Historical and Literary Fiction / Essays / Poetry / Reviews /Book Cover and Interior Illustrations / Pet Portraits and Other Commissioned Artwork … "Prose may be the lowest order of the rhythmic composition, but we know it is capable of such purity, sweetness, strength, elasticity, as entitle it to a place as a sister art with poetry." Thomas Hall Caine (1853 -1931) from his firsthand "Reflections of Dante Gabriel Rossetti"
Many suggestions for the derivation of the name “foxglove” have been proffered:
… it seems quite probable that the shape of the flowers suggested the idea of a glove, and that associated with the name of the botanist Fuchs, who first gave it a botanical name, may have been easily corrupted into foxglove. It happens, moreover, the name foxglove is a very ancient one and exists in a list of plants as old as the time of Edward III. The “folks” of our ancestors were the fairies and nothing is more likely than that the pretty coloured bells of the plant would be designated “folksgloves,” afterwards, “foxglove.” In Wales it is declared to be a favourite lurking-place of the fairies, who are said to occasion a snapping sound when children, holding one end of the digitalis bell, suddenly strike the other on the hand to hear the clap of fairy thunder, with which the indignant fairy makes her escape from her injured retreat. In south of Scotland it is called “bloody fingers” more northward, “deadman’s bells” whilst in Wales it is known as “fairy-folks-fingers” or “lambs-tongue-leaves”.
This week I am reposting a poem from last summer. One of the reasons is that I have received the edit of my novel from my publisher and am working on the revisions, which hasn’t left time for doing any new writing or painting. (This is also the reason I am behind on your posts. Please forgive my seeming absence over the next few weeks; know that I “am around” although I may not leave comments, or if I do, very brief ones. Your understanding is appreciated.)
The other reason for the repost is that…
Copyright 2012 by DM Denton
…for over two years we have had a stray cat visiting us, at times on a daily basis, at least a few times a week. I put dried food and water out in case he came when I wasn’t home or just didn’t see him, and would give him “the good stuff” (as my mom called wet/canned cat food) whenever I realized he was visiting. We eventually named him “Sunny” because, winter and summer (as long as it wasn’t too hot), he loved to nap in the sun, whether in our driveway or flowerbeds or on the woodpiles. Well, we haven’t seen him for almost two weeks (and neither has my neighbor who also fed him) and are beginning to fear that something has happened to him. Last summer he would sleep on the seat in the arbor we have in our garden, mostly in the evening, shaded by an ever-enlarging trumpet vine, and so I wrote the poem below. I offer it again in tribute to this lovely vagabond who would let me touch his nose only, but who touched our hearts with his patience and struggles and gentle spirit. Hopefully, he will turn up again.
I walk around with my camera
catching the moments
before I simply let them go; the choice isn’t mine
though I like to think it is
so I might yet be
of the creator.
A brave butterfly in mourning coat
marooned in full flight,
spotted blue and fading yellow,
posing ragged wings,
as if inviting the chance
of my noticing
quickly passing too.
Cone flowers forming tall umbrellas
under the noon sun,
folding down, pretending homage
to hybrid lilies,
crowded buds swelling into
candy cane colors
to make most
merry in July.
And a straying friend curled beneath
soundless orange trumpets,
his sleepy eyes wondering what
might yet be taken
as I hold him in my view,
and every moment
that he is not mine.
As I enter the second year of sharing my poetry, prose and artwork, I also want my site to highlight the special creative community that it has connected me to. I read this beautiful poem by Caddo Veil, which sings of sweetness and reverence for the ‘smallest’ among us, and immediately knew it had to be my first reblog!