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Although summer days here in the south are long, hot, and
humid, there are some pleasures peculiar to the season that
are unrivaled any other time of the year. Of course, most of
them have to do with finding ways to stay comfortable:
swimming at the beach, a picnic in the mountains, or just
sitting in the shade with a cold glass of lemonade after
weekend chores.
Another way to keep your cool is to just stay inside and read,
letting your imagination do all the heavy work instead.
Here you'll find a great collection of writings from many
different perspectives to make your long summer day a little
more interesting. Put up your feet, have that cold drink handy,
and enjoy this special summer issue of Sketch Notes!
See you in September!
humid, there are some pleasures peculiar to the season that
are unrivaled any other time of the year. Of course, most of
them have to do with finding ways to stay comfortable:
swimming at the beach, a picnic in the mountains, or just
sitting in the shade with a cold glass of lemonade after
weekend chores.
Another way to keep your cool is to just stay inside and read,
letting your imagination do all the heavy work instead.
Here you'll find a great collection of writings from many
different perspectives to make your long summer day a little
more interesting. Put up your feet, have that cold drink handy,
and enjoy this special summer issue of Sketch Notes!
See you in September!
~Leann
White Cotton Memories
by Felix LeRoy Perry
August heat on a barefoot days
Ice cream treats and baring knees
She is sunshine chasing the rain
White cotton memories
Fair in town and a merry go round
Sun dresses swirl in country breeze
Swimming down at Albro Lake
White cotton memories
Holding hands walking in the park
Twinkling eyes such a tease
Fly a kite such sweet delight
White cotton memories
Full moon nights frame fireworks
I love you can I kiss you please
Summer days and summer nights
White cotton memories...
by Felix LeRoy Perry
August heat on a barefoot days
Ice cream treats and baring knees
She is sunshine chasing the rain
White cotton memories
Fair in town and a merry go round
Sun dresses swirl in country breeze
Swimming down at Albro Lake
White cotton memories
Holding hands walking in the park
Twinkling eyes such a tease
Fly a kite such sweet delight
White cotton memories
Full moon nights frame fireworks
I love you can I kiss you please
Summer days and summer nights
White cotton memories...
 |
Summer Inside and Out
by Phyllis Jean Green
You and your inner child come along next time, 'k?
xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo
When the sky is straight out of a picture book
and the air like spun honey warmed by a smiling
sun, the child in me grabs my hand, drags me
outside, and nags until I help her put together
a bouquet of violets, clover, and “dandy-lions.”
After we take them in, find a jar, and fill it with
water that isn’t too hot or too cold -- flowers
are like babies, you know -- then make sure
violet, white, green, and yellow each have room
to show off, we go back out and climb into
the hammock to watch birds and squirrels
play chase, or grab a swing and take turns
pushing each other so high, our feet almost
touch a cloud that looks like a big china bowl
piled high with fresh whipped cream (yum).
If a bee or a wasp finds us, we go play under
the deck where it is cool and carpeted with
moss or hike to a creek and look for pollywogs.
Sometimes we collect rocks. Time passes so
fast, the first thing we know, it’s time to eat
supper. Boy, are we hungry. When it gets
dark, we’ll go back out and catch fireflies
and put them in a jar with holes in the lid.
We will only keep them a few minutes.
Otherwise, who will shine light to help
Moonand her stars keep us from getting scared?
If I have work to do, I forget. If I have recorded
a film, I forget. Child makes me!
(c) Phyllis Jean Green
June, 2011
by Phyllis Jean Green
You and your inner child come along next time, 'k?
xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo
When the sky is straight out of a picture book
and the air like spun honey warmed by a smiling
sun, the child in me grabs my hand, drags me
outside, and nags until I help her put together
a bouquet of violets, clover, and “dandy-lions.”
After we take them in, find a jar, and fill it with
water that isn’t too hot or too cold -- flowers
are like babies, you know -- then make sure
violet, white, green, and yellow each have room
to show off, we go back out and climb into
the hammock to watch birds and squirrels
play chase, or grab a swing and take turns
pushing each other so high, our feet almost
touch a cloud that looks like a big china bowl
piled high with fresh whipped cream (yum).
If a bee or a wasp finds us, we go play under
the deck where it is cool and carpeted with
moss or hike to a creek and look for pollywogs.
Sometimes we collect rocks. Time passes so
fast, the first thing we know, it’s time to eat
supper. Boy, are we hungry. When it gets
dark, we’ll go back out and catch fireflies
and put them in a jar with holes in the lid.
