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.
Filigree de la Lune
By Phyllis Jean Green
A long, light rain crochets a shawl
half mist and half silver that proves
large enough for the moon to don as a cloak.
I feel relieved when clouds gather to add a hood
as I slip out of my house and wrap myself
in matching pools of shadow. Cicadas are playing
bad bluegrass, and I surprise myself by smiling.
Helps that my favorite oak appears to be admiring
the way the two working yardlights filigree
its drought-compromised leaves. “Here,”
it whispers. “Dry your tears on the lace just fell
on my foot. Damp, but it’s all I have to offer.”
I’m bending for it when I hear my labs click
across gravel, then up the rough plank walk
I managed to jury-rig. Cocoa turns and grins.
“All right,” I grump as they dance a jig sprays
water in all directions. “Good we’re drip-dry,
isn’t it.” Two lead me in, wagging their tails
like maniacs. We decide to ignore a moth
that probably thinks it is pulling a fast one.
Mutts gulp Milkbone, then hit the sack.
I microwave a cup of Celestial Seasons zinger
and sip it by a window while I wait for the moon
to finish shedding its hooded, cloud-colored cloak
and help light my way between my nightmare
and the good dream I hope is in store.
Really lucky, moonlight will gently bathe.
(c) Phyllis Jean Green
2011
Come Share My Nova Scotia Autumn
By Felix Perry
The Nova Scotia landscape is to admire
With colours only God could create
The countryside’s open to travel
It’s a perfection I can’t overate
The harvest has been taken to market
All the farmers can finally sit down
The church bells toll in the valley
There’s a baked bean supper in town
A feint scent of wood smoke lingers
Mixed with the aroma of fresh apple pie
I really do love Nova Scotia in autumn
I’m sure you can easily see why…
A new lobster season just started
I see the little boats bob on the bay
Sea birds squawk at each other
Perhaps jealous of the seals at play
Take my hand and we’ll stroll together
On a lane of kaleidoscope views
Oh my gosh was that the first snowflake
Kiss me then we’ll go spread the news….
By Felix Perry
The Nova Scotia landscape is to admire
With colours only God could create
The countryside’s open to travel
It’s a perfection I can’t overate
The harvest has been taken to market
All the farmers can finally sit down
The church bells toll in the valley
There’s a baked bean supper in town
A feint scent of wood smoke lingers
Mixed with the aroma of fresh apple pie
I really do love Nova Scotia in autumn
I’m sure you can easily see why…
A new lobster season just started
I see the little boats bob on the bay
Sea birds squawk at each other
Perhaps jealous of the seals at play
Take my hand and we’ll stroll together
On a lane of kaleidoscope views
Oh my gosh was that the first snowflake
Kiss me then we’ll go spread the news….
Here We Go Again By Leann Marshall There’s no use telling Autumn To hold her temper Everything’s due at once To paint the town red is what she’s for Leaves off, Fly like confetti Like bills due Branches click like hungry teeth Clamoring to be fed As brisk wind blows through the door Flaxen, Sun glows Lower in the sky Portent for what's in store Raven, clinging to her shoulder Shrieks commands And not so much as One good “Nevermore!” |
Autumn has always been my favorite season. I LIKE the
cooler nights, the days of golden sun. I LIKE the colorful
leaves falling all around and the pungent smell of the earth as
it changes. I've heard some people say, "But it reminds me of
death..." But I don't think of it that way at all. I think of
renewal and the part this season plays in all of that, of the
fresh perspective and inevitable boost of energy after the long
languid summer.
In any case, this month's Sketch Notes is a little fun and a
little serious, too. This new season inspires a variety of
thoughts for each writer, and I find that totally fascinating.
You will too, so grab a mug of spiced cider, relax for a bit
and read on.
Happy Autumn!
~Leann
cooler nights, the days of golden sun. I LIKE the colorful
leaves falling all around and the pungent smell of the earth as
it changes. I've heard some people say, "But it reminds me of
death..." But I don't think of it that way at all. I think of
renewal and the part this season plays in all of that, of the
fresh perspective and inevitable boost of energy after the long
languid summer.
In any case, this month's Sketch Notes is a little fun and a
little serious, too. This new season inspires a variety of
thoughts for each writer, and I find that totally fascinating.
You will too, so grab a mug of spiced cider, relax for a bit
and read on.
Happy Autumn!
~Leann
Special Gift from God
By Ann Marquette
Inspired by this work of art:
"Voices of Time" By Michael Cox
There was a man and woman, each in their own worlds unknown to each other. Their lives had
been filled with many blessings, and some troubled times.
