Symmetry by pixygiggles
Symmetry, a photo by pixygiggles on Flickr.
The Raven by Edgar Allan Poe

“Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door —
Only this, and nothing more.”

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; — vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow — sorrow for the lost Lenore —
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore —
Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me — filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,
Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door —
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; —
This it is, and nothing more.”

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
“Sir,” said I, “or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you”— here I opened wide the door; —
Darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, “Lenore?”
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, “Lenore!” —
Merely this, and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
Surely,” said I, “surely that is something at my window lattice:
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore —
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; —
‘Tis the wind and nothing more.”

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door —
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door —
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore.
Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” I said, “art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the Nightly shore —
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!”
Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”

Much I marveled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning— little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blest with seeing bird above his chamber door —
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as “Nevermore.”

Update 1/15/14: I meant to post a link to the remainder of the poem and forgot to do so. I was tired when I posted this one. Please, forgive me. 🙂 What I included in this post above is only the first portion of Poe’s poem, The Raven. This has truly been one of my favorite poems ever since I first read it in my high school English class. From Project Gutenberg’s website, according to their guidelines and instructions:

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at

 The Project Gutenberg EBook of Le Corbeau / The Raven, by Edgar Allan Poe



Invisibility by pixygiggles
Invisibility, a photo by pixygiggles on Flickr.

Questioning reality,
I sat resting my weary knee.
Over fields of fiery grasses,
Thoughts returned to weary masses.
People struggling just like me,
No hope given, no care they see,
Divided by policy.

Standing tall, distant trees,
Barren now of all their leaves.
Silent of their rustling voice,
No whisper to say, “You have a choice.”
Stricken by society’s dis-ease,
Commercialism is a tease,
The way of mortal, petty thieves.

Looming overhead,
Cold, dark, grey skies spread.
Reality threatens to fade away,
As thoughts turn inward none can sway.
No one knows what lies ahead,
So much left – always unsaid.
Invisibility takes over as I fled.

Poem and photo ©2013 Patricia Booth

I’ve had the idea for this photo in my head for a few weeks. Yesterday was the first time I went out for a recreational walk in 3 weeks. Other than running to the store each week, it’s the first time I’ve been out of the house period. I walked 3 miles to give myself plenty of fresh air and at least, a little exercise. (The colder months are much harder for me to get out.)

I wrote the poem tonight. Don’t read too much into it… or do, if you’re so inclined. I suppose poetry is one of those subjective forms of expression that the reader interprets in his or her own way. Let me know what you think in the comments below; and as always, thanks for stopping by!

Repeat, “You are old, Father William,” said the… Spider?

You Are Old, Father William

by Lewis Carroll [From: Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland]

‘You are old, Father William’, the young man said,
‘And your hair has become very white;
And yet you incessantly stand on your head —
Do you think, at your age, it is right?’

‘In my youth’, Father William replied to his son,
‘I feared it might injure the brain;
But, now that I’m perfectly sure I have none,
Why, I do it again and again.’

‘You are old’, said the youth, ‘as I mentioned before,
And have grown most uncommonly fat;
Yet you turned a back-somersault in at the door —
Pray, what is the reason of that?’

‘In my youth’, said the sage, as he shook his grey locks,
‘I kept all my limbs very supple
By the use of this ointment – one shilling the box –
Allow me to sell you a couple?’

‘You are old’, said the youth, ‘and your jaws are too weak
For anything tougher than suet;
Yet you finished the goose, with the bones and the beak –
Pray, how did you manage to do it?’

‘In my youth’, said his father, ‘I took to the law,
And argued each case with my wife;
And the muscular strength, which it gave to my jaw,
Has lasted the rest of my life.’

‘You are old’, said the youth, ‘one would hardly suppose
That your eye was as steady as ever;
Yet you balanced an eel on the end of your nose –
What made you so awfully clever?’

‘I have answered three questions, and that is enough,’
Said his father, ‘don’t give yourself airs!
Do you think I can listen all day to such stuff?
Be off, or I’ll kick you downstairs!’

I have always loved Lewis Carroll’s, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. It’s one of my favorite stories. And yes, the caterpillar was actually the one who asked Alice to recite You are old, Father William. I’m so far behind in posting photos I’ve taken this year. While going through photos from a visit to Burgess Falls on October 1st, I ran across this one and immediately thought of the caterpillar and his exchange with Alice. It seemed fitting to post this photo in this way.

Day 63 Spring Nest

Day 63 Spring Nest by pixygiggles
Day 63 Spring Nest, a photo by pixygiggles on Flickr.

I haven’t written a poem in a while, so I thought I would write one today to go along with my daily photo. Comments & constructive criticism are always welcomed. 🙂

Nestled high
Above prying eye,
Home awaits.

Sky of blue,
A much brighter hue,
Calls for flight.

Blossoms pink –
Welcomed sight, I think,
Spring is here!

Journey back
Homeward bound on track
Birds return.

Poem © 2012 Patricia Booth

Welcome Summer 2011

The summer solstice again is here,

The longest day of the year.

A cookout makes our meal more fun

As everyone gathers out in the sun.

Lazily sipping on lemonade,

Here come the ants to invade!

Let’s go down to the swimming hole

Or watch clouds pass on that grassy knoll.

As the day becomes increasingly hotter,

We play hard, but sweat much harder.

Cooling off in the shade of a grand old tree;

Ouch, I stepped on another honey bee!

A warm, light breeze begins to blow,

Carrying the scent of grass freshly mowed.

The wind picks up. What’s that I hear?

That thunderstorm sounds quite near.

Run to the porch for a quick retreat,

After mud puddles invite our bare feet.

The downpour is over as quickly as it began.

Just as the sun sets, the sky clears once again.

Mosquitoes start biting with the last of the rays

While brightly lit stars catch our enchanted gaze.

Days of warmth and bright sunlight

End when lightning bugs take flight.

Poem & Photograph © 2011 Patricia Booth

The Sleeping Gnome

While resting one night in peaceful slumber,
A gnome found himself in a land of wonder.
Mountains birthed rolling hills covered in trees
And rivers sprang out to flow into seas.
A meadow close by drew the gnome further along.
Flowers rich in color and life sang a sweet, peaceful song.
Creatures of every shape, size, and texture
Roamed through this land in most graceful splendor.
A calm, warm breeze moved his attention up high
Where an eagle rode out these gentle waves in the sky.
Looking around the gnome took in all that he saw.
He cherished this vision, completely in awe.
Slowly awaking he thought of his dream,
Wondering exactly what could this mean?
After some time of long thought did he ponder:
Beauty inspires energy and love to that of the beholder.

Poem & photograph © Patricia Booth 2011