Sunday, July 24, 2016

How Does Your Garden Grow?

As a little girl, I loved to read Nursery Rhymes.  One of my favorites was, Mary, Mary Quiet Contrary.  

When I asked my mother what contrary meant, she explained that it was a word used to describe someone who didn't do things the way everyone else did.  I liked that idea!  Being contrary meant you could be different.

As the years passed, I realized that Mary was being hard to get along with, she simply wanted a garden that grew wild and free.  No neat rows and carefully coiffed hedges for her!

Inspired, my garden is a WILD-erness, too!  Here are some pictures to brighten your day, along with the poem.


Mary, Mary, quiet contrary
How does your garden grow?
With cockershells and silverbells,
And pretty maids all in a row.





 

Sunday, July 3, 2016

Ruminating on Summer




On this July 4th weekend, I have waxed nostalgic. Thinking of summers past, I decided to share some "summer poems."  Enjoy!

Wet Cement 

The hellacious heat of summer cooked us 
as we sat in the shade of curtained rooms. 

The rumblings of thunder could be heard 
far away, like an oncoming train that is heard 
long before it arrives, rattling into a station. 

The air sat heavy on us, except when the fan, 
positioned to blow like a zephyr back and forth, 
happened to kiss our salt-laden skin. 

Suddenly, light exploded outside the window 
open to emit the tiniest relief from the building heat. 

One by one, they come, loosed from clouds –

We peek out the windowed shelter like hunters, 
peering through the blind, waiting for the flock to land. 

In moments, the streets become alive with the sound of 
thousands of tiny fairy feet kissing the scalding concrete.

The magic of their dance immediately brings appeasement. 

We breathe deeply the scent of summer’s storm, then run 
to stand among the water fairies, letting them caress 
our summer-baked flesh, soaking us with life. 

© 2014 Linda M. Rhinehart Neas

THE COTTAGE 

Squeals of laughter used to vibrate 
through the rooms, as summer 
built on summer. Now, 
sighs of onshore winds escape 
through broken windows. 

Sandy feet once scrambled 
across the floors, as summer 
built on summer. Now, 
sand exfoliates paint and vanish,
revealing bones long forgotten. 

Families came, repeatedly 
filling the house, as summer 
built on summer. Now, 
bats and birds gather 
within the empty shell.

 © 2013 Linda M. Rhinehart Neas
 
In Case of Emptiness 

fill up - 

Fill up on the glory of a sunrise, 
allowing the gold and peach to melt into your soul. 

Fill up with laughter, 
giggling, guffawing with young and old alike. 

Fill up on the scent of flowers, 
breathing in the sweet reminder of summer's glory. 

Fill up with song, 
humming, whistling with utter abandon. 

In case of emptiness, 
fill up! 

© 2013 Linda M. Rhinehart Neas