Each found themselves in a space of solitude…a time for reflection, for grieving, for closing
doors to the past, to cleansing their hearts and spirits.
One day they realized the dark clouds in their lives were breaking up and drifting off. They
began to see God’s glorious sunlight peaking through and revealing a beautiful sight.
Each of them was living on opposite sides of a rocky landscape that circled a beautiful pool of
water. Their homes were simple structures with only columns holding up the roofs. There were
no walls. It seemed symbolic as they were tearing down the walls they had built around their
hearts.
They woke one morning to the sound of birds singing and soaring overhead. They looked out to
see two trees that had come alive with their white blossoms of spring.
So many times, up to this point, they had the feeling that someone special was nearby. On this
morning, with the darkness gone, the light shining, the birds singing, they each stand and look
across the pool of water and see there is someone on the other side.
At first there is surprise, then a few moments of trepidation. Then…there is the moment of
recognition, a feeling of peaceful joy within, and excitement. They are eager to meet, to talk,
to walk together.
They both turn at the same time and see a structure similar to theirs on a lower portion of the
rocky landscape which looks out over the ocean. There seems to be a light glowing from within.
At the same time, they each begin to descend the steps of their own space and take the journey
through the rocky landscape to meet at the place by the ocean. Occasionally they stumble along
the way, but eagerly continue in order to meet face to face.
They arrive at the same time, but having to ascend the structure’s steps at opposite sides. There
is a small fire glowing inside, the flames very low but constant. They come closer, each reaching
out a hand which they accept…quietly, in awe, and joy. As their hands touch, their hearts soar
as if in flight. Yet, as they accept and hold each other’s hand they feel as if they have landed
together safely, softly, securely.
No words are spoken yet. But, as they look out at the calm waters of the great ocean, they know
in their hearts they are meant to be together…that this is just the beginning of their dreams. Their
spirits soar with happiness beyond imagination, and thankfulness for…
God’s great gift of each other.
Written October 9, 2004
By Ann Marquette
Inspired by this work of art:
"Voices of Time" By Michael Cox
There was a man and woman, each in their own worlds unknown to each other. Their lives had
been filled with many blessings, and some troubled times.
Each found themselves in a space of solitude…a time for reflection, for grieving, for closing
doors to the past, to cleansing their hearts and spirits.
One day they realized the dark clouds in their lives were breaking up and drifting off. They
began to see God’s glorious sunlight peaking through and revealing a beautiful sight.
Each of them was living on opposite sides of a rocky landscape that circled a beautiful pool of
water. Their homes were simple structures with only columns holding up the roofs. There were
no walls. It seemed symbolic as they were tearing down the walls they had built around their
hearts.
They woke one morning to the sound of birds singing and soaring overhead. They looked out to
see two trees that had come alive with their white blossoms of spring.
So many times, up to this point, they had the feeling that someone special was nearby. On this
morning, with the darkness gone, the light shining, the birds singing, they each stand and look
across the pool of water and see there is someone on the other side.
At first there is surprise, then a few moments of trepidation. Then…there is the moment of
recognition, a feeling of peaceful joy within, and excitement. They are eager to meet, to talk,
to walk together.
They both turn at the same time and see a structure similar to theirs on a lower portion of the
rocky landscape which looks out over the ocean. There seems to be a light glowing from within.
At the same time, they each begin to descend the steps of their own space and take the journey
through the rocky landscape to meet at the place by the ocean. Occasionally they stumble along
the way, but eagerly continue in order to meet face to face.
They arrive at the same time, but having to ascend the structure’s steps at opposite sides. There
is a small fire glowing inside, the flames very low but constant. They come closer, each reaching
out a hand which they accept…quietly, in awe, and joy. As their hands touch, their hearts soar
as if in flight. Yet, as they accept and hold each other’s hand they feel as if they have landed
together safely, softly, securely.
No words are spoken yet. But, as they look out at the calm waters of the great ocean, they know
in their hearts they are meant to be together…that this is just the beginning of their dreams. Their
spirits soar with happiness beyond imagination, and thankfulness for…
God’s great gift of each other.
Written October 9, 2004
Autumns Majesty
by MaryGrace Patterson
Once again fall has arrived. In some places, the
countryside is aflame with vibrant colored leaves...
Autumns splender spreads across
the land, over every hill and dale
It's a part of fall which touches
my heart and always does prevail
Come walk with me in the woodland scene
where vibrant colors mark the way,
to autumns majesty on many a fall day
Vivid colours of painted leaves
spill across the country side
Golden oak and flaming maple
add fullfillment to the beholders eye
It's a part of nature's beauty
which beckons to one and all,
As they enjoy autumns brightly
painted quilt which is a part of fall
What Happened to Polite?
