A Glue Book for the mewsings of my heart...

Wednesday, December 25, 2013


When the last Kalendersheets
flattern through the winterstreets
and Dezemberwind is blowing
then ist everybody knowing
that it is not allzuweit
she does come the Weihnachtszeit
All the Menschen, Leute,
people flippen out of ihr warm Stüble
run to Kaufhof, Aldi, Mess
make Konsum and business,
kaufen this und jene things
and the church turmglocke rings.
Manche holen sich a Tännchen
when this brennt they cry "Attention".
Rufen for the Feuerwehr
"Please come quick to löschen her!"
Goes the Tännchen off in Rauch
they are standing on the Schlauch.
In the kitchen of the house
mother makes the Christmasschmaus.
She is working, schufts and bakes
the hit is now her Joghurtkeks
and the Opa says als Tester
"We are killed bis to Silvester".
Then he fills the last Glas wine-
yes this is the christmastime!
Day by day does so vergang
and the holy night does come
you can think, you can remember
this is immer in Dezember.
Then the childrenlein are coming
candle-Wachs is abwärts running.
Bing of Crosby Christmas sings
while the Towerglocke rings
and the angels look so fine
well this is the Weihnachtstime.
Baby-eyes are kugelrund
the family feels kerngesund
when unterm Weihnachtsbaum they're hocking
then nothing can them ever shocking.
They are happy, are so fine
this happens in the christmastime.
The animals all in the house
the Hund, the Katz, the bird, the Maus,
are turning round the Weihnachtsstress,
enjoy this as never nie
well they find Kitekat and Chappi
in the Geschenkkarton of Papi.
The family begins to sing
and wieder does a Glöckchen ring.
Zum Song vom grünen Tannenbaum
the Tränen rennen down and down.
bis our mother plötzlich flennt
"The christmas-Gans im Ofen brennt!"
Her nose indeed is very fine,

it is indeed Weihnachtstime!

Friday, August 9, 2013


When Great Trees Fall
Maya Angelou

When great trees fall,
rocks on distant hills shudder,
lions hunker down
in tall grasses,
and even elephants
lumber after safety.

When great trees fall
in forests,
small things recoil into silence,
their senses
eroded beyond fear.

When great souls die,
the air around us becomes
light, rare, sterile.
We breathe, briefly.
Our eyes, briefly,
see with
a hurtful clarity.
Our memory, suddenly sharpened,
gnaws on kind words
promised walks
never taken.

Great souls die and
our reality, bound to
them, takes leave of us.
Our souls,
dependent upon their
now shrink, wizened.
Our minds, formed
and informed by their
fall away.
We are not so much maddened
as reduced to the unutterable ignorance
of dark, cold

And when great souls die,
after a period peace blooms,
slowly and always
irregularly. Spaces fill
with a kind of
soothing electric vibration.
Our senses, restored, never
to be the same, whisper to us.
They existed. They existed.
We can be. Be and be and be better. For they existed.

Thursday, June 13, 2013


"What is one to say about June,
the time of perfect young summer,
the fulfillment of the promise of the earlier months,
and with as yet no sign to remind one
that its fresh young beauty will ever fade."

~ Gertrude Jekyll

Sunday, June 9, 2013

Monday, April 29, 2013


"May Is Building Her House"

May is building her house. With apple blooms
She is roofing over the glimmering rooms;
Of the oak and the beech hath she built its beams,
... And, spinning all day at her secret looms,
With arrays of leaves each wind-swayed wall
She pictureth over, and peopleth it all
With echoes and dreams,
And singing of streams.

May is building her house. Of petal and blade,
Of the roots of the oak, is the flooring made,
With a carpet of mosses and lichen and clover,
Each small miracle over and over,
And tender, traveling green things strayed.

Her windows, the morning and evening star,
And her rustling doorways, ever ajar
With the coming and going
Of fair things blowing,
The thresholds of the four winds are.

May is building her house. From the dust of things
She is making the songs and the flowers and the wings;
From October’s tossed and trodden gold
She is making the young year out of the old,
Yea: out of winter’s flying sleet
She is making all the summer sweet,
And the brown leaves spurned of November’s feet
She is changing back again to spring’s.

~ Richard Le Gallienne (1866-1947)

Friday, April 19, 2013


The leaves of memory seemed to make A mournful rustling in the dark.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Sunday, March 31, 2013


The big brave angel cat,
folding a rainbow wing,
stretched out his gentle paw.
I'll find, purred he,
a kitten-- you were kind--
you must not grieve for me.
This one might do,
this timid little stray.
Terrestrial night to my celestial day;
it cannot take my place,
no other could do that.
But though you cannot bring me back,
you might retrace
in a kitten's pansy-face.

By Jacintha Buddicom, b. 1901, English Writer

Tuesday, March 19, 2013


In the flicker of the flame I see the magic of the the love you left for me...for Baeba, Minka, Miss Peach, Henry, Fluffy, Mickey, Scooter and all who have touched our lives and hearts.

Sunday, March 10, 2013

Jack Frost...

"Announced by all the trumpets of the sky, ARRIVES THE SNOW."
~Ralph Waldo Emerson~