Reflection

In every case of reflective activity, a person finds himself confronted with a given, present situation from which he has to arrive at, or conclude to, something that is not present. This process of arriving at an idea of what is absent on the basis of what is at hand is inference. What is present carries or bears the mind over to the idea and ultimately the acceptance of something else.–Dewey

Dewey defined reflective thought as ‘active, persistent, and careful consideration of any belief or supposed form of knowledge in the light of the grounds that support it and the further conclusions to which it tends’.

Image: blog.lib.umn.edu/evans391/

Bring me the sunset in a cup, by Emily Dickinson
Bring me the sunset in a cup,
Reckon the morning’s flagons up
And say how many Dew,
Tell me how far the morning leaps —
Tell me what time the weaver sleeps
Who spun the breadth of blue!

Write me how many notes there be
In the new Robin’s ecstasy
Among astonished boughs —
How many trips the Tortoise makes —
How many cups the Bee partakes,
The Debauchee of Dews!

Also, who laid the Rainbow’s piers,
Also, who leads the docile spheres
By withes of supple blue?
Whose fingers string the stalactite —
Who counts the wampum of the night
To see that none is due?

Who built this little Alban House
And shut the windows down so close
My spirit cannot see?
Who’ll let me out some gala day
With implements to fly away,
Passing Pomposity?

Read Full Post »

Angel of the wind

winds come winding, breathing bliss
of summer’s heat and springtime mists
ring out the bells
ring out the bells
ring out the bells and sing for joy

—shadowscapes
See more Angels on this link which will open in a new window.

MY SONG
You are every moment of the day
The land and the shore
A celestial reflection
Of my island-universe
That weaves these lines
The round caress
Between the sky and sea
A quick kiss you seem
A buried memory
Of my lost dream . . .

You are every word
True or false
The sign memory
Of a recurring sound
The unfurled voice
That always swells aloud
The echo of the crowd
The scent of Spring
Expressing our minds
When we meet again . . .
© 2002, Patrizia Gattaceca

© Translation: 2002, Sarah Lawson

See Patrizia in video here.The link will open in a new window. This post is nr 999! One more to go!
Patrizia Gattaceca is a Corsican poet and a singer. She began singing in public when she was a 13-year-old secondary school pupil and set her first poem to music. She is co-founder of the Nouvelles Polyphonies Corses, a female trio singing traditional Corsican songs.
Read more about Patrizia here on the link which will open in a new link.

Read Full Post »

Goue Storie-Golden Story

Alida Bothma 

Alida Bothma’s biographical detail Born and bred in Pretoria, and now a Greyton resident, Alida obtained a diploma in Graphic Design, with distinction, at the Cape Town Technikon in 1973 and then worked as an illustrator with an advertising agency.

At the age of 26 she had her first international recognition when her work was included in a watercolour exhibition in Western Germany. The early 1980’s saw the beginning of her involvement in the illustration of children’s books and to date they number over 150.

Her paintings are often inspired by the written word or thoughts, prose, poetry and Scripture. Alida works in a variety of techniques and usually uses a mixture of different media.

She is the recipient of many national awards, among others, the Katrine Harries Medal in 1985; the MER Medal in 1988 and the ATKV Awards in 1993, 1997 and 2000. Her work has extensively been seen abroad in Japan, Belgium, Canada, Italy, the Slovak Republic, Iran and India.

In 1994 she received a merit award and in 2005 a bronze medal from the NOMA Concours (Unesco), Tokyo, Japan. Her work is represented in South Africa and internationally and she has held numerous solo exhibitions. She and her husband relocated from Port Elizabeth to Greyton in 2014, where she now has her studio.

I came across Alida Bothma’s art when searching for a topic and then remembered how beautifully she used to illustrate South African children’s books. In 2004 she was a runner-up in the Noma Concours Picture Book illustrations-award.