By Phyllis Jean Green
“Common courtesy.” If ever there was a time when it is needed, it is now. Yet I can’t
remember
the last time I heard anyone use the expression. Could it be that courtesy has become
uncommon?
Things seem to be headed that way, and it scares me.
No one likes a hypocrite, but when did we throw baby out with the bathwater? Never
that I know of did politeness cause a motorist to become so enraged, somebody ended up
in the hospital or the morgue. How many murders and suicides could be prevented by the
simple measure of being courteous? How many fights would it prevent? Would
domestic abuse be at an all-time high if family members
thought before they spoke and kept their voices down?
I maintain that it is not a big stretch to suggest that we could prevent wars by being
considerate.
Sound naive? Think about it. How do you like it when someone gives you the finger as
they pass you
on the freeway or turns and scowls because you step back into place in a line that you had
to step out of for a moment? How does it make you feel when someone shoves you or
posts crude comments about you on the internet? I realize there are people who claim to
laugh things like those
off, but it better than an even bet that they harbor resentment. That sooner or later, it is
going to
build to the point they feel compelled to respond. Way battles begin!
Some consider etiquette classist. It is not. It developed out of necessity. Battered and
bloodied by constant fighting, it suddenly dawned that insults caused nothing but trouble.
Who wouldn’t retaliate? Hitting someone with a rock or a club or a razor-sharp word was
not only dangerous, but stupid. “I don’t know about you, but I am tired of always having
to watch my back. Gotta be a better way. Talking nice couldn’t hurt. Help to have a few
guidelines.”
Lot of problems in this world. Bad blood, turf in dispute, seemingly unhealable wounds. I
do not for a minute mean to suggest solutions will come easy. All I am saying is, we need
treat one another with respect. Put the “common” back in courtesy! Cuts down on
drama, good! This isn’t a reality show, it is Life. A good start would be to agree on a
few simple rules of discourse. Always be hold-outs, but we can’t afford to let them drag
us down to their level. I would go so far as to say that it is a matter of life or death.
Let’s try to pattern our behavior after that of spiritual leaders like Mohandas Gandhi,
Jesus Christ, and Martin Luther King, Jr., not tantrum-throwing 3-year-olds and power-
hungry dictators.
If you can find the time, let me know your reaction. It would be great to get a dialogue
going.
“His” Time
By Felix LeRoy Perry
A grave yard down by the old church
Quaint seaside village without a name
“His” headstone now lays long forgotten
Oér bones of the spirit with no shame
Full moon highlights evil, deep shadows
Skeletal hand “He” reaches from dead
It’s said once a year Satan blesses a sinner
Allows him rise from “His” earthen bed
Even bats and black cats are all weary
Witches and werewolves scatter away
“He” still smells of sulphuric brimstone
On this vile night it’s his turn to play
Now the dearly departed are restless
Afraid for all their living next of kin
Their dust swirls in eddies around them
They know “He” was ordained in sin
“He” hunts alone through the mean streets
Where his hunger he is hoping to sate
In an alley he finds his first unwitting host
A reveller drunk and out much to late
The screams echo over the small town
Not one brave heart will go to explore
They might have been children’s stories
But mind and soul won’t let them ignore
Once, twice three souls are a blessing
Licks his lips as dark first turns to light
“He” returns to “His”| bed neath the
headstone
To rest again until next Halloween night…
By Felix LeRoy Perry
A grave yard down by the old church
Quaint seaside village without a name
“His” headstone now lays long forgotten
Oér bones of the spirit with no shame
Full moon highlights evil, deep shadows
Skeletal hand “He” reaches from dead
It’s said once a year Satan blesses a sinner
Allows him rise from “His” earthen bed
Even bats and black cats are all weary
Witches and werewolves scatter away
“He” still smells of sulphuric brimstone
On this vile night it’s his turn to play
Now the dearly departed are restless
Afraid for all their living next of kin
Their dust swirls in eddies around them
They know “He” was ordained in sin
“He” hunts alone through the mean streets
Where his hunger he is hoping to sate
In an alley he finds his first unwitting host
A reveller drunk and out much to late
The screams echo over the small town
Not one brave heart will go to explore
They might have been children’s stories
But mind and soul won’t let them ignore
Once, twice three souls are a blessing
Licks his lips as dark first turns to light
“He” returns to “His”| bed neath the
headstone
To rest again until next Halloween night…
| Important Note: All of the original writings and photos are copyrighted, belong to those who created them, and should not be used in any way without their permission. |
The Visitors
October 16, 2010
by Ann Marquette
Image via Wikipedia
Getting ready for Halloween. Read this to the children, or just enjoy it yourself.