We will only keep them a few minutes.
Otherwise, who will shine light to help
Moonand her stars keep us from getting scared?
If I have work to do, I forget. If I have recorded
a film, I forget. Child makes me!
(c) Phyllis Jean Green
June, 2011
I Wish for YOU
By Ann Marquette
Each new day ~ even if it is raining
I wish you to see sunshine and flowers
Every night ~ even if cloudy skies
I wish you see only star light and moon glow
Each day ~ especially if you feel down
I wish you a special visitor
A humming bird, a butterfly to make your
Heart Smile
Anytime ~ if you feel alone
I wish you the unmistakable feeling
Of a hug from Jesus
Always I wish you unlimited Heart Smiles
© April 3, 2011
By Ann Marquette
Each new day ~ even if it is raining
I wish you to see sunshine and flowers
Every night ~ even if cloudy skies
I wish you see only star light and moon glow
Each day ~ especially if you feel down
I wish you a special visitor
A humming bird, a butterfly to make your
Heart Smile
Anytime ~ if you feel alone
I wish you the unmistakable feeling
Of a hug from Jesus
Always I wish you unlimited Heart Smiles
© April 3, 2011
Balmy-- :Soothing :Warm :Foolish/Insane
by Phyllis Jean Green
Less predictable than novas,
but just familiar enough to fool,
tuxedoed and gowned dusks tiptoe in
backed by streaks of lavender
and a hidden orchestra
to slip something in our air.
Starved and thirsting, we turn up
their sparkling offering, gulp,
grow limp, and succumb
to the urge to elope to Simple.
Curses for the strings that shrill and shake us
with “This is too sweet! This perfume
reeks of risk.” –– Hello. Wake
up!! Headache and dizziness
worth it, we swear.”
But oh, to be free to fly
unencumbered by who we are
and the baggage we call love.
Guess birds have to work their wings,
but slip us more of your magic musk.
God, it hurts to be us more often
than we feel we can share.
(c) Phyllis Jean Green
The author would like to thank the editors
of Friday Noon Poets Anthology, Poetry
in the Arts, Skyline Magazine, and
Mooncrossed for publishing this poem.
by Phyllis Jean Green
Less predictable than novas,
but just familiar enough to fool,
tuxedoed and gowned dusks tiptoe in
backed by streaks of lavender
and a hidden orchestra
to slip something in our air.
Starved and thirsting, we turn up
their sparkling offering, gulp,
grow limp, and succumb
to the urge to elope to Simple.
Curses for the strings that shrill and shake us
with “This is too sweet! This perfume
reeks of risk.” –– Hello. Wake
up!! Headache and dizziness
worth it, we swear.”
But oh, to be free to fly
unencumbered by who we are
and the baggage we call love.
Guess birds have to work their wings,
but slip us more of your magic musk.
God, it hurts to be us more often
than we feel we can share.
(c) Phyllis Jean Green
The author would like to thank the editors
of Friday Noon Poets Anthology, Poetry
in the Arts, Skyline Magazine, and
Mooncrossed for publishing this poem.
Earth Mother”
by Alfred J. Garrotto
Inspired by a visit to the ancient ruins of Pompei.
A dozen or so bodies have been recovered nearly intact from the
ancient ruins of Pompei (near Naples, Italy). Three are on public
display, encased in plastic for preservation. One touched my
heart in a special way and continues to haunt me--a pregnant
woman who died in an instant face to the earth.
Some background. My wife and I have two daughters whom we
welcomed into our family at pre-school age. We never had a baby
in our family. I never had to change a diaper. Since the birth of
our first grandchild in 2007, I have discoved close-up the marvels
and wonders of new birth, and yes, I've changed a few poopie
diapers, too. I've discovered a wonderous stage of being--infancy--
that I'd never paid attention to before. I've learned the universal
language of new-born life.
Upon meeting this Pompei mother, millenia deceased, we made
a spiritual connection. I had to write about this experience, but I
choked on early prose versions of my story. The only way to
express the moment we had shared was in verse. . . . as follows:
Pompei
August 24, 79 A.D.
It fell so fast
the cloud of death;
no chance for aid—
on stone-laid street
my one last step;
eyes down, face hid,
womb pressed to earth,
brief shield ’gainst fire-
flung stone—a crib
for babe’s long sleep.
Pompei
July 10, 2008 A.D.
I gawk, snap, feel
out of place, no
right to break your
rest; yet I am
slave to your grace.
Was this new life
your first sweet fruit,
love’s best of gifts?
