002.

For my sister of the heart, beloved Sue..

Darling buds of May..

"The year's at the spring,
And day's at the morn;
Morning's at seven;
The hill-side's dew-pearled;
The lark's on the wing;
The snail's on the thorn;
God's in his Heaven—
All's right with the world!"
- Robert Browning, The Year's at the Spring

"Now the bright morning-star, Day’s harbinger,
Comes dancing from the East, and leads with her
The flowery May, who from her green lap throws
The yellow cowslip and the pale primrose.
Hail, bounteous May, that dost inspire
Mirth, and youth, and warm desire!
Woods and groves are of thy dressing;
Hill and dale doth boast thy blessing.
Thus we salute thee with our early song,
And welcome thee, and wish thee long."
- John Milton, Song on a May Morning, 1660

"It was such a spring day as breathes into a man an ineffable yearning, a painful sweetness, a longing
that makes him stand motionless, looking at the leaves or grass, and fling out his arms to embrace
he knows not what."
- John Galsworthy

"What is so sweet and dear
As a prosperous morn in May,
The confidant prime of the day,
And the dauntless youth of the year,
When nothing that asks for bliss,
Asking aright, is denied,
And half of the world a bridegroom is
And half of the world a bride?"
- Sir William Watson, Ode in May

"Daughter of heaven and earth, coy Spring,
With sudden passion languishing,
Teaching barren moors to smile,
Painting pictures mile on mile,
Holds a cup of cowslip wreaths
Whence a smokeless incense breathes."
- Ralph Waldo Emerson, May Day

"If you've never been thrilled to the very edges of your soul by a flower in spring bloom,
maybe your soul has never been in bloom."
- Audra Foveo

Små barn og store gleder!

Second Childhood

by Robert William Service

When I go on my morning walk,

because I'm mild, if I be in the mood to talk

I choose a child.

I'd rather prattle with a lass of tender age

than converse in the high-brow class

with college sage.

I love the touch of silken hand that softly clings;

In old of age

I understand life's little things.

I love the lisp of tiny tongue and trusting eyes;

These are the joys that keep me young as daylight dies.

For as to second childhood

I draw gently near,

with happy heart I see the why

children are dear.

So wise Professor, go your way, - I am beguiled

to wistful loving by the

gay laugh of a child.