Ah… LOVE! ~ Bette A. Stevens
.
.
for years suspended
.
in the crevice of between…
.
regret or forget…
.
.
.
speaking or silence…
.
numb silhouette safe between
.
love and protection.
.
.
.
shadows disappear
.
in the white of fallen snow,
.
each Spring forgives the
.
.
.
impatient crocus.
.
.
.
.
Time erases shadows and
.
Love resolves the wounds.
.
.
.
Stunning Christmas photography by Marilyn Armstrong! Bonus: music, too… ENJOY! ~ Bette A. Stevens
A perfect pairing! ~ Bette A. Stevens http://www.4writersandreaders.com
Related articles
- I love Autumn – My favorite Season See (michellemarieantellg.wordpress.com)
- Autumn Boat (aditixpictures.wordpress.com)
- Autumn Thoughts (princesstheodora.net)
That soft autumnal time…
The year’s last, loveliest smile,
Thou comest to fill with hope the human heart,
And strengthen it to bear the storms a while,
Till winter days depart…
Far in a shelter’d nook
I’ve met, in these calm days, a smiling flower,
A lonely aster, trembling by a brook…
~John Howard Bryant
In autumn the Maker’s pigments turn from the soft pastels of springtime to emboldened, jewel tones. Glad witnesses are we to the green leaves on shining sumac, flowering dogwoods, Bradford pears, sweet gums, Shumard oaks, and crape myrtles changing to mixtures of burgundy, crimson, orange, and gold. Other treats are setting buds for next year’s blossoms among the fiery red, ripening fruits of the dogwoods, and the deeper shades of blues and pinks that adorn the thickened petals of hydrangeas. And if that is not enough to make the year smile, there are the willow…
View original post 138 more words
Dusting of snow in the Northeast today. Fire’s ablaze and I’m hibernating for the day… — Bette A. Stevens http://www.4writersandreaders.com
Related articles
- Hibernation (slideshare.net)
The weather today
Is full of leaves
Crunching as
Feet walk through them
The ground covered
With wetness
The air filled with musty
All is cozy inside
Without seeing
Or recognizing
The signs of
Old man winter
Is sneaking upon us
The weatherman
Just posted a
Notice to me
Starting Monday
Night a chance of
Six inches plus
Of that white stuff
You know it is called
Snow
Get your shelves
Stocked on toilet paper
And milk, get diapers
And bread, for winter
Has decided whether
I like it or not
To pay me a visit
Wait, what is that?
You want me to come
Back and visit?
I’m sorry friends
I must go for my
Bed covers are
Calling to come
Hibernate until Spring.
Written by,
Terry Shepherd
11/10/2013
Need some inspiration? There’s nothing like Nature, a little Walt Whitman and a bit of Shakespeare, too… ~ Bette A. Stevens http://www.4writersandreaders.com
Related articles
- Walt Whitman (meganwhooley.wordpress.com)
- Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman (kpark19.wordpress.com)
And this our life,
exempt from public haunt,
finds tongues in trees,
books in running brooks,
sermons in stones,
and good in everything.
~William Shakespeare
Standing beneath the Shumard Red Oak made me feel like I was standing in a temple of the Most High. The breeze was ruffling its leaves, and they in turn were prompting sacred tongues to utter incantations of their divine purpose. For though the leaves face eminent extinction and expulsion from the branches, in their dying they’ll fall and create warm blankets to cover the ground. In so doing they will protect the life that lies beneath the surface during winter’s cold, cold days. Even at the close of winter their goodness will not be at an end for as they deteriorate, the remaining bits and pieces will add nutrients to enhance the soil. Thus goes the circle of life and the interdependency of all…
View original post 17 more words
Inspiration in the midst of day-to-day humdrum! ~ Bette A. Stevens
PEREGRINE FALCON, NEW YORK CITY
By Robert Cording
On the 65th floor where he wrote
Advertising copy, joking about
The erotic thrall of words that had
No purpose other than to make
Far too many buy far too much,
He stood one afternoon face to face
With a falcon that veered on the blade
Of its wings and plummeted, then
Swerved to a halt, wings hovering.
An office of computers clicked
Behind him. Below, the silence
Of the miniature lunch time crowds
And toy-like taxis drifting without
Resolve to the will of others.
This bird’s been brought in, he thought,
To clean up the city’s dirty problems
Of too many pigeons. It’s a hired beak.
Still he remained at the tinted glass
Windows, watching as the falcon
Gave with such purpose its self
To the air that carried it, its sheer falls
Breaking the mirrored self-reflections
Of glass…
View original post 261 more words
Come join us!
Bette A. Stevens, Maine Author 
Written
on 10/05/2013