Did some die home,
no mom to hold?
From lava tomb you
rose to see day’s
light and through time’s
thin veil hail my
soul: You know me.
Our tour moves on
to sites fresh dug;
with a glance, I
bid good-bye, carve
you on my heart.
You stir this old
dad’s core, set late
to flame with awe
of new-born life.
I’ll give you voice.
August 13, 2008
Copyright © 2008 by Alfred J. Garrotto
by Alfred J. Garrotto
Inspired by a visit to the ancient ruins of Pompei.
A dozen or so bodies have been recovered nearly intact from the
ancient ruins of Pompei (near Naples, Italy). Three are on public
display, encased in plastic for preservation. One touched my
heart in a special way and continues to haunt me--a pregnant
woman who died in an instant face to the earth.
Some background. My wife and I have two daughters whom we
welcomed into our family at pre-school age. We never had a baby
in our family. I never had to change a diaper. Since the birth of
our first grandchild in 2007, I have discoved close-up the marvels
and wonders of new birth, and yes, I've changed a few poopie
diapers, too. I've discovered a wonderous stage of being--infancy--
that I'd never paid attention to before. I've learned the universal
language of new-born life.
Upon meeting this Pompei mother, millenia deceased, we made
a spiritual connection. I had to write about this experience, but I
choked on early prose versions of my story. The only way to
express the moment we had shared was in verse. . . . as follows:
Pompei
August 24, 79 A.D.
It fell so fast
the cloud of death;
no chance for aid—
on stone-laid street
my one last step;
eyes down, face hid,
womb pressed to earth,
brief shield ’gainst fire-
flung stone—a crib
for babe’s long sleep.
Pompei
July 10, 2008 A.D.
I gawk, snap, feel
out of place, no
right to break your
rest; yet I am
slave to your grace.
Was this new life
your first sweet fruit,
love’s best of gifts?
Did some die home,
no mom to hold?
From lava tomb you
rose to see day’s
light and through time’s
thin veil hail my
soul: You know me.
Our tour moves on
to sites fresh dug;
with a glance, I
bid good-bye, carve
you on my heart.
You stir this old
dad’s core, set late
to flame with awe
of new-born life.
I’ll give you voice.
August 13, 2008
Copyright © 2008 by Alfred J. Garrotto
| Did You Know by Mary Ellen Quire Did you see what you did? I did. Even if you didn’t. You told me. Not with words, cheap and meaningless, But with your eyes. Your arms. Your heart. I heard your soul whisper to mine In that subtle way that all souls do. I love you, with everything in me, I love you. Then I wondered Can you see me Like I see you? |
| Vessels by Tina B Tessina (Shaped like a pot or jar) Life is worked On a wheel Sloppy, slippery Formless base clay Rising coaxed, caressed, Coerced and beaten into shape Tested in passion's consuming fire Until worthy to catch and hold A bit of the liquid grace Pouring unceasingly over us. Tina B. Tessina, self-help author, therapist |
Rain-Dancing Away
by Phyllis Jean Green
{{call it an antidote to doin' taxes;)}}
A drop. Two drops. Then the sky lets go.
Air turns to ocean, ocean to refuge.
Umbrella has to go. I drop it in a bin
With an acid-streaked label says H e l
The H meless. Me, I am most at home
When rain is walling. Steady shhhhhhh
Shushes the clamor. My own personal
Cocoon, Quilt great granny stitched
With arthritic fingers, People gave
Her clothes that had seen better days,
And she cut them into triangles, circles,
And squares. Pieced together, they
Told many a tale. Still hear rain make
That unholy racket because the roof
Of her shotgun hovel was tin. Deaf
By fifty, she blamed the sawmill
Down the road a piece that had killed
Her husband, thank-the-Lawd. If rain
Rat-a-tatting on the roof helped, good.
Lot worse things than not hearing folk,
We shared a love of rain, the sunbonnet
Pattern, and quiet. She lost a son to
A forgotten war, Raymond was her first.
Sky, please don’t run out of water,
So good to swim in this warm silver
Sea. To feel my way, you know? To be
A child, unheard and unseen, as I wand
Myself to an angelfish or jump in a puddle
thiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiis biiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiig.
(c) Phyllis Jean Green, April, 2011
by Phyllis Jean Green
{{call it an antidote to doin' taxes;)}}
A drop. Two drops. Then the sky lets go.
Air turns to ocean, ocean to refuge.
