A Week in Pictures and Poetry (Saturday) by Duck Momma

Pictures worth more than a thousand words :

A mother held her new baby and very slowly rocked him back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. And while she held him, she sang: I'll love you forever, I'll like you for always, As long as I'm living my baby you'll be. 

-Robert Munsch

If one feels the need of something grand, something infinite, something that makes one feel aware of God, one need not go far to find it. I think that I see something deeper, more infinite, more eternal than the ocean in the expression of the eyes of a little baby when it wakes in the morning and coos or laughs because it sees the sun shining on its cradle.

-Vincent van Gogh

The  moment a child is born, the mother is also born. She never existed before. The woman existed, but the mother, never. A mother is something absolutely new.

-Rajneesh

A Week in Pictures and Poetry (Friday ) by Duck Momma

An Old Irish Blessing

Go n-éirí an bóthar leat.
Go raibh cóir na gaoithe i gcónaí leat.
Go dtaitní an ghrian go bog bláth ar do chlár éadain,
go dtite an bháisteach go bog mín ar do ghoirt.
Agus go gcasfar le chéile sinn arís, go gcoinní Dia i mbois a láimhe thú.

May the road rise up to meet you. May the wind always be at your back.
May the sun shine warm upon your face,
and rains fall soft upon your fields.
And until we meet again,
May God hold you in the palm of His hand.

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A Week in Pictures and Poetry (Thursday ) by Duck Momma

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim, Because it was grassy and wanted wear; Though as for that the passing there Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay In leaves no step had trodden black. Oh, I kept the first for another day! Yet knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.
-Robert Frost

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A Week in Pictures and Poetry... Wordless Wednesday by Duck Momma

A Week in Pictures and Poetry (Tuesday ) by Duck Momma

See that angel scuffing down the street. With high heeled shoes on tiny feet. Could anybody be so sweet, as pigtails on parade.

She is wearing grandma's wedding gown, with old lace curtains draped around little pigtails on parade.

Her eyes are bright as starlight. Her cheeks like a rose. She thinks she's quite a lady with the powder on her nose.

I bet she's going calling on the neighbors next door. And winds up with a penny for the corner candy store.

I know that soon will come a day, when love will beckon her away. But to me she'll always stay little pigtails on parade.

So play your games this afternoon, for May so quickly turns to June. But darling don't grow up too soon, little pigtails on parade.

- a lullaby sung by my grandpa to my mom, by mom to me, and now by me to my baby.

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A Week in Pictures and Poetry...by Duck Momma

MONDAY

23rd on 12th
Twilight on a quiet street, a mile of color soaked doors salute in the fading sunlight. The setting sun tries its best to compete with the defiant doors. Their battle is true beauty.
But should shaded eyes look closer there is even more. For in the corners stand the shadows of each and every door. And while the colors are at war, the shadows gather all the more.
And what is in these silent sentinels? They are always there to absorb the action of the day, though they hide from the bright sun rays. They quickly grab hold, a passerby, to ride from one post to another. In the early hours they lurk and in dusk they grow, but the night, the night is theirs.
When the doors no more strive to catch one’s eye, the shadows take their hold. They sweep and grasp and cover, the night is theirs to behold. Drinking in, with enthusiasm wild, the world around them, dark and cold.
No longer guarded at restricted posts, they fill the air with their being. Darkened souls and broken angels’ wings, reveling. They know your secrets, and mine as well. The words are no longer ours, but theirs to tell.
But one should not be lost to fret for holding secrets gives them power. They will keep them hidden, ace in sleeve. They can see right through you, hear most inner thoughts.
So should you find yourself on the quiet steps of this gate, marveling at pride and risks taken, be sure there is a shadow near you, waiting to be fed. And should it need a ride from one frame to the next, where I you, I wouldn’t falter, but aid as you are able.
Twilight at 23rd on 12th.

by J.E. Wertenberger 1-22-2009