- Illinois GOP Congressional delegation: Obama’s immigration plan undermines rule of law
- Suspect, 17, charged in Halloween hit-and-run in Roscoe
- Saint Anthony College of Nursing president to retire
- Man found guilty in deadly August 2013 crash at Mulford and Garrett Lane
- ‘The Price is Right Live!’ at Coronado March 1; tickets on sale Nov. 21
- Rockford’s E. Faye Butler to perform at Ten Chimneys in Wisconsin
- Stockholm Inn to be honored by Illinois Office of Tourism
- Winnebago County Sheriff’s Office to be out in force during Thanksgiving holiday
- Wallace co-sponsors bill to increase minimum wage
- Stadelman’s measure to prevent layoffs passes state Senate
Literary Hook: Experimenting with rhyme, rhythm and form
By Christine Swanberg
Author and Poet
The pleasures of the season linger just a little longer as we savor them.
Of course, we have seasons in our lives as well. Sometimes, when we’ve led busy, goal-oriented lives, the idea of slowing down and savoring becomes enticing. When we actually have a chance to live that way, it’s positively delicious.
Here is a poem I wrote more than a decade ago when I was experimenting with rhyme, rhythm and form.
Give me Time
Give me time to slow things down,
Meander through a Wisconsin town,
Dilly-dally the morning away,
Read romances on a rainy day.
Give me the grace of fine, small things,
The grace of lightness and of wings —
Hummingbird hovering over a trumpet vine,
Spotted cat chasing a ball of twine.
Give me time to tend the garden—
Tulips, lilies — slice of heaven.
Scent of roses pink and white.
Persian lilacs’ scent delight.
Give me the grace of time slowed down.
A limestone steeple in a Midwest town.
Or the grace of prairie tassels,
Turning leaves and wet sand castles.
Give me the grace of tiny treasures —
Lady bug, swallow-tail — simple pleasures.
A glass of wine, buttered toast.
These are what I love the most.
Give me time to watch the waves.
I love the way the sea behaves —
Agate, star fish, gulls in a line,
Tide pools, rivulets serpentine.
Give me the grace of gabled roofs,
And painted ponies with muddy hoofs.
Fireflies beneath a moonlit trestle,
The invitation of a train’s last whistle.
Give me time to think about
The ones that I cannot live without.
I want to give them more of me
And know the best is yet to be.
Christine Swanberg is a local author and poet.
From the June 26-July 2, 2013, issue