The Noma Concours for Picture Book Illustrations has been organised biennially by Asia/Pacific Cultural Centre for UNESCO (ACCU) supported by Noma International Book Development Fund. This Concours is to discover up-and-coming illustrators, graphic designers and artists in Asia (except Japan), the Pacific, Africa, Arab States, and Latin America & the Caribbean, to provide an opportunity at which they can present their works to offer incentives for their creative activities.

Source: http://www.accu.or.jp/noma/english/e_index.html

 

http://www.nomaaward.org/winners.shtml

Goue Lint My Storie Begint..(A book of verse for little children also Illustrated by Alida)

The Katrine Harries Award, originally the only and most prestigious award in South Africa for children’s book illustrations, but which had been dormant for the past nine years, will soon be awarded again.

Protea Boekhuis has kindly agreed to sponsor the Award on a continuous basis. The award that was made for the first time in the early 1960’s by the SA Library Association and later the South African Institute for Library and Information Science (SAILIS) has been awarded to South Africa’ s most well-known illustrators: Katrine Harries personally received the award twice before it was named after her. Thereafter illustrators such as Niki Daly, Joan Rankin, Alida Bothma, Cora Coetzee, Jeremy Grimsdell, amongst others, have received it, with Jude Daly finally receiving it in 1997 for Gift of the Sun.
Resource: http://scbwigauteng.blogspot.com/2007/09/katrine-harries-award-for-childrens.html

In 1997 her art was on display with other artists from South Africa in Belgium…see this link http://www.childlit.org.za/exantwerp.html

These two images immediately captured my attention! 
Deeply Morbid
by Stevie Smith

Deeply morbid deeply morbid was the girl who typed the letters
Always out of office hours running with her social betters
But when daylight and the darkness of the office closed about her
Not for this ah not for this her office colleagues came to doubt her
It was that look within her eye
Why did it always seem to say goodbye?

Joan her name was and at lunchtime
Solitary solitary
She would go and watch the pictures
In the National Gallery
All alone all alone
This time with no friend beside her
She would go and watch the pictures
All alone.

Read the rest of the poem here:
http://www.poetryfoundation.org/archive/poem.html?id=176218

Images from this link:

http://www.durbanville.info/alida_bothma/
Awards Alida has received

INTERNATIONAL:
1. Merit award: NOMA Concours (UNESCO), Tokyo, Japan 1994 – illustration in “Die Wit Vlinder by Corlia Fourie.
2. Bronze Medal and Runner-up award: NOMA Concours (UNESCO), Tokyo, Japan 2005 for a volume of poetry, Woordreise.
NATIONAL:
1. Katrine Harries Medal for illustration in 1985 for two books: All Everest’s Birds (Rona Rupert) and The Earth must be free (Pieter W. Grobbelaar).
2. M.E.R. Medal in 1988 for illustrations in the book Goue Fluit my storie is uit (compiled by Linda Roode).
3. ATKV Award for illustrators in 1993, 1997 and 2000 for the books Caty Collie Wobbles (Elsabe Steenberg), Stippe Stappe Stories, and Steweltjies na Wonderland (Hester Heese).

All art below: see her Facebook page: Alida Bothma Art.

Read Full Post »

I know a place

It’s been quite awhile since I’ve blogged poetry! I love poetry, as I said before…on this link here on my ..blogger-blog I once blogged one of Wayne’s poems and I want to blog it here too…as I do love South Africa –which is part of Africa…one secondary school child argued with me a few weeks ago about our country’s name..said that..there isn’t a “West Africa” as a country nor “East Africa” as a country, so how can I say that I am from South Africa and I say “South Africa” is a country! hehehe…Wayne visited my blogger blog-post and left me a message at that particular post…so let’s see if he will find this one too…lol! 
I came across Meggwilson’s blog where she says exactly what I’ve said so many times…even on my blog too….

As a native-speaking English person I know how much Afrikaans people are constantly ripped off by the English. Having a completely mixed up family I am also lucky to be completely bilingual. This all means that i have the best of both worlds, which I would like to share a bit of.

Afrikaans is an extremely expressive and descriptive language with words that can’t even possibly be translated into English…you can read it HERE ….

