Thursday, December 1, 2022

Bright fish

Food for the body is not enough. There must be food for the soul.
~Dorothy Day

Happy Poetry Friday! Hope you are enjoying all the poetry to be found.

by John McCullough

It’s true: there is a light at the centre of my body.

If I could, I would lift aside a curtain of this flesh

and demonstrate, but for now it is my private neon.

It is closest to the air at certain moments,

like when buttercups repair a morning’s jagged edge.

Other times, a flock of days descends

and my soul flickers, goes to ground.

Without light, I’m all membrane; each part

becomes a gate. I pour across each margin

and nothing has enough hands to catch me,

my teeth knocking so fast I daren’t hold any piece

of myself near in case I start a banquet.

I’m only eased by accident. On the drenched path,

I pick up snails and transport them to safer earth

then feel a stirring. I watch as rain streams

from lopped-back elms, my face teeming with water

and―hello stranger―my soul glides to my surface

like it, too, belongs there; like a bright fish rising to feed.


Reading to the Core has the Poetry Friday round-up. Thanks, Catherine!


Light in Nature creates the movement of colors.
~Robert Delaunay

Hi y'all! Many things are competing for my attention this morning. Making a post for Art Thursday, of course, plus today is the first day for the advent calendar of jellies and I want to bake something to put jelly on. The dogs want to be fed and taken outside (did that) and the crows wanted breakfast (did that). I fixed myself some coffee, so I guess now I can post. (Ugh, the crows came back for second breakfast but I'm pretending not to hear...)

Light is our focal point today, but first, here's an advent calendar to color by "World of Moose":

Cabins at Night
by Svend Svendsen

Glowing Nocturne
by Svend Svendsen

Man Reading by Lamplight
by Georg Kersting

Monday, November 28, 2022


It's very easy to confuse Sean Connery with James Bond. Sometimes in the entertainment industry, people believe the cake is more real than the baker.
~Judd Nelson

Hi y'all! We watched No Time To Die recently (first for Dash and Elena, second for me and Ben). Daniel Craig is my favorite James Bond, and Skyfall is my favorite James Bond song. Do you have a different favorite? For Music Monday, I'm including two videos of the original version of the song -- one with only words and one with visuals from the movie.

Wednesday, November 23, 2022


wherewithal: resources (e.g. money, energy, time), means or supplies for the purpose or need

Hi buddies! I don't have the wherewithal to post the rest of this week. So I'm going to drop off another song and an invitation to send me your address if you'd like me to send you a holiday postcard or Christmas card. My email is tabathayeatts(at)gmail(dot)com. Happy Thanksgiving!

Monday, November 21, 2022

Tales of the Night Forest

The clearest way into the Universe is through a forest wilderness.
~John Muir

An instrumental for Music Monday by Black Hill & Silent Island:

Thursday, November 17, 2022

The onion is in wonderment

He who sings scares away his woes.

Happy Poetry Friday! Two poems today. A Ukrainian children's song for the young-at-heart crowd and one for high school and up.

The Fish Was Dancing with the Crayfish

The fish was dancing with the crayfish,
And the parsley with the parsnip
And the onion with the garlic
And the girl with the Kozak!
The onion is in wonderment at
How good they were dancing.

The pumpkin walks around the garden,
Inquiring like this:
Oh, are they alive and healthy,
All my melon relatives?
The yellow melon answered,
Oh, I'm your hostess,
The cucumbers answered,
And we are your sons and daughters!

The beets answered,
Cousin pumpkins:
All are alive and well,
All your melon relatives.

Танцювала риба з раком,
А петрушка з пастернаком,
А цибуля з часником,
А дівчина з козаком!
Цибуля дивується,
Як хороше танцюється.

 Ходить гарбуз по городу –
 Питається свого роду:
 – Ой чи живі, чи здорові,
 Всі родичі гарбузові,
 Обізвалась жовта диня:
 – Ой я твоя господиня;
 Обізвались огірочки:
 – А ми твої сини й дочки!

 Обізвались буряки,
 Гарбузові свояки:
 – Усі живі і здорові,
 Всі родичі гарбузові!

by Jason Shinder

A poem written three thousand years ago

about a man who walks among horses
grazing on a hill under the small stars

comes to life on a page in a book

and the woman reading the poem
in her kitchen filled with a gold, metallic light

finds the experience of living in that moment

so vividly described as to make her feel known
to another, until the woman and the poet share

not only their souls but the exact silence

between each word. And every time the poem is read,
no matter her situation or her age,

this is more or less what happens.


