The Watered Lilies

Poetry Monday


The Watered Lily's

The MASTER stood in His garden,
Among the lilies fair,
Which His own right hand had planted,
And trained with tend’rest care.

He looked at their snowy blossoms,
And marked with observant eye
That the flowers were sadly drooping,
For their leaves were parched and dry.



“My lilies need to be watered,”
The Heavenly Master said;
“Wherein shall I draw it for them,
And raise each drooping head?”

Close to his feet on the pathway,
Empty, and frail, and small,
An earthen vessel was lying,
Which seemed no use at all;

But the Master saw, and raised it
From the dust in which it lay,
And smiled, as He gently whispered,
“This shall do My work today:

“It is but an earthen vessel,
But it lay so close to Me;
It is small, but it is empty—
That is all it needs to be.”

So to the fountain He took it,
And filled it full to the brim;
How glad was the earthen vessel
To be of some use to Him!

He poured forth the living water
Over His lilies fair,
Until the vessel was empty,
And again He filled it there.

He watered the drooping lilies
Until they revived again;
And the Master saw with pleasure
That His labor had not been vain.

His own hand had drawn the water
Which refreshed the thirsty flowers;
But He used the earthen vessel
To convey the living showers.

And to itself it whispered,
As He laid it aside once more,
“Still will I lie in His pathway,
Just where I did before.

“Close would I keep to the Master,
Empty would I remain,
And perhaps some day He may use me
To water His flowers again.”

- Author unknown

Messy Room

Poetry Monday

I sometimes think my house is a mess, but I quickly change my mind when I googled "messy room" to find a graphic to join today's poem. I'm in a neat freak in comparison with those rooms!

Messy Room

Whosever room this is should be ashamed!
His underwear is hanging on the lamp.
His raincoat is there in the overstuffed chair,
And the chair is becoming quite mucky and damp.
His workbook is wedged in the window,
His sweater's been thrown on the floor.
His scarf and one ski are beneath the TV,
And his pants have been carelessly hung on the door.
His books are all jammed in the closet,
His vest has been left in the hall.
A lizard named Ed is asleep in his bed,
And his smelly old sock has been stuck to the wall.
Whosever room this is should be ashamed!
Donald or Robert or Willie or--
Huh? You say it's mine? Oh, dear,
I knew it looked familiar!

- Shel Silverstein

A Lady Who Thinks She Is Thirty

Poetry Monday
I love the poems by Ogden Nash as they are full of wit and homour. Seeing as it's my birthday soon this poem seemed appropiate.

A Lady Who Thinks She Is Thirty



Unwillingly Miranda wakes,
Feels the sun with terror,
One unwilling step she takes,
Shuddering to the mirror.

Miranda in Miranda's sight
Is old and gray and dirty;
Twenty-nine she was last night;
This morning she is thirty.

Shining like the morning star,
Like the twilight shining,
Haunted by a calendar,
Miranda is a-pining.

Silly girl, silver girl,
Draw the mirror toward you;
Time who makes the years to whirl
Adorned as he adored you.

Time is timelessness for you;
Calendars for the human;
What's a year, or thirty, to
Loveliness made woman?

Oh, Night will not see thirty again,
Yet soft her wing, Miranda;
Pick up your glass and tell me, then--
How old is Spring, Miranda?

- Ogden Nash

A Day

Poetry Monday

Waking up this mroning just before dawn I witnessed the sunrise which in turn reminded me of this lovely poem by Emily Dickinson :o) What a beautiful way to see the world!

A Day

I'll tell you how the sun rose-
A ribbon at a time.
The Steeples swam amethyst,
The news like squirrels ran.

The hills untied their bonnets,
the bobolinks begun.
Then I said softly to myself,
"That must have been the sun!"

But how he set, I know not.
There seemed a purple stile
Which little yellow boys and girls
Were climbing all the while

Till when they reached the other side,
A dominie in gray
Put gently up the evening bars,
And let the flock away.

- Emily Dickinson

George Who Played With a Dangerour Toy and Suffered a Catastrophe of Considerable Dimensions

Poetry Monday


George Who Played With a Dangerour Toy, and Suffered a Catastrophe of Considerable Dimensions
When George's Grandmamma was told
That George had been as good as Gold,
She Promised in the Afternoon
To buy him an immense BALLOON.
And so she did; but when it came,
It got into the candle flame,
And being of a dangerous sort
Exploded with a Loud Report!
The Lights went out! The Windows broke!
The Room filled with reeking smoke!
And in the darkness shrieks and yells
Were mingled with Electric Bells,
And falling masonry and groans,
And crunching, as of broken bones,
And dreadful shrieks, when, worst of all,
The House itself began to fall!
It tottered, shuddering to and fro,
Then crashed into the street below-
Which happened to be Savile Row.


