
~*~
Morning breaks and I arise
Look east to amber painted skies,
And view the light that fire brings
To waken nature’s sleeping things.
~*~
Thanks for visiting …
Dorothy
©Dorothy E. Chiotti … All Rights Reserved 2021 … Aimwell CreativeWorks
~*~
Their blood was lost;
In battle died
While far away
Their mothers cried.
The war not theirs,
But fought they did
For noble cause
Their bodies bled.
With open heart
And focused mind
They gave their all
For humankind.
Remember them,
Forget them not,
Our precious freedom
Their lives bought.
~*~
Stream of consciousness words for a day of remembering.
~*~
A salute to my great uncle, Flight Engineer Archibald Don Gordon, Bomber Command 405 Squadron killed in action April 6, 1942 over the Bay of Biscay, France. He was 23 years old.
Thanks for visiting …
Dorothy
©Dorothy E. Chiotti … All Rights Reserved 2018 … Aimwell CreativeWorks
~*~
An eerie stillness permeates the air
And with the wind the trees doth creak and moan.
Their naked branches not so very bare;
As coat of ice doth shiver, shake and groan.
Ol’ Man of Winter hath his fury wrought
As Mother Nature weeps for what she’s lost.
The children of the Earth in tempest caught
Their innocence, as e’er, too high a cost.
*
The calm after the storm a vacant shock
As minds and hearts and souls themselves adjust
To what is lost of nature’s precious stock
And come to terms with this we children must.
For precious life to all of us is given,
But none of us are guaranteed to heaven.
~*~
I’ve started a new journal.
As I am inclined to do, I flipped through the pages of my last journal to see what I’d left behind and found this sonnet written during the great ice storm of Christmas week December 2013.
Written by candlelight, I imagine. I don’t remember. That week is such a blur. Surreal, I suppose.
I love trees and it distressed me to see them suffer under the volume of ice they bore.
Now, two months later, the only ice left is under foot, and this is a hazard all its own.
Perhaps a month from now the view will be green instead of white. Judging by the mountains of snow and three inches of ice underneath it, spring could be a long way away … and messy.
Still, snow can be so pretty.
Thanks for visiting,
Dorothy 🙂
~*~
©Dorothy Chiotti, Aimwell Creative Works
~*~
Not for the faint of heart
Those devil-dare roads
That wind and course
And spill o’er vale and rambling hill.
*
‘Tween walls of stone unyielding.
Scarce room to breathe as
Bumper whispers to bumper
“Take care o’er there by Malham Cove.”
*
As mists roll in a view obscured.
One dare not say, nor breathe, a word
As through the rolling roads we pass and
Pray for cushion of the grass.
Dorothy Chiotti
All Rights Reserved
~*~
This short, haphazard poem was inspired by a rather haphazard drive through the Yorkshire Dales.
My husband wasn’t driving at the time. His uncle, who resides in Skipton, sped us through a jam-packed one-day excursion, which took us by many lovely ancient villages; up into the hills at Malham; over to Bolton Abbey and whatever else he could squeeze into a whirlwind tour.
The scenery was glorious. I really wish we could have spent more time there.
It was a long driving day and Lloyd’s uncle, who is 86 and has lived in the area for many years (and who swims 34 laps of a 25 metre pool four mornings a week), drove those familiar narrow, winding stone wall-lined roads like a speedway ~ that is to say FAST!!!
To be fair, everyone drives those roads ~ roads that were never designed for modern-day passing traffic ~ like speeding demons.
It’s all part of the charm, I suppose … and why it’s unlikely I shall ever take the wheel of a car in the Yorkshire Dales myself. 😉
~*~
While in England, in September, I adopted a bit of a writing experiment.
As we travelled by car around the country, my husband driving, I kept a blank-paged journal and a pen ever at hand to write down whatever inspired as we went.
It was a fun exercise which, apart from leaving me with a few inspired gems (and some jibberish, but that’s the creative process, right?) also instilled a greater sense of how much of my heart still resides in this land where I spent my formative years.
The view inspired, the memories flowed, my heart was filled and the words came.
I’ll be posting them as the spirit moves.
Thanks for visiting …
Dorothy 🙂
~*~
©Dorothy Chiotti, Aimwell CreativeWorks 2013
Weekly Photo Challenge: Grand
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The world is charged with the grandeur of God.
It will flame out, like shining from shook foil;
It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil
Crushed. Why do men then now not reck his rod?
Generations have trod, have trod, have trod;
And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil;
And wears man’s smudge and shares man’s smell: the soil
Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.
*
And for all this, nature is never spent;
There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;
And though the last lights off the black West went
Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs —
Because the Holy Ghost over the bent
World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.
Gerard Manley Hopkins
1844-1889
~*~
One of my favourite poems by one of my favourite British poets.
This beautiful reflection on nature and renewal was brought to mind as I considered the word “grand.”
Thank you for visiting …
Dorothy 🙂
~*~
Image ©Dorothy Chiotti, Aimwell CreativeWorks 2013
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The Sea.
The body aqua.
Tranquil and menacing in one breath.
Being in the moment,
By the water,
The lesson of the ages.
~*~
This week’s photo challenge asks us for impressions of the sea.
My image selection is from time spent early last year by the Mediterranean Sea at Port Olympic in Barcelona.
Enjoy!
Thanks for visiting …
Dorothy 🙂
~*~
Shout Outs
~*~
©Dorothy Chiotti, Aimwell CreativeWorks 2013