Jama Rattigan has the Poetry Friday round-up. Thanks, Jama!

I tried to have the photo of the Ukrainian trident suncatcher link to the Etsy shop but it didn't work. Here's the link -- I love mine!

Julie de Graag

A picture is a secret about a secret, the more it tells you the less you know.
~Diane Arbus

For Art Thursday, Dutch artist Anna Julie de Graag, 1877–1924, and her marvelous woodcuts.

Winter Evening
by Julie de Graag

Dog Head
by Julie de Graag

East Indian Cherry
by Julie de Graag

Farm in the Snow
by Julie de Graag

East Indian Cherry
by Julie de Graag

by Julie de Graag

Monday, November 14, 2022

Bagatelle that was possibly the only consolation available for those who composed it during different periods in the tragic history of Ukraine.
~Pasichnyk's "Consolation"

Good morning! Madainn mhath! For Music Monday, I have Natalya Pasichnyk playing Valentyn Silvestrov's Bagatelle for piano, Op.1 No.1 Allegretto. I have shared Silvestrov before, but I wanted to revisit it. So pretty. This is on Pasichnyk's CD Consolation: Forgotten Treasures of the Ukrainian Soul.

Thursday, November 10, 2022

Healing serum

A good poem helps to change the shape of the universe.
~Dylan Thomas

Happy Poetry Friday, y'all! I didn't have a photo that went with these poems, so I just picked something off my camera. (I do that a lot, to be honest. It was between the above picture and one of a crow.)

I couldn't find the text for the below poems online so I typed them in. Such a good way to really get close to a poem. Less of a committment than trying to memorize it, but some bits will stay with you anyway. :)

Go Back to Your Own Country
by Jane Zwart

Let me tell you about countries: nobody has their own
and where we come from moves. Our mothers' wombs
aren't where we left them. Continents calve. Jerusalem holds
a tray full of glasses that a scrum of men take
and put back, take and put back, unworried for the weight
she must shift. Let me tell you: some of our countries
aren't where we left them. Someone pulls a string and six
tumble from Yugoslavia's pocket. Someone halves
Sudan like a branch over their knee. Someone crumbles
a bailey between Berlins and Germany is one place
again. Only Adam had his own country, and he could not
go back. A country is land that's learned to disown.


Take Care
by Peter Pereira

Take care, we say to one another,
on parting, as if the cargo
we carried were fragile
or dangerous-- chipped
bottle of nitro, crystal
blue robin's egg, last ampule
of the healing serum.


The Heart Does Not Really Have Chambers by Jane Zwart
Stay Tender Somehow by Jane Zwart
Fugue by Peter Pereira
Her Name is Rose by Peter Pereira (He's a doctor, btw. It's useful to know that re: the poem.)

Buffy Silverman has the Poetry Friday round-up. Thanks, Buffy!

Amongst a great flock

I am only a sparrow amongst a great flock of sparrows.
~Evita Peron

Hi folks! This has been such an eventful week that I dithered about what to post. So much going on! What's my theme, what's my feeling? I finally settled on just one picture by Ethel Franklin Betts. Maybe quiet time is in order.

The sparrows twittered and hopped about quite without fear
by Ethel Franklin Betts

Monday, November 7, 2022

Dan Bettridge

The only thing better than singing is more singing.
~Ella Fitzgerald

Dan Bettridge for Music Monday:

Thursday, November 3, 2022

Interestedness beaming out

He is the recipient of such rebukes as You Never Want To Do Anything and All You Care About Are Your Stupid Clever Poems.
~Paul Hostovsky's bio

Happy Poetry Friday, friends! I've shared poems by sign language interpreter and poet Paul Hostovsky before, but that was in 2015 so I think we're due for another round!
Poem on the Fridge
by Paul Hostovsky

The refrigerator is the highest honor
a poem can aspire to. The ultimate
publication. As close to food as words
can come. And this refrigerator poem
is honored to be here beneath its own
refrigerator magnet, which feels like a medal
pinned to its lapel. Stop here a moment
and listen to the poem humming to itself,
like a refrigerator itself, the song in its head
full of crisp, perishable notes that wither in air,

read the rest here


Late for the Gratitude Meeting
by Paul Hostovsky

The guy in front of me in traffic
is letting everyone in,
waving at the cars like a policeman
or a pope--
and I really have no patience for all
the indulgence
and magnanimity at my expense

because I’m late for the gratitude meeting,
which is only an hour long.
And if I miss the first ten minutes
of silent meditation I’m going to scream,
because it’s my favorite part and because
it helps me remember to breathe.

