Is It Spring Yet?

The bird, with head hid 'neath his wing
Asked of the world, "Now is it spring?
I'm tired of eternal showers.
I want to perch in budding flowers.

I'm done with feeders jammed with suet.
I need some nectar. Let's get to it!
No more winter's frigid blast.
Keep those cold temps in the past.

I want light past five PM,
I want freshly new-mown stem.
I want soft ground jammed with worms.
I want weather on my terms.

So if, World, this is not real spring,
I'm heading back beneath my wing."

A necklace to bring us spring.

The bird's lament, as a necklace can be found here.

Seeing Red... and White on a Wordless Wednesday

Red and white here.

Slishity-slosh

Rain

by Shel Silverstein

I opened my eyes
And looked up at the rain,
And it dripped in my head
And flowed into my brain,





And all that I hear as I lie in my bed
Is the slishity-slosh of the rain in my head.

I step very softly,
I walk very slow,
I can't do a handstand--
I might overflow,




So pardon the wild crazy thing I just said--
I'm just not the same since there's rain in my head.



Slishity-slosh for your wrist right here... and maybe some slishity-slosh for your ears, too.

A Rose is a Rose is a Quote

 

A revolution is not a bed of roses.
Fidel Castro

A true poet does not bother to be poetical. Nor does a nursery gardener scent his roses.
Jean Cocteau

 

An idealist is one who, on noticing that roses smell better than a cabbage, concludes that it will also make better soup.
H. L. Mencken

One may live without bread, not without roses.
Jean Richepin



Rock 'n' Roll, no roses or gardening.
Tina Charles

Roses are red, violets are blue, I'm schizophrenic, and so am I.
Oscar Levant

 

The hard part of writing at all is sitting your ass down in a chair and writing it. There's always something better to do, like I've got an interview, sharpening the pencils, trimming the roses. There's always something better to do. Going to a writer's club?
Jerry Pournelle

The sharp thorn often produces delicate roses.
Ovid



This is rather different from the receptions I used to get fifty years ago. They threw things at me then but they were not roses.
Susan B. Anthony

Treaties are like roses and young girls. They last while they last.
Charles de Gaulle

Roses that last, right here.

An Ode to the Hibiscus

You can make it into twine,
You can turn it into tea.
You can rub it on your head
Where you'd like more hair to be.



You can blend it in a chutney,
You can mix it for a dye,
As a lotion on your booboos
You might give the leaves a try.



It will heal cracks on your feet.
It will blend to make a beer.
It is used for making paper.
For a cough, it has no peer.



Worn behind the ear it tells you
Who is single, who is married.
As an offering at Kali's shrine
The blooms are often carried.



Of its fibers, wigs are fashioned,
And grass skirts that surely tickle.
Some claim it's a contraceptive.
Other make hibiscus pickle.



It's in soft drinks. It's in water.
It can help prevent VD.
It can darken shoes and eyebrows
And cure camel sores, you see.



But the reason that I used one
On this bracelet that I made
Is because the flower's pretty
And the beaded ones don't fade.

Non fading hibiscus flowers right here.

The Story of the White Coral Bells

Long ago and far away, when I was a Girl Scout, we used to sing a round: "White Coral Bells."  It was very pretty, and almost always sounded good... even when someone forgot to count verses and ended up accidentally solo-ing.  There are many versions you can listen to on YouTube, but I'm not attaching them because then the blog would be singing non-stop, and some of you shut the sound off and later wonder why your computer wasn't making any noise.

The song goes like this.

White coral bells



Upon a slender stalk,



Lillies of the Valley



Deck my garden walk.



Oh, don't you wish...



That you could hear them ring?



That will happen only...




When the fairies sing.


Then I heard a sound outside.  A tiny tinkling.  Could it be the fairies?

And it was.  They were singing, and all the bells were ringing until...



... someone wandered in and sat on them.

What?  You expect a happy ending every time?

Bracelet and earrings here.  Happy ending... under the cat.