Nightfall Song
By Arthur Stilwell
Night chases home the last rapscallions
Of light, that lagged behind for one stolen game
Of hide and seek peeped athwart distant hills,
Until door slams on last reluctant imp,
And mother darkness cradles earth and sky
In her soft-flung embrace of downy gloom;
Then the firmament parasols its stars,
Such crowds of pure, benedictory sparks,
Who dare doubt prayers become sky emeralds;
Next all-caressing moon melts lustrous ore
Upon sweet-silvered realms of fields and trees.
And I, fleeting perishable atomy,
Gazing at these shows imperishable,
(Earth's co-passengers since its darkling birth),
Feel connected with the first tottering man,
Who beheld with awe this same happening,
And the uncertain creature eons hence,
Who'll stare amazement at its replica;
For a moment we three unknowns have dwelt
Together, blessed each other's softened heart.
Published Western People
Wednesday, April 23, 2014
Tuesday, April 22, 2014
Monday, April 21, 2014
Friday, April 18, 2014
Saturday, April 12, 2014
Friday, April 11, 2014
Monday, April 7, 2014
Sonnet: Look!
Sonnet: Look!
By Arthur Stilwell
The reluctant east graduals into light,
Morning's cheeks blush gently, high tops of trees
Receive the sun's first kiss, and stand at ease
While that soft embrace slides down warm and bright,
Nothing now remains of dimness or night,
All things are moving, leaves and grain, new breeze
Whose scents the early-morning people please,
Paint-box butterflies glint uncertain flight;
Such shows befriend us. But much intervenes:
We live inwardness, seek busy self-ends,
Scrabble like rats in mazes and routines,
Till on such things our main life depends.
Let not winter make you cry, What've I seen?
What have I felt? In what world have I been?
Published in Western People, Saskatoon
By Arthur Stilwell
The reluctant east graduals into light,
Morning's cheeks blush gently, high tops of trees
Receive the sun's first kiss, and stand at ease
While that soft embrace slides down warm and bright,
Nothing now remains of dimness or night,
All things are moving, leaves and grain, new breeze
Whose scents the early-morning people please,
Paint-box butterflies glint uncertain flight;
Such shows befriend us. But much intervenes:
We live inwardness, seek busy self-ends,
Scrabble like rats in mazes and routines,
Till on such things our main life depends.
Let not winter make you cry, What've I seen?
What have I felt? In what world have I been?
Published in Western People, Saskatoon
Sunday, April 6, 2014
R.I.P. John Pinette
He was so funny, was on Broadway, had amazing vocal talents.
He never did the urbane, ideological, pornified nastiness and vulgarity so common among comedians who believe themselves to be subversive geniuses.
He kept it light. And from that particular center he could be so damn funny.
Saturday, April 5, 2014
Friday, April 4, 2014
Thursday, April 3, 2014
Monkey Puzzle IV!
Those three different sprouts between the monkey puzzle seeds in the last two pictures are apple seeds.
Oh, and Urban Huntress has a great post on monkey puzzle nuts/seeds, replete with an interesting recipe.
Wednesday, April 2, 2014
Tuesday, April 1, 2014
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