I’ve translated this poem of Wayne in Afrikaans on this link and you can also read Wayne’s comments about the translation on this link.

I know a place in Africa…
Inspiring poetry written by Wayne Visser,
a South African currently based in Nottingham, UK.

I know a place in Africa
Where I can feel the sun on my back
And the sand between my barefoot toes
Where I can hear the gulls on the breeze
And the waves crash on the endless shore

I know a place in Africa
Where the mountains touch the skies of blue
And the valleys shelter vines of green
Where the trees spread out a cloth of mauve
And the bushveld wears a coat of beige

I know a place in Africa
Where I can hear the voice of thunder gods
And watch their lightening spears thrown to earth
Where I can breathe the scent of rain clouds
And taste the sweet dew of dusty drops

This is the place of wildness
Of evolution and dinosaurs
Where life began and mankind first stood
Of living fossils and elephants
Where lions roar and springbok herds leap

This is the place of struggle
Of desert plains and thorn trees
Where pathways end and hunters track game
Of horizons and frontiers
Where journeys start and sunsets bleed red

This is the place of freedom
Of exploration and pioneers
Where darkness loomed and light saw us through
Of living legends and miracles
Where daybreak came and hope now shines bright

My heart is at home in Africa
Where the sound of drums beat in my chest
And the songs of time ring in my ears
Where the rainbow mist glows in my eyes
And the smiles of friends make me welcome

My mind is at ease in Africa
Where the people still live close to the soil
And the seasons mark my changing moods
Where the markets hustle with trading
And Creation keeps its own slow time

My soul is at peace in Africa
For her streams bring lifeblood to my veins
And her winds bring healing to my dreams
For when the tale of this land is told
Her destiny and mine are as one

© 2006 Wayne Visser

 

Image:flickr

I am an African…

This poem was written by Wayne Visser.

I am an African
Not because I was born there
But because my heart beats with Africa’s
I am an African
Not because my skin is black
But because my mind is engaged by Africa
I am an African
Not because I live on its soil
But because my soul is at home in Africa

When Africa weeps for her children
My cheeks are stained with tears
When Africa honours her elders
My head is bowed in respect
When Africa mourns for her victims
My hands are joined in prayer
When Africa celebrates her triumphs
My feet are alive with dancing

I am an African
For her blue skies take my breath away
And my hope for the future is bright
I am an African
For her people greet me as family
And teach me the meaning of community
I am an African
For her wildness quenches my spirit
And brings me closer to the source of life

When the music of Africa beats in the wind
My blood pulses to its rhythm
And I become the essence of music
When the colours of Africa dazzle in the sun
My senses drink in its rainbow
And I become the palette of nature
When the stories of Africa echo round the fire
My feet walk in its pathways
And I become the footprints of history

I am an African
Because she is the cradle of our birth
And nurtures an ancient wisdom
I am an African
Because she lives in the world’s shadow
And bursts with a radiant luminosity
I am an African
Because she is the land of tomorrow
And I recognise her gifts as sacred

© 2005 Wayne Visser

Please click HERE to visit Wayne’s site.

On this image you can see Wayne…image from his site.

Read Full Post »

The Moth….

When reading this poem about the moth…it reminded me about the poem written by one of our best poets/writers: C J Langenhoven. he also wrote “The Call of South Africa” our National Anthem. (You can listen to it in Afrikaans and English, it is somewhere on my blog…). If you know the Dutch language, or even Flemish, you would be able to follow it in Afrikaans, as Dutch is the “Mother” language of Afrikaans. Read more about Afrikaans HERE …

The Moth

The moth toward the orb he flew,

In ever ascending spirals.

And in his harmonic mind there grew,

A feeling of sad tranquility.

For the destination was in sight,

As the ending of the day.

And even as his mind it merged,

so the atmosphere his body purged,

Until he faded and became one,

Unknown and unnoticed by each,

But not all.

—Phil

Read more about Langenhoven here.