And I’m going to throttle this guy...

read the rest here


by Paul Hostovsky

Bear with me I
want to tell you
something about
it’s hard to get at
but the thing is
I wasn’t looking
I was looking
somewhere else
when my son found it
in the fruit section
and came running
holding it out
in his small hands
asking me what
it was and could we
keep it it only
cost 99 cents
hairy and brown
hard as a rock
and something swishing
around inside...

read the rest here


My Juicy Little Universe has the Poetry Friday round-up. Thanks, Heidi!

Creator of his own fantastic worlds

Watercolourist, illustrator and printmaker specialising in natural history subjects and the creation of his own fantastic worlds.
~ArtUK about Edward Julius Detmold

Happy Art Thursday! Today we have Edward Julius Detmold. I love his rich colors and dramatic perspectives.

The Fruits of the Earth
by Edward Julius Detmold

Plate from "The Fables of Aesop", 1909, Goats
by Edward Julius Detmold

Plate from "The Fables of Aesop", The Wasp and the Snake
by Edward Julius Detmold

Plate from Rudyard Kipling's "Junglebook", Shere Khan and bullocks
by Edward Julius Detmold

Plate from "The Fables of Aesop", The Wolf and the Goat
by Edward Julius Detmold

Monday, October 31, 2022

Muzzle of bees

Sun gets passed, sea to sea
Silently, and back to me
With the breeze blown through
Pushed up above the leaves

For Music Monday, Wilco with "Muzzle of Bees":

Friday, October 28, 2022

Flitting shadows

Everything seemed cut from soft black velvet or gold or orange velvet. Smoke panted up out of a thousand chimneys like the plumes of funeral parades. From kitchen windows drifted two pumpkin smells: gourds being cut, pies being baked.
~Ray Bradbury

Hi y'all! Having a Halloween-y Poetry Friday. On Monday, I was diagnosed with ear infections (both ears). Glad to finally be hearing well enough to catch a squeak on the stair...

by Greg Pincus

I’m the squeak upon the stair...
Yet when you look, there’s no one there.
I’m howling winds, groaning floors,
Extinguished lights, slamming doors.
I’m flitting shadows, darkening skies,
Piercing screams, distant cries.
I’m all your fears – heard, felt, or seen.
I’m in your head. I’m Halloween.



You have until 6 p.m.! Halloween Project Call for Submissions

Haikuniverse is "seeking submissions of Halloween themed haiku (or micro-poems, or anything 5-7-5 you don’t feel comfortable calling a “haiku”)."

They say:
We’ll publish 1 every hour, for 24 hours, starting at Midnight (pacific) the evening of October 30. Deadline this Friday, October 28 at 6:00pm (pacific). Use the form below to submit your Halloween themed haiku or micro poems.

Only one poem submission per form please (but feel free to submit multiple times.)


Addendum! Last chance to sign up for the Holiday Poem Swap! If you are interested in sending one poem and gift to a poetry friend, email me at tabathayeatts(at)gmail(dot)com.

Also, I've been making wee books! The persimmon is for scale.

Jone Rush MacCulloch has the Poetry Friday round-up. Thanks, Jone!

Thursday, October 27, 2022

like uncapturable smoke

..upon the frightening gray sky one can see a black mountain, completely black even with black houses, and all of a sudden a fire-red house appears, a violet path with snowflakes and on the path a black chain of people like crows.
~Marianne von Werefkin

Happy Art Thursday! I felt like sharing Marianne von Werefkin's works today so I picked some with a spooky vibe:

The Ragpicker
by Marianne von Werefkin

The Victor
by Marianne von Werefkin

by Marianne von Werefkin

Police station in Vilnius
by Marianne von Werefkin

by Marianne von Werefkin

The title is from a quote by MvW: I love what doesn't exist. I love love that doesn't exist, which extends above you like an invisible city, like uncapturable smoke, a love that evokes a longing for enchanted lands, which fills the head with magical scenes, which confers strength and grandeur, which leads all beings to perfection, which adorns you in marvelous clothes, which increases painting abilities, which crowns you king of all goals, which makes you a god of creation.

