- Clean water under attack in the U.S. Congress
- Man faces charges following attempted armed robbery
- Discovery Center experiences record public attendance
- Pet Talk: Probiotics for your pets
- Illinois home prices climb 3.7 percent in December
- Supreme Court and gay marriage — U of I expert weighs in
- More than 6,100 residents of Winnebago County enrolled in Marketplace
- First large U.S. delegation to visit Cuba since opening of relations
- Merger complete for Illinois Bank & Trust, Galena State Bank
- Crusader welcomes Dr. Maria Lozano Vazquez
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