DIE MOT EN DIE KERS

(the moth and the candle)

~~CJ Langenhoven

Die ander motte is dom en dwaas,

maar ék sal ver van die kers af bly.

Hier uit die skemerte sal ek kyk,

want hier is dit veilig en kyk is vry.

Maar ek hoef nie van een kant af net te kyk,

ek vlieg ‘n wye sirkel om,

dan weet ek van alkant af hoe hy lyk,

om beter te sorg om nie nader te kom.

My sirkel was skeef en ingebuig,

maar daar ook waar ek die naaste was,

het niks gebeur,

ek maak verniet

my sirkel so groot en so ver van die as.

Die wieletjie draai al vinniger om,

die lig en die gloed word al groter genot.

Die velling word nouer al rondom

die die end van die wiel,

is die as van ‘n mot!

The moth in this poem basically thought he won’t be so foolish like the other moths. He would stay away from the flame. But, then he narrows his orb and goes faster and faster…..and all that was left…some ashes!

http://rpc.technorati.com/rpc/ping

Read Full Post »

Autumn days are here again!

Small road to the park

Horses near the park

Yesterday I was on my bike in the park close to where we live. While riding around the park, I couldn’t help being touched by all the different colours of Autumn! My best season is Autumn, because of all the changes. So many changes are taking place and I was cross with myself for not having my camera with me, but here’s some photos I took last week.

Enjoy this poem about Autumn

Autumn days are here again!
In autumn when the trees are brown
The little leaves come tumbling down
They do not make the slightest sound
But lie so quietly on the ground
Until the wind comes puffing by
And blows them off towards the sky.
The winds will blow their own freshness into you,
and the storms their energy,
while cares will drop away from you
like the leaves of Autumn.
by John Muir

Read Full Post »

Blue mood… thoughts…Ingrid Jonker

Cathedral Rock South Africa

 

Drakensberg mountains

Sunset : Twelve Apostels…Cape Town

Knysna!

Just my mood…not in a mood to say anything today Wish I could be at these places in South Africa!! Follow the link at the bottom of this post to read more about Ingrid Jonker and her poems and to see a movie-file too…also on my blog.

Ingrid Jonker died by walking into the sea!
To: Ingrid Jonker…Poet…A van Heerden
I see her pain,
I hear her voice
No one understood,
on one looked up
She carried a burden,
She carried herself,
She carried alone
~
Through her words,
Through her thoughts,
Through her lines
Through her phrases
She opened her soul
She opened her heart
She cried out
All on deaf ear
Abandoned
alone confused
loved used
abused
She let them.
~
Their acceptance made her accept,
But she died of that,
inside her soul.
She had too much of this world to carry on…
The water was calling
In her own defence
She gave herself
At her own expense…