When Help Arrived, among the Dead
Where cousin Mary, Little Fred,
The Foormen (both of them), the Groom,
The man that cleaned the Billiard-Room,
The Chaplain, and the Still-Room Maid.
And I am dreadfully afraid
That Monsieur Champignon, the Chef,
Will now be permently deaf-
And both his Aides are much the same;
While George, who was in part to blame,
Received, you will regret to hear,
A nasty lump behind his ear.

The moral is that little Boys
Should not be given dangerous Toys.

- Hilaire Belloc
from his book 'Cautionary Tales for Children

On a Night of Snow

Poetry Monday

On a Night of Snow

Cat, if you go outdoors you must walk in the snow.
You will come back with litle white shoes on your feet,
Little white slippers of snow that have heels of sleet.
Stay by the fire, my Cat. Lie still, do not go.
See how the flames are leaping and hissing low,
I will bring you a saucer of milk like a marguerite,
So white and so smooth, so sperical and so sweet-
Stay with me, Cat. Outdoors the wild winds blow.

Outdoors the wild winds blow, Mistress, and dark is the night.
Strange voices cry in the trees, intoning strange lore;
And more than cats move, lit by our eyes' green light,
On silent feet where the meadow grasses hang hoar-
Mistress, there are portents abroad of magic and might,
And things that are yet to be done. Open the door!

by Elizabeth Coatsworth

(illustration by Nicole Wong)

Altar Smoke

Poetry Monday

Altar Smoke

Somewhere inside me
There must always been
A tenderness
For the little, lived-with things
A man crowds upon his worn fistful of earth.
Somewhere inside of me
There must have always been
A love
Made to fill the square aggressiveness of new-cut hedges,
And feed the pursed green mouths of baby leaves;
A love made to understand
The way grass cuddles up to porch steps leaned upon by time,
And why dandelions nudge the stones along the walk;
A love for garden hose curled sleeping in the noon hush,
Coolness trickling lazily from its open mouth,
For shingles starched and saucy in white paint,
And an old rake rusty with dreams of tangled grass and butterflies.
A love
For candle flames, like pointed blossoms on their ghostly stems,
And frost-forets breathing wonder on the parlour windows.
Somewhere inside of me
There must have always been
An altar of hewn stones
Upon which my casts these-
Burnt offerings-
To make a sweet savour
Unto my soul.

Give me the strenght my God,
To scatter fires and tumble the altar stones in confusion;
Give me the strenght to raise my eyes,
So that hard and sharp across my heart
Like shadow cut on mountain rock,
Will fall the agony of sunset-
So that I can see
The laughter of clouds spun into the blue web of infinity,
So that my soul can reach out
And melt in the sweep forever
Above all these.

- Rosalie Grayer

An Introduction to Dogs

Poetry Monday

An Introduction to Dogs
The dog is man's best friend.
He has a tail on on end.
Up in front he has teeth.
And four legs underneath.

Dogs like to bark.
They like it best fatre dark.
They not only frighten prowlers away
But also hold the sandman away.

A dog indoors
To be let out implores.
You let him out and what then?
He wants back in again.

Dogs display reluctance and wrath
If you try to give him a bath.
They bury bones in hideaways
And half the time they trot sideways.

They cheer up people who are frowning,
And rescue people who are drowning.
They also track mud on beds,
And chew people's clothes to shreds.

Dogs in the country are fun.
They run and run and run.
But in the city this species
Is dragged around on leashes.

Dogs are upright as a steeple
And much more loyal than people.

Ogden Nash

I Remember I Remember

Poetry Monday

I Remember I Remember
The house where I was born,
The little window where the sun
Came peeping in at morn;
He never came a wink too soon
Nor brought too long a day;
But now, I often wish the night
Had borne my breath away. I Remember I Remember
The roses, red and white.
The violets and the lily-cups--
Those flowers made of light!
The lilacs where the robin built,
And where my brother set
The laburnum on his birthday,--
The tree is living yet!
I Remember I Remember
Where I was used to swing,
And thought the air musr rush as fresh
To swallows on the wing;
My spirit flew in feathers then
That is so heavy now,
The summer pools could hardly cool
The fever on my brow.

I Remember I Remember
The fir-trees dark and high;
I used to think their slender tops
Were close against the sky:
It was a childish ignorance,
But now 'tis little joy
To know I'm farther from Heaven
Than when I was a boy.

Thomas Hood

If No One Ever Marries Me

Poetry Monday

If no one ever marries me-
And I don't see why the should,
For nurse says I'm not pretty,
And I'm seldom very good-

If no one ever marries me
I shan't mind very much,
I shall buy a little squirrel in a cage
And a little rabbit-hutch;

I shall have a cottage near a wood,
And a pony all my own,
And a little lamb, quite clean and tame,
That I can take to town.

And when I'm getting really old-
At twenty-eight or nine-
I shall buy a little orphan-girl
And bring her up as mine.

Written by Lawrence Alma-Tadema
Graphic of girl with rabbit from http://graphicsfairy.blogspot.com/