Monday, October 24, 2022


There is this moment, where you feel like you're in an ocean of your butterflies
~Rollercoaster, Tarriona 'Tank' Ball and the Bangas

For Music Monday, Tank and the Bangas:

Thursday, October 20, 2022


Language is the archives of history...Language is fossil poetry.
~Ralph Waldo Emerson

For Poetry Friday, poems from Katie Haegele's Obsolete, a series of poems inspired by her favorite obsolete words:

by Katie Haegele

I think it's weird the way we all have favorite animals.
Not pets, but wild things we like the way we like each
other, for the shape of a snout or a rippling limb, a

sweetness we think we sense in the ones that eat grass
instead of each other. I think it's because we wish we
could borrow what they are and be that too, have their

ultrasonic hearing or empty-eyed patience. Well, maybe we can.

-greedy, avaricious


by Katie Haegele

Did you know that Buster Keaton made his own hat(s)?
The singular hat was iconic of course but he actually
had thousands of them. He invented his hat when he

wanted a porkpie one but those were made of straw and
he knew they'd be too fragile to stand up to his stunts. So
he took a fedora and shortened it. (But how? The article

didn't say how.) Then he stiffened it flat with sugar water,
which is how my mother froze her crocheted snowflakes.
The article I read called it a recipe. A recipe for hats.

-darting, leaping


Thank you, Katie, for giving me permission to share your poems! (Check out her poignant, poetic post about Obsolete.)

For more cool words, check out Susie Dent.

Wee Words for Wee Ones has the Poetry Friday round-up. Thanks, Bridget, and happy birthday!

Baba Yaga

Baba means grandmother or old woman. Yaga or Iaga has no definitive scholarly consensus. The word means horror and shudder in Serbian and Croatian, anger in Slovenian, witch in old Czech, wicked wood nymph in Modern Czech, witch and fury in Polish, and serpent or snake in Sanskrit.
~Historic Mysteries

For Art Thursday we have Baba Yaga, the Slavic witch who might grant your wishes or eat you.

Baba Yaga "has the power to help or hurt anyone who crosses her path. Those who seek her wisdom, truth, and knowledge must first complete several tasks. Only upon completion of the tasks will she provide help. If the tasks are not fulfilled and the seekers have not found a way to escape, she will cook and eat them." (Historic Mysteries)

"In fairy tales Baba Yaga flies around in a mortar, wields a pestle, and dwells deep in the forest in a hut usually described as standing on chicken legs." (Wikipedia) In some tales, she is three sisters, all bearing the same name.

Hotelo Berjozka. Ĉelabinsko.

Contes de L'isba
Ivan Bilibin

Artemiy Ober

Contes de L'isba
Ivan Bilibin

I don't know who drew this one:

Baba Yaga's hut by The Gorgonist
Baba Yaga's house by Jamie Sapp
Baba Yaga's hut on Erin Ye's Tumblr
A sculpture of Baba Yaga's Hut by Michael Locascio

Monday, October 17, 2022


Will you recover after all the love
You've lost and lost again
Will you stand, stand, stand?

Yebba is back for Music Monday with "Stand."

Listening to this a lot too (How Much Can A Heart Take). And if you want someone to keep you where the light is shining.

Thursday, October 13, 2022

Nothing is wasted in nature or love

Tell me more, Help me understand more about that.
~Planetree International talking about "empathetic curiosity" in health care

Hi folks! Happy Poetry Friday! Today we have two poems. The first is from The Hocus-Pocus of the Universe by Laura Gilpin (love that title!). Not only was Laura a poet, she was a nurse and one of the early staff members of Planetree, an organization dedicated to developing and implementing a patient-centered model of care in hospitals. Reading about Planetree's mission is touching. It probably shouldn't be, because all medicine should be person-centered, but it is.

Can we be flawed and be loved, be happy? Yes, say I and Laura Gilpin.

The Two-Headed Calf
by Laura Gilpin

Tomorrow when the farm boys find this
freak of nature, they will wrap his body
in newspaper and carry him to the museum.

But tonight he is alive and in the north
field with his mother. It is a perfect...

read the rest here


Maybe reading all those definitos recently drew me to this poem about the meaning of "snow."

What We Agreed to Call “Snow” in Yorùbá
by I.S. Jones

Night falls & snow joins in ceremony.
I search the clearing for danger
only to be met with ache.