This poem is in Afrikaans/English….
Somewhere I have never travelled – Iewers het ek nooit gereis nie
Ingrid Jonker…..adapted by e.e. cummings
+
somewhere I have never travelled,
gladly beyond any experience,
your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which I cannot touch because they are too near
~~~~~
iewers het ek nooit gereis nie daardie groen verte
verby alle herinneringe jou oë dra hul stilte
in jou geringste gebaar is daar iets wat my omsluit
of wat ek nie durf aanraak nie iets te ná
~~~~
your slightest look easily will unclose me
though I have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself
as Spring opens(touching skilfully, mysteriously) her first rose
~~~~
jou oë van landskappe sal my maklik blootlê
al het ek my hart gesluit soos twee hande
jy ontvou my keer op keer soos die lente
bedrewe en heimlik haar eerste roos
~~~~
or if your wish be to close me, I and
my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;
~~~~
en as jy my sou verlaat geslote dan
sou my voorhoof sluit mooi en onmiddelik
soos die hart van ‘n blom sou droom
van ‘n wit sneeu wat alles oral bedek
~~~~
nothing which we are to perceive in this world
equals the power of intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the colour of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing
~~~~
niks wat ons in hierdie wêreld kan versin
ewenaar die krag van jou broosheid die tekstuur
van jou oë tref my die groen van sy veld
een bevestig die ewige en die vir altyd met elke sug
~~~~
(I do not know what it is about you that closes and opens;
only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands
~~~~
ek weet nie wat dit is wat jou laat vou
en ontvou nie ek verstaan net êrens op my reise
die stem van jou oë is dieper as alle rose
nee nie eens die reën nie het sulke hande

Poem found here:
http://parnassus-ad.blogspot.com/2007/07/ingrid-jonker-verwerk-ee-cummings.html

The Child

The child is not dead
The child lifts his fists against his mother
Who shouts Africa ! shouts the breath
Of freedom and the veld
In the locations of the cordoned heart

The child lifts his fists against his father
in the march of the generations
who shouts Africa ! shout the breath
of righteousness and blood
in the streets of his embattled pride

The child is not dead not at Langa
nor at Nyanga not at Orlando
nor at Sharpeville
nor at the police station at Philippi
where he lies with a bullet through his brain

The child is the dark shadow of the soldiers
on guard with rifles Saracens and batons
the child is present at all assemblies and law-givings
the child peers through the windows of houses and into the hearts of mothers
this child who just wanted to play in the sun at Nyanga is everywhere
the child grown to a man treks through all Africa
the child grown into a giant journeys through the whole world
Without a passIngrid Jonker March 1960

 

(Translation of: “Die Kind” ) Poems now owned by Simone Jonker…daughter Read on this link more and there’s a movie file too.

http://chessaleeinlondon.wordpress.com/2007/12/07/love-light-bitterbessie/

http://rpc.technorati.com/rpc/ping

Read Full Post »

Show me the place …

This poem was written by C Louis Leipoldt, (1880 – 1947) – a South African poet and you can read an English translation here to, translated by Melissa on her blog…it is one of our best poets we’ve had and this poem is one of my favourites too…do read the English one and enjoy it!

WYS MY DIE PLEK

Wys my die plek waar ons saam gestaan het,

Eens, toe jy myne was –

Vroeër, voor jou liefde vir my getaan het,

Vroeër, toe jy myne was.

Kyk, dis dieselfde;

die silwer see

Blink in die sonskyn,

soos lang verlee

Dit eenmaal geblink het,

‘n welkomsgroet

Vir ons liefde wat uithou en alles vergoed.

~~~

Wys my die plek waar ons saam gekniel het,

Eens, toe jy myne was –

Vroeër, toe een siel vir ons saam besiel het,

Vroeër, toe jy myne was.

Kyk, dis dieselfde; die hemel, blou,

Lag soos voorheen op my en op jou;

Dit skitter nog altyd ‘n welkomsgroet

Vir ons liefde wat uithou en alles vergoed.

~~~

Wys my die plek waar ons saam geloop het,

Eens, toe jy myne was –

Vroeër, toe ons harte so veel gehoop het,

Vroeër, toe jy myne was.

Kyk, dis dieselfde! Net jy nie.

Vra,Wie van ons twee moet die meeste dra ?

Jy wat vergeet het – of ek wat boet

Vir my liefde wat uithou en alles vergoed ?

by C. Louis Leipoldt (ca. 1880 – 1947)

SHOW ME THE PLACE

Show me the place where we stood side by side,

Once, when you were mine –

Earlier, before your love for me died,

Earlier, when you were mine.

Look, it’s the same, the silver sea

Shines in the sun’s rays, just like before

It once shined,

a welcoming

For our love that endured and everything enhanced.

~~~

Show me the place where we knelt together,

Once, when you were mine –

Earlier, when one soul possessed us,

Earlier, when you were mine.

