November

Discussion in 'Writing' started by PoliticalChic, Nov 1, 2016.

  1. PoliticalChic
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    PoliticalChic Diamond Member

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    No sun - no moon!
    No morn - no noon -
    No dawn - no dusk - no proper time of day.
    No warmth, no cheerfulness, no healthful ease,
    No comfortable feel in any member -
    No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees,
    No fruits
    no flowers, no leaves, no birds! -
    November!

    By Thomas Hood
     
  2. SeaGal
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    SeaGal Gold Member

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    When the Frost is on the Punkin

    When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock,
    And you hear the kyouck and gobble of the struttin’ turkey-cock,
    And the clackin’ of the guineys, and the cluckin’ of the hens,
    And the rooster’s hallylooyer as he tiptoes on the fence;
    O, it’s then’s the times a feller is a-feelin’ at his best,
    With the risin’ sun to greet him from a night of peaceful rest,
    As he leaves the house, bareheaded, and goes out to feed the stock,
    When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock.

    They’s something kindo’ harty-like about the atmusfere
    When the heat of summer’s over and the coolin’ fall is here—
    Of course we miss the flowers, and the blossums on the trees,
    And the mumble of the hummin’-birds and buzzin’ of the bees;
    But the air’s so appetizin’; and the landscape through the haze
    Of a crisp and sunny morning of the airly autumn days
    Is a pictur’ that no painter has the colorin’ to mock—
    When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock.

    The husky, rusty russel of the tossels of the corn,
    And the raspin’ of the tangled leaves, as golden as the morn;
    The stubble in the furries—kindo’ lonesome-like, but still
    A-preachin’ sermuns to us of the barns they growed to fill;
    The strawstack in the medder, and the reaper in the shed;
    The hosses in theyr stalls below—the clover over-head!—
    O, it sets my hart a-clickin’ like the tickin’ of a clock,
    When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock!

    Then your apples all is gethered, and the ones a feller keeps
    Is poured around the celler-floor in red and yeller heaps;
    And your cider-makin’ ’s over, and your wimmern-folks is through
    With their mince and apple-butter, and theyr souse and saussage, too! ...
    I don’t know how to tell it—but ef sich a thing could be
    As the Angels wantin’ boardin’, and they’d call around on me
    I’d want to ’commodate ’em—all the whole-indurin’ flock—
    When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock!

    James Whitcomb Riley

    (ok - mehbe mo' Octoberish 'n ta nawth'rn pahts) :)
     
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  3. Moonglow
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    Moonglow Diamond Member

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    Hell, it's still 75 degrees here..

    Moonglow...
     
  4. PoliticalChic
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    PoliticalChic Diamond Member

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    Welcome to the board, SeaGal
     
  5. PoliticalChic
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    PoliticalChic Diamond Member

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    Grrrrrrrrrrr.......


    I had to have the heat turned on:
    [​IMG]
     
  6. Moonglow
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    Moonglow Diamond Member

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    Try B12
     
  7. SeaGal
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    SeaGal Gold Member

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    :biggrin:

    75 here too. No frost, no punkins.
     
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  8. PoliticalChic
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    PoliticalChic Diamond Member

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    No prob.....we're simply burning "Hillary For President" fliers
     
  9. SeaGal
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    SeaGal Gold Member

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    Thank you!
    Intended to head on over and introduce myself but along the way got sucked down into the rabbit hole of politics.
    With eyes glazing over, followed the bright light shining through the looking glass and woke up down here, a very nice place to be.



    :biggrin:

    They've been kind of hard to come around here - but we just put a big ol' stack in the outhouse. They've also made a fine contribution to the compost pile - with lots and lots of lime - tones down the acid doncha kno'.
     
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