  Poetry
This week: Edited by: Stormy Lady  
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| This is poetry from the minds and the hearts of poets on Writing.Com. The poems I am going to be exposing throughout this newsletter are ones that I have found to be, very visual, mood setting and uniquely done. Stormy Lady |
| ASIN: 0995498113 |
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Amazon's Price: $ 19.95
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The Baby's Dance
by Ann Taylor
Dance little baby, dance up high,
Never mind baby, mother is by;
Crow and caper, caper and crow,
There little baby, there you go;
Up to the ceiling, down to the ground,
Backwards and forwards, round and round;
Dance little baby, and mother shall sing,
With the merry coral, ding, ding, ding.
The Chatterbox
by Ann Taylor
From morning till night it was Lucy's delight
To chatter and talk without stopping:
There was not a day but she rattled away,
Like water for ever a-dropping.
No matter at all if the subjects were small,
Or not worth the trouble of saying,
'Twas equal to her, she would talking prefer
To working, or reading, or playing.
You'll think now, perhaps, that there would have been gaps,
If she had not been wonderfully clever:
That her sense was so great, and so witty her pate,
It would be forthcoming for ever;
But that's quite absurd, for have you not heard
That much tongue and few brains are connected?
That they are supposed to think least who talk most,
And their wisdom is always suspected?
While Lucy was young, had she bridled her tongue,
With a little good sense and exertion,
Who knows, but she might now have been our delight,
Instead of our jest and aversion?
On January 30, 1782, Isaac Taylor and wife Ann Martin Taylor, welcomed daughter Ann Taylor into their family. When Ann was born the family lived in London England, and then moved around England several times during Ann’s Childhood. Ann’s father and mother both had published works of their own while Ann was growing up. Ann’s family life deeply influenced her poetry and hymns that she wrote for children.
Ann and her younger sister Jane wrote and published {i]Original Poems for Infant Minds in 1804. Followed by Hymns for Infant Minds in 1808. The two wrote Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star in 1806. Ann wrote The Maniac's Song, published in the Associate Minstrels in 1810. She also wrote a few hymns that were published in Collyers Collection in 1812, signed simply A. or A.T.
In 1812 Ann married Rev. Joseph Gilbert, a thirty-three year-old widower. The two lived in Yorkshire, and then moved to Nottingham where they stayed for the remained of their lives. Ann’s sister Jane died of cancer on April 13, 1824. In her later years, Ann often but pen to paper to write her views on political happenings. Some of these writings also found they way to print. Ann’s husband Rev. Joseph Gilbert died in 1852. She spent the rest of her life travelling when her health allowed and died in Nottingham, on December 20, 1866. She is buried next to her husband in the General Cemetery at Nottingham.
The Star
by Ann Taylor
Twinkle, twinkle, little star,
How I wonder what you are !
Up above the world so high,
Like a diamond in the sky.
When the blazing sun is gone,
When he nothing shines upon,
Then you show your little light,
Twinkle, twinkle, all the night.
Then the trav'ller in the dark,
Thanks you for your tiny spark,
He could not see which way to go,
If you did not twinkle so.
In the dark blue sky you keep,
And often thro' my curtains peep,
For you never shut your eye,
Till the sun is in the sky.
'Tis your bright and tiny spark,
Lights the trav'ller in the dark :
Tho' I know not what you are,
Twinkle, twinkle, little star.
Thank you all!
Stormy Lady
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The winner of "Stormy's poetry newsletter & contest" [ASR] is:
| |  | Invalid Item
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#1598120 by Not Available. |
Sacred Tunes
O' take me home to Mother,
'Tis what my soul is yearning for.
May Gaia’s arms enfold me ~
Peaceful presence to restore.
Silence as I drift through time
Have my eyes ne’r seen at all?
Her answer? Thunder’s rumble ~
The storm reveals her siren call.
Beyond the shadowed woods,
Above the Mountain’s Stream;
High on barren cliffs of boulders,
Where Hawk and Eagle dream.
Thus huddled near the flame,
That within my spirit burns;
Warmed by ancient secrets,
Songs of nature ~ sacred tunes.
Second place:
| | | Invalid Item
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#1601441 by Not Available. |
A New Refuge
The wind that sighs through piney woods;
somehow, my heart has lightened:
Nature has someway found the balm
for that which made me frightened.
The stocks and bonds I used to hawk,
while pressure drove me mindless,
had stripped me of my heart and soul
and every trace of kindness.
A hawk now, of another kind
drifts calmly through my vision:
erases from my mind and soul,
all signs of past division.
My eyes see clearly, like that bird’s,
and in day’s ending mission,
ignites for me, another life,
and flames a new cognition.
All that I am has found refuge
from thunder’s distant rumble,
beside this tiny waterfall,
that through the boulders tumble.
Third place:
| | | Invalid Item
This item number is not valid.
#1597142 by Not Available. |
The old hawk eyes the flame
shaking his gloried head sadly;
a cloud of smoke and ashes
slowly drifting down upon boulders,
searing the woods and streams.
Shaking his gloried head sadly
he wonders at the rumble and growl
of a wall of fire tearing over hills
and through valleys of hardwood
where he used to make his home.
A cloud of smoke and ashes
blots out an evening sunset.
Gone are the brilliant colors.
Where are our reds, oranges,
yellows? Where are you purples?
Slowly drifting down upon boulders,
drift, drift, drifting down, the curtain
obscures the piercing golden eyes
that used to look down from above
upon a beautiful and stately home.
Searing the woods and streams
the conflagration eagerly steams on.
Nature is now steak upon charcoal.
The old hawk eyes the flame
shaking his gloried head sadly.
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Poetry: September 30, 2009 Issue [#3297]
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