Look, it’s the same, the sky, so blue,

Smiles just as before on me and on you,

It continues to shine as a welcoming

For our love that endures and everything enhances.

~~~

Show me the place where we use to walk,

Once, when you were mine –

Earlier, when our hearts hoped so much,

Earlier, when you were mine.Look, it’s the same!

Except for you.

Which one of us has the most to bear ?

You, that has forgotten – or me,

that has to pay

For my love that endures and all enhances ?

Translated by……Melissa 

http://rpc.technorati.com/rpc/ping

Read Full Post »

Go and open the door!

THE DOOR

Go and open the door.

Maybe outside there’s

a tree,

or a wood,

a garden,

or a magic city.

Go and open the door.

Maybe a dog’s rummaging.

Maybe you’ll see a face,

or an eye,

or the pictureof a picture.

Go and open the door.

if there’s a fog

it will clear.

Go and open the door.

Even if there’s only

the darkness ticking,

even if there’s only

the hollow wind,

even if nothing is there,

go and open the door.

At least there will be a draught.

~~~~Miroslav Holub –Russian Poet

Read abaout Miroslave Holub here.http://rpc.technorati.com/rpc/ping

Read Full Post »

This is just to say

 Some of you know already how much I love the Poetry of William C Williams! And this poem…. –my year 5/6 (mixed class) children, wrote their own poems based on this one…– it’s such a cute little poem!

 This is just to say…

I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox

and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast.

Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold.

— William Carlos Williams

Then, a “reply” was found to this poem….

Reply

(crumped on her desk)

Dear Bill: I’ve made a
couple of sandwiches for you.
In the ice-box you’ll find
blue-berries–a cup of grapefruit
a glass of cold coffee.

On the stove is the tea-pot
with enough tea leaves
for you to make tea if you
prefer–Just light the gas–
boil the water and put it in the tea

Plenty of bread in the bread-box
and butter and eggs–
I didn’t know just what to
make for you. Several people
called up about office hours–

See you later. Love. Floss.

Please switch off the telephone

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Click HERE to read more about the reply.

 Landcape with the Fall of Icarus

Willimas Carlos Williams

According to Brueghel

when Icarus fell it was spring

a farmer was ploughing

his field

the whole pageantry

of the year

was awake tingling

with itself

sweating in the sun

that melted the wings’ wax

unsignificantly

off the coast there was

a splash

quite unnoticed

this was Icarus drowning

The Red Wheelbarrow

William Carlos Williams

so much depends

upon

a red wheelbarrow
glazedwith rainwater
beside the whitechickens. Poems inspired by William Carlos Williams. You can read his bibliography on this link too.  

 

 

 Some poems have only 16 words!
Emily Dickinson

We introduce ourselves

To Planets and to Flowers

But with ourselves

Have etiquettes

Embarrassments

And awes

 

One chess player sent me this poem, he wasnt’ sure if his friend copied it from somewhere and if his friend wrote it himself…

Poem In Sixteen Words

 Getting there

was half the fun,

or so said some

who had gone,

but not returned

http://rpc.technorati.com/rpc/ping

Read Full Post »

Nicky

This is what Nicky looked like. I’ve found this photo on the internet as our photos of Nicky and Lompie are packed away.

She was a cat found at a nursery. It was a rainy day in Centurion. I wanted to get some plants for a big clay pot in my class. I walked into the nursery. While looking around in the section where they kept all sorts of pots and stands with seeds, I heard a cat mewing. It was a soft, fainted mew and I couldn’t make out where it was coming from. I kept on looking around, but saw nothing. There were tons of shelves, covered in hessian with stuff on display. I starting lifting up the hessian, near where I heard the cat. There she was! A very young kitty with a plate of milk. I couldn’t resist stroking her and picked her up immediately. There was a man serving customers – with a wheelbarrow busy doing all sorts of odd things. Stroking this beautiful little kitty, I walked to him and asked him whose cat it was.”Nobody’s,  I only feed her while she’s around.” I pleaded to have her and he agreed as it was nobody’s cat anyway.

That day was my lucky day! I locked her in my car and ran back to get the plants. I couldn’t get my plants fast enough and to get back to the car. I got back to the car and there, very pleased with herself, she was waiting on the back seat, looking me very thankfully in the eyes through the window. I still remember those large green eyes, head a bit tilted sideways. When I got into the car, it was only a loud purrrr-purrrr I could hear and I knew she was happy. She looked at me as if she has been mine for years.

