Ode To a Fairy Wood Beyond the Graveyard

Beyond the graveyard rests a quiet wood
That in the day is still except a stream
Spilling lithely o’er smooth glist’ning pebbles.
Here and there broad footstones mark the path
From daylight to the place where elf-folk play
Lit by soft moonshine ‘neath a fairy oak.
Many a night this sylvan maid joined in
Revelries of dance with nymph and dryad,
Loving the woodland home near as her own.
But youth in time is seized upon by age
And fairy woods where oft’ the maiden strolled
Calls stronger to her own small tow-head sprites.
And sylvan mother treads more slowly now
To honor sleeping souls laid here to rest,
Who walked the fairy trail long years ago;
Mere infants drawn to fay and make-believe.
But stepping ‘neath the leaves time bids farewell;
Twilights filled with child-joys come racing back.
And mother calls to willow o’ th’ wisp,
As little ones step stones to fairyland.

R. A. Wittum
July 2010

Reading the master bard this week...

Sonnet 29
When, in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes,
I all alone beweep my outcast state
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries
And look upon myself and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featured like him, like him with friends possess'd,
Desiring this man's art and that man's scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least;
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,
Haply I think on thee, and then my state,
Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate;
     For thy sweet love remember'd such wealth brings
     That then I scorn to change my state with kings.

I have relished in reading Shakespeare for class this week...I never miss a chance to enjoy such classics...or a chance to respond in sonnet :) So just for fun, here's my contribution to class discussion on Shakespeare and human nature, by way of an ode to the bard himself, enjoy!

Full many a ponderous work of art I’ve read
From poets lauding life and love and dame,
But the man, the master here with insight led
Birthing poems of human heart untame,
Plunging to dark depths wherein truth doth lie,
Spinning woeful tales of vanity arrayed,
Stripped of throne and mind, then left to die;
Or else compare thee to summers day,
When Juliet fair sun through window yon
Doth lay her Romeo upon her cheek;
Ay me! Romeo in grief sees no more dawn,
And neither she whose love did faithf’ly seek.
     Who else like Shakespeare plumbs human nature,
     Baring hearts, not sparing earthly stature.

~ R.A. Wittum :)

Poetry Wednesday

On a day when I am uncommonly aware of noses...

My children are home from school today using an extraordinary amount of tissue to blow and wipe and sneeze. I don't usually think much about noses, but today, I thought this poem would be fun to read with my kids:


Be Glad Your Nose is on Your Face

Be glad your nose is on your face,
not pasted on some other place,
for if it were where it is not,
you might dislike your nose a lot.

Imagine if your precious nose
were sandwiched in between your toes,
that clearly would not be a treat,
for you'd be forced to smell your feet.

Your nose would be a source of dread
were it attached atop your head,
it soon would drive you to despair,
forever tickled by your hair.

Within your ear, your nose would be
an absolute catastrophe,
for when you were obliged to sneeze,
your brain would rattle from the breeze.

Your nose, instead, through thick and thin,
remains between your eyes and chin,
not pasted on some other place--
be glad your nose is on your face!

Jack Prelutsky

Poetry Wednesday: a hobbling start...

I scoured my poetry books for a favorite to initiate my entrance into this Poetry Wednesday circle. My children had been absently tucked into bed, shuffled off to read and fall asleep. And I settled myself into a comfy place to consider this post. I won't attempt a lengthy prose tonight. I am tired and stillness seems more fitting at this moment. But I will suffice to say that two sets of little girl feet incessently made their way down the steps steeling into my quiet space for their typical delay schemes. Waining patience was the theme of our discourse. And admittedly, I did not feel quite as set on high and lofty poetry after sending my girls off with short words and tears to wet their pillows. We are all in need of a fresh start, a new morning.

Tonight I'll share again a poem written by my daughter, Sophie, on a night similar to this one.

My Mother

My mother puts me
in her warm hands
and I smile.
I love her
more than the world.

She is the one
with the warm smile
always on her face.

She is the one
to smile deeply
until you
smile deeply too.

I hug her
and she hugs me back.
I feel as if
there was magic
in the air,
and there is;
it is the magic
of love

Sophia, age 8



Here's to teacher as student, mother as child. And tender, returning hearts.

Poetry Wednesday