Snow is now; there are things that can’t be translated.
Don’t give up on me, says the snow.
Again, I try. Snow is a landscape of loneliness.

It returns to Earth if only to be touched a little longer...

read the rest here


Don't forget to sign up for the Holiday Poem Swap if that's your thing! Email me at tabathayeatts(at)gmail(dot)com.

The title of this post is from Life after Death by Laura Gilpin.

Radio, Rhythm & Rhyme has the Poetry Friday round-up. Thanks, Matt!

A. A. Newton

Part of why I like watercolor is that mistakes are visible, and you can't really repair much. It has to look easy. When it comes out, it looks easy, but to get to that point takes a lot of doing.
~Chris Raschka

For Art Thursday, pomological watercolors by Amanda Almira Newton.

Wikipedia's information about Newton's career is very interesting:
Newton worked for the [U.S. Department of Agriculture] from 1896 to 1928. This was a time when the major fruit-producing regions in the United States were just beginning to emerge, as farmers worked with the USDA to establish orchards for expanding markets. Photography was not yet in widespread use as a documentary medium, so the government relied on artists like Newton to produce technically accurate drawings for its publications. Newton was one of more than 50 skilled botanical illustrators hired in this early period...and she was one of the most productive, turning out more than 1200 finished watercolors for the USDA...

In addition, beginning in 1896, Newton made wax models of some 300 specimens of fruits being grown or tested in the United States. She inaugurated production of these wax models for the USDA and later showed some of them at the Tennessee Centennial Exposition and the 1904 Louisiana Purchase Exposition. For the latter exposition, she created some models showing how environmental conditions, cultivation practices, and storage conditions affect the fruit's condition and keeping qualities.
Early Belle variety of peaches (scientific name: Prunus persica), with this specimen originating in Rosslyn, Arlington County, Virginia
U.S. Department of Agriculture Pomological Watercolor Collection

Image of the Scheradzouli Blanc variety of grapes (scientific name: Vitis), with this specimen originating in Oakville, Napa County, California

Image of the Howard Early variety of strawberries (scientific name: Fragaria), with this specimen originating in College Park, Prince Georges County, Maryland

Image of the Acida variety of oranges (scientific name: Citrus sinensis)

Image of oranges (scientific name: Citrus sinensis), with this specimen originating in Indian River Shores, Indian River County, Florida

Image of the Satsuma variety of oranges (scientific name: Citrus sinensis), with this specimen originating in Alabama, United States.

Monday, October 10, 2022


First coming to prominence in the early 1990s, Hunter plays custom-made seven- and eight-string guitars on which he simultaneously plays bass lines, chords, and melodies.
~Wikipedia on Charlie Hunter

It's Music Monday!

Charlie Hunter:

Snarky Puppy:

Julian Lage:

Thursday, October 6, 2022

Cool draughts of peace

I slept and dreamt that life was joy. I awoke and saw that life was service. I acted and behold, service was joy.
~Rabindranath Tagore

For Poetry Friday, we have Rabindranath Tagore. Tagore received the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1913 and was the first non-European to do so. I saw this interesting quote in (by W. Andrew Robinson): "Tagore’s poems are virtually untranslatable, as are his more than 2,000 songs, which achieved considerable popularity among all classes of Bengali society." Virtually unstranslatable! I'm sure he has a good reason for saying that and I wish I knew what he meant. Hard to understand? Culturally-specific? Anyway, Rabindranath Tagore:


On the day when the lotus bloomed, alas, my mind was straying, and I knew it not. My basket was empty and the flower remained unheeded.

Only now and again a sadness fell upon me, and I started up from my dream and felt a sweet trace of a strange fragrance in the south wind.

That vague sweetness made my heart ache with longing and it seemed to me that it was the eager breath of the summer seeking for its completion.

I knew not then that it was so near, that it was mine, and that this perfect sweetness had blossomed in the depth of my own heart.


Thou art the sky and thou art the nest as well. Oh, thou beautiful, there in the nest it is thy love that encloses the soul with colours and sounds and odours. There comes the morning with the golden basket in her right hand bearing the wreath of beauty, silently to crown the earth. And there comes the evening over the lonely meadows deserted by herds, through trackless paths, carrying cool draughts of peace in her golden pitcher from the western ocean of rest.


Sarah Grace Tuttle has the Poetry Friday round-up. Thanks, Sarah!