***************************
They come in the night, but only once a year…for Halloween.
In Old Ireland…it all began, a long, long time ago, about a century perhaps. It was
almost deserted, the countryside. There was a graveyard very near a small thatched
cottage. It was nighttime the end of October, and Autumn seemed more like Winter. The
rain and wind began their song and dance as the pitch black of the night descended. The
only light in the surrounding countryside came from the little fire and two candles burning
in the tiny cottage. Father settled in his chair in front of the warm crackling fire, with his
corncob pipe. Mother was there too, mending old clothes. The children were playing
and whispering together. The boy, six years old, had fair hair and deep penetrating blue
eyes that never said what was lurking in the mind behind them. He was very intelligent,
but didn’t talk much except with his sister. She was five, with brownish hair and dark
brown eyes that seemed to look into your very soul. She too was very smart, but more
outgoing than her brother was. Their Father was the keeper of the graveyard, and also
the one who dug the graves. The relatives of those buried there lived rather far away and
were not able to visit the cemetery very often, or at all. So, it was up to this quiet gentle
man to look after the place. The children would go there often to play. Sometimes they
seemed to be talking to other people, but no one else could be seen. Mother was a
quiet, soft-spoken woman. She took care of the family and home. What else was there
to do in this lovely, but deserted part of the country. Just as on other nights, they
gathered around the fire after dinner. They would take turns telling stories or just talking
about their day. This particular night Father was telling one of his favorite stories…from
the old days! Suddenly, there came a sound, then another, and another. It sounded like
voices, but very distant, very hushed…and very, very eerie. They all heard it, but would
not let each other know they heard it. Father stopped his storytelling only a
moment…almost like a brief pause. Until…each time it became a little louder and closer.
They looked at each other, especially mother and father. They began to shiver with the
cold increasing beyond normal. With a shrug, Father said “its just the rain and wind
talking to each other.” But, then it came even closer, louder…more distinct, like voices,
talking, then screeching, kind of a crying howling sound. The silence in the little cottage
was sudden and tense. The sound, noises, voices…whatever they were, were so
frightening and kept getting louder and closer. Father thought to himself “maybe I should
board up the windows and block the door.” Mother, to herself, “I should blow out the
candles and maybe the darkness will make them go away.” Then they heard voices,
saying “Don’t lock us out, and blowing out the candles won’t do any good. What about
the fire? We could still find you anyway.” They all heard it and began to shake with fear
as a knock, and another knock, and another was heard at the front door. They sat there
frozen, looking at each other, when a voice said, “please, let us in!” No answer came so
the voice said it again “let us in.” Well, the Father, thinking this whole thing very silly,
finally rose slowly and went to the door. From where the mother and children sat in front
of the fireplace they could see just what father saw when he, slowly and cautiously,
opened the door. The visions were that of human shapes, but very very strange and
spooky indeed. The visions all spoke very slowly and distant like “give us something to
eat.” “Who are you and where do you come from?” asked Father. In unison again, they
said, “we have come a long journey, but not far away.” This didn’t seem to make much
sense, but everyone was in such shock. Mother asked, “what do you want?”“ We want
something to eat. If we don’t get something nice to eat, we will do things you won’t like.
If you give us good things to eat, we will go away and not bother you.” Mother decided
to put out all the lovely things she spent the day baking and hoped it would satisfy them
so they would go away. After what seemed a very long time, but in fact was only a few
minutes, they had finished every last morsel. The strange beings began to leave. But, as
they were going out the door they said “That was very nice, so we will be here again
same time next year and every year forever after.” They left so suddenly, and the silence
was so deafening it was like they’d never been there. Mother would have thought she’d
been dreaming except all the goodies she had baked all day were gone…not a crumb
left. Father also thought he imagined it all. The children however, knew all along what
was happening as it had been planned all day. The Visitors were their friends, the ones
they talked to in the cemetery. The brother and sister had told their friends of mother
baking all the goodies that day, and decided to play a trick on her and Father. That night
was October 31, midnight. And, every year after that they came. Mother and Father
never knew the truth…although, I’m sure they do now. But, the children had continued
the traditional even after Mother and Father died, and taught their children to do the
same. Their children passed it on down the line through the generations. After the first
year the Visitors told others and the group of visitors grew each year, so more and more
homes were needed to treat them. Now when you hear strange sounds on Halloween
night, and you think it’s the usual neighborhood ghosts and goblins, you may be
right…so don’t forget those goodies, or else…
