When Summer, lingering half-forlorn,
On Autumn loves to lean,
And fields of slowly yellowing corn
Are girt by woods still green;
When hazel-nuts wax brown and plump,
And apples rosy-red,
And the owlet hoots from hollow stump,
And the dormouse makes its bed;
from Is Life Worth Living? – by Alfred Austin
This poem brought me back to the delicious summers of my childhood…
If we listened to our intellect, we’d never have a love affair.
We’d never have a friendship. We’d never go into business, because we’d be cynical.
Well, that’s nonsense. You’ve got to jump off cliffs all the time and build your own wings on the way down.
Loving where I’ve landed right now…
The dance can reveal everything mysterious that is hidden in music,
and it has the additional merit of being human and palpable.
Dancing is poetry with arms and legs.
Sometimes you can’t help but dance to the music…
“Pitbull” dominates my fun summer playlist!
First time he kissed me, he but only kissed
The fingers of this hand wherewith I write,
And ever since it grew more clean and white,
Slow to world-greetings, quick with its “O, list,”
When the angels speak. A ring of amethyst
I could not wear here plainer to my sight,
Than that first kiss…
from First time he kissed me by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Grateful for the small yet sacred declarations of love…
This is the beauty I want. Beauty has got to be astonishing, astounding — it’s got to burst in on you like a dream, like the exquisite eyes of a girl.
from F. Scott Fitzgerald, Flappers and Philosophers
The holiday season has arrived. Dressing up for a razzle-dazzle evening…
The stars will be watching us,
and we will show them
what it is to be a thin crescent moon.
You and I unselfed, will be together,
indifferent to idle speculation, you and I.
The parrots of heaven will be cracking sugar
as we laugh together, you and I.
In one form upon this earth,
and in another form in a timeless sweet land.
from A Moment of Happiness by Rumi
I love to linger in our own sweet, sweet world…
Model: Lauren DiMarco
Clutter is the poetry of our homes. it is an intimate view that is not always perfect –
a few dishes in the sink, books piled next to the bed. Everything in its place may give a certain satisfaction, but a lived-in room exudes comfort and warmth.
from A Perfectly Kept House is the Sign of a Misspent Life by Mary Randolph Carter
I love being at home surrounded by the poetry of a well-lived and interesting life.
“be generous” card from Danielle LaPorte.