Nicky loved water! It was funny. I found her on a rainy day and she loved water so much, she liked it if you poured it all over her. She  would then look over her shoulder and just say…”purr-mew”…as  if she was asking for more! I used to have a small red watering can and when I had it with me, she came to me as if she was asking to have water running down her spine. When I poured the water down her spine, she would then wriggle her body and, “purr-mew”, to show how she enjoyed it.

She was friends, big friends, with Lompie. Lompie was the Blue Lilac-point Siamese! They were like kids – crazy kids, chasing one another up and down the flat – and later in the house [when we moved into a house] and around the garden, looking a bit silly most of the times, making us laugh when they were doing it. Lompie would start to chase and then suddenly turned around and then Nicky would chase Lompie. Completely two ‘silly’ children. We had great fun with them and could sit in the garden looking at them playing ‘hide-and-seek’ with one another, hiding behind plants, or going up a tree. It was as if they enjoyed entertaining us and knew how we enjoyed them. Their tails were swishing from side to side when they were taking position, when playing. It was funny. 

The following pictures were found on the internet. I was looking for pictures that portray her personality the best.

Nicky used to get into the basin quite often and loved it when you open the tap slightly to drink some water from the tap. I think she enjoyed the coolness of it too.

She loved to wriggle on the carpet, also when they played, she was always the one on her back, defending herself from Lompie.

Nicky was curious, very curious and I know we have a similar photo of her which we took in our garden, almost this very same position, looking at ‘something’.

In our flat, we also had a beam like this! [behind the front door]. She loved to walk on it, sometimes she was ‘hiding’ there when she heard us coming up the stairs [from outside] and when we opened the door, she would “purr-mew”, as if she couldn’t help herself saying, “hello, here I am!”  or maybe it was her way of saying, “wha! got you!”

Very strange but this photo IS Nicky!! 100% Nicky! Found on dreamstime.com, but this is SO, SO Nicky! 500%!

This is typical what Nicky was like, at times. Lazy-looking, self-content expression on her face. 

Enjoy this cat-poem.

 Cat in the window

What do you see?
Cloud, wind, birds,a bird in a tree.
The daffodils shivering the February breeze,
A puddle in the road beginning to freeze.

Snow on the wind
Dusk in a cloud.
Leaves in a frenzy,
The bird’s head cowed.
Winter – though the sun shines.
Blizzard, and the north wind’s whine.

~~~Brian Morse

A book I used to have!

Read Full Post »

Love

I want to continue my Friday’s mood….so here goes…

William Morris was an artist too…on the pic here you can see some of his art…

There is so much going on in this world of us…do we ever stop! and think….think about an ant crossing a road…a caterpillar on a leave…honeybee buzzing on a flower……a bird seeking for crumbs….a newborn calf trying to get up…..newborn kittens struggling their way to their mummy’s milk……children with Aids! sleeping hungry, crying for their mums….orphans….are we thinking what difference we can make to other people’s lives? Let’s start thinking how we can alter our lives to make a change to other people’s lives, to bring love, joy and happiness to everybody in the world!

William Morris

Love Is Enough

Love is enough:

though the World be a-waning,

And the woods have no voice but the voice of complaining,

Though the sky be too dark for dim eyes to discover
The gold cups and daisies fair blooming thereunder,

Though the hills be held shadows,

and the sea a dark wonder,

And this day draw a veil over all deeds pass’d over,

Yet their hands shall not tremble,

their feet shall not falter;

The void shall not weary,

the fear shall not alter

These lips and these eyes of the loved and the lover.

Morris, William1834—96, English poet, artist, craftsman, designer, social reformer, and printer. He has long been considered one of the great Victorians and has been called the greatest English designer of the 19th cent. Read more about William Morris here.

http://rpc.technorati.com/rpc/ping

Read Full Post »