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"
Thought this one was appropriate to repost with yet another blast of snow forecasted for Western New York tonight and tomorrow; and, also, as I sink further into the sweet lunacy that seems to be unavoidable as I finish a second novel. Apologies for my absence from your blogs – hopefully, soon I will have more free time and mind-energy! Thank you for your patience.
English Robin Copyright by DM Denton
Looking for a little relief.
The pot is cracked from the cold,
the lavender scented like summer;
spring bulbs show impatience
while knowing they must wait.
Going through letters from England, now to myself, I found some further thoughts on my three journeys to Ireland that took me halfway home but all the way to where I needed to be.
Copyright 2012 by DM Denton
♣ A spring Sunday in Dublin, Christ’s little brides happy to celebrate with a meal at McDonalds
♣ From coast to coast, covered in cowslips and folksongs
♣ Not a limerick heard, not even in its place where we stayed to hear a harp’s angel
♣ Bumping along in coaches with windows steamed and destinations , like the weather, constantly changing
♣ The mystery of alpine flowers on the Burren’s stony paradise
♣ Orchids not for picking
♣ Layers of streets, a lunch of mussels and beer, and buying old postcards in Galway
♣ Thoughts swept away by the cliffs of Moher
♣ Secluded coves with sandy beaches
♣ The mile long dream of Dingle, being Ryan’s daughter, tea with Peggy and tales of Gregory Peck
♣ Shrine at Slea head, the edge of the world
♣ A ring in Kerry that never broke its promise
♣ Starlings descending on Killarney
♣ Muckross magic in mossy woods, botanical gardens, mist shrouded mountains and mirror-clear lakes
♣ Rhododendrons and fuchsias wilder than anywhere else would allow
♣ The meeting of the waters and differing reasons for being there
♣ Miles and miles of freedom on a bicycle
♣ Airy woods of oak and ash and silver birch, feathery fern, lichen dripping and moss imagining a smaller world
♣ Fields of gorse and heather blending yellow and purple
♣ Sunshine and rain breezing in and out, taking turns to create the artist’s view
♣ Water, water everywhere, all around and in-between
♣ Sudden cascades and corners of serenity
♣ Train station benches turned for looking the other way
♣ A cottage for a week, stray cats at the door, peat burning slowly and sweetly, wild mushrooms and blackberries for breakfast, lunch and dinner
Copyright 2012 by DM Denton
♣ A thousand welcomes from new friends who would never be old
♣ Not a day or night without a smile and a song
♣ So much more to remember than forget
And so I return, again and again.
And as a bonus, from St. Patrick’s ‘Breastplate’ Prayer:
I bind unto myself today
The virtues of the starlit heaven,
The glorious sun’s life-giving ray,
The whiteness of the moon at even,
The flashing of the lightning free,
The whirling wind’s tempestuous shocks,
The stable earth, the deep salt sea,
Around the old eternal rocks.
We are celebrating with another blessed day together and dinner of shrimp cocktails, homemade ricotta-gnocchi and carrot cake! Mom prefers to stay home, surrounded by views of our lingering winter and the ever-pleasurable antics and unconditional love of our five kitty-boys.
Many of you know that she is a talented artist, as I have shared her paintings here before.
And, so, that is how I celebrate her 85th birthday with those of you who have wandered this way.
Once upon a time
I planned to be an artist
A song I thought to write one day
and all the world with homage pay.
I longed to write a noble book,
but what I did–
was learn to cook.
For life with simple tasks is filled,
and I have done not what
Written by my mom, June, in her journal, 1985
Her poem speaks to the sacrifices I know she has made, but does not do justice to the fullness, intelligence, creativity and importance of her life.
You can discover a little more about my mom through two short stories I’ve written based on her childhood memories. She is a wealth of fascinating memories, which I’m sure will continue to inspire me, especially as I know how much it means to her when they do. The Snow White Gift and The Library Next Door are available in Kindle editions Remember you don’t need a Kindle device to read them – there’s an app for that!