Umbrella has to go. I drop it in a bin
With an acid-streaked label says H e l
The H meless. Me, I am most at home
When rain is walling. Steady shhhhhhh
Shushes the clamor. My own personal
Cocoon, Quilt great granny stitched
With arthritic fingers, People gave
Her clothes that had seen better days,
And she cut them into triangles, circles,
And squares. Pieced together, they
Told many a tale. Still hear rain make
That unholy racket because the roof
Of her shotgun hovel was tin. Deaf
By fifty, she blamed the sawmill
Down the road a piece that had killed
Her husband, thank-the-Lawd. If rain
Rat-a-tatting on the roof helped, good.
Lot worse things than not hearing folk,
We shared a love of rain, the sunbonnet
Pattern, and quiet. She lost a son to
A forgotten war, Raymond was her first.
Sky, please don’t run out of water,
So good to swim in this warm silver
Sea. To feel my way, you know? To be
A child, unheard and unseen, as I wand
Myself to an angelfish or jump in a puddle
thiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiis biiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiig.
(c) Phyllis Jean Green, April, 2011
At Summer’s End (A Gardener’s Grace)
By Leann Marshall
Summer sun spears
Sapphire sky
Gardener can’t revive
Exhausted leaves lain down
Nor fault the tease of blossoms spent
False promises of more in kind
How tenderly she steps
With glint of silver vessel
Water pools around her feet
Worm-rich soil drinks in
Sends out earth’s bouquet
Such shame to let them die today
While breezes play from
Nearby meadow-soft
A lullaby
And Sparrow’s song is heard:
This! This! This never was for ever…
Wild vine named Mysterious grows
Knows well this gentle place
In gardener’s mind
So difficult to
Let go all things certain
Hard to find
A Seed of faith within
To brave the end of day
To not be left behind
Still she, once more
At Summer’s last request
Sends up her heart across the sky
And there on Time’s well trodden path
Gives in to prayers of harvest blessed
And all the best
Of days lived, fully given
The grace of acceptance found
In the whisper of flowered curtains
As they close against the night
Of days to come
Moon’s placid face forgiven
By Leann Marshall
Summer sun spears
Sapphire sky
Gardener can’t revive
Exhausted leaves lain down
Nor fault the tease of blossoms spent
False promises of more in kind
How tenderly she steps
With glint of silver vessel
Water pools around her feet
Worm-rich soil drinks in
Sends out earth’s bouquet
Such shame to let them die today
While breezes play from
Nearby meadow-soft
A lullaby
And Sparrow’s song is heard:
This! This! This never was for ever…
Wild vine named Mysterious grows
Knows well this gentle place
In gardener’s mind
So difficult to
Let go all things certain
Hard to find
A Seed of faith within
To brave the end of day
To not be left behind
Still she, once more
At Summer’s last request
Sends up her heart across the sky
And there on Time’s well trodden path
Gives in to prayers of harvest blessed
And all the best
Of days lived, fully given
The grace of acceptance found
In the whisper of flowered curtains
As they close against the night
Of days to come
Moon’s placid face forgiven
| Note: All of these original writings are copyrighted, belong to those who created them, and should not be used in any way without their permission. |
Thanks for visiting Sketch Notes, the
seasonal and creative page of my
personal Website:
http://www.leannmarshall.com
I enjoy reading and writing (check out
my two fiction novels, The Starfish
People and The Rendering.)
I created Sketch Notes as a fun way to
express myself poetically, but I love to
feature other writers' work with a
link back to their own Websites.
Links to Sketch Notes archives are at
right.
My philosophy as quoted by Johann
Wolfgang von Goethe:
"One ought, every day at least, to hear a
little song, read a good poem, see a fine
picture, and, if it were possible, to speak
a few reasonable words.”
Don't forget to bookmark Sketch
Notes, tell your friends, and visit
often!
If you have written something you
would like to see in a future edition of
Sketch Notes, email me.
seasonal and creative page of my
personal Website:
http://www.leannmarshall.com
I enjoy reading and writing (check out
my two fiction novels, The Starfish
People and The Rendering.)
I created Sketch Notes as a fun way to
express myself poetically, but I love to
feature other writers' work with a
link back to their own Websites.
Links to Sketch Notes archives are at
right.
My philosophy as quoted by Johann
Wolfgang von Goethe:
"One ought, every day at least, to hear a
little song, read a good poem, see a fine
picture, and, if it were possible, to speak
a few reasonable words.”
Don't forget to bookmark Sketch
Notes, tell your friends, and visit
often!
If you have written something you
would like to see in a future edition of
Sketch Notes, email me.
| Happy Independence Day! |
