Monday, September 25, 2017

The Real Green


I'm glad the sky is painted blue
And the earth is painted green,
With such a lot of nice fresh air 
All sandwiched in between.
Author Unknown




The Real Green
By Elece Hollis

Pale green of first leaves in springtime,
Green of the forest cool and deep?
 Green with envy, green as grass?
I can't let the question pass.
What is the real––realest real––the really, realest green?

Could it be the green of money,
The yellow-green side of a sycamore leaf,
Or the rind of a lime or the juice between?
 A holly leaf or a coffee bean? 
What is the real––realest real––the really, realest green?

Is it the green of a iris stem,
The shade of a dragonfly's wing?
The green of fir tree––the pines
The green of olives––or muscadines?
What is the real––realest real––the really, realest green?

Could it be an apple, pear, or string bean
 Or the root of a majestic live oak–– unseen
Or the gray-green of  moss swaying in the breeze 
Is it the green of holly leaves?
What is real––realest real––the really, realest green?



Saturday, September 23, 2017

Come to The Garden











Flowers are food for the soul. 
They fill more than bread. 
They satisfy more than money. 
C.E. Hollis





Come To 
By Elece Hollis

Come to the garden where warm breezes blow sweetly
Where bluebirds and butterflies play.
Come to the garden, sit down for the feast
Where blessings are served up each day.

Come to the garden; take food for your soul
Food much more filling than jelly on toast.
Come to the garden and take in the sweetness,
Come visit where God serves as eminent host.

Come to the garden; come on go with me now;
Don't wait till after the morning has passed.
Come again in the evening, when shadows are falling,
Come to the table at last.











Friday, July 14, 2017

Earth Song




I love to think of nature 
as an unlimited broadcasting station 
through which God speaks to us every hour 
if we will only
 tune in. 
George Washington Carver





Earth Song
By Elece Hollis

Every flower a trumpet,
Each blade of grass a quivering string;
Everywhere we turn we hear the earth
Raise instruments a song to bring.


There's music in the meadow,
There's rhythm beating in the trees;
Over all the wind elects to play
A melody upon the breeze. 



Thursday, July 13, 2017

Summer Rose



A man who could make one rose…would be
 accounted most wonderful; 
yet God scatters countless such flowers around us!
 His gifts are so infinite that we do not see them. 
Martin Luther


Summer Rose
  by Elece Hollis

Late in the heat of July, 
Having feasted on spring eye candy
Flowers everywhere––daffodils, peonies,
Having our souls filled up with sunshine 
With bright festival zinnias and daisies,
Having been feted with fireworks
Having taken a stroll on the beach, 
Seen the seagulls wheeling in the bright sky,
Having filled our tummies with fresh tomatoes
With peaches warm from the trees
Dazed by the heat and full up 
With wonder we hurry past
The sweet little roses and never stop
To smell them.

Wednesday, July 12, 2017

Summer Is

Memory is the diary that we all carry with us. 
Oscar Wilde


Summer Is
By Elece Hollis

Summer is Crepe Myrtle pushing pink lace and sweet perfume,
Watermelon splitting open red with a luscious crack,
Corn ears––silk showing––waiting for eager hands to harvest,
Tomatoes ripening on the vine––juicy and sweet.


Summer is watching the wind make dancing leaf shadows,
Hummingbirds bickering at the feeders––cicadas thrumming,
Bumblebees hovering over honeysuckle vines,
Mailbox standing beside the dusty road––listing and thirsty.


Summer is children running splashing in the sprinkler,
Popsicles dripping on little fingers with wonderful stickiness,
Working in the hot sun and resting in the long evenings,
Chasing fireflies and capturing them in Mason jars.


Summer is sitting on the porch swing listening to hoot owls,
Bouquets of Queen Anne's Lace and Brown-eyed Susans,
Eating a late dinner at eight-thirty of fresh garden foods,
Sleeping on Grandma's screened in back porch.


Summer is forever.








Tuesday, July 11, 2017

Rosebud




Summer, summer, summer––it sweeps up 
over your soul like a slow wave.
c.e.hollis





Rosebud

By Elece Hollis

Struggle against the summer sun
And the Oklahoma wind,
Fight the evening thunderstorms.
Peek out into the dark night,
If you dare...
Come, little rosebud,
Open in spite of it all.
Uncurl your wings!
Unfurl to the morning light and find
A hummingbird waiting
To sip you good morning.

Saturday, July 8, 2017

Queen of Weeds





With time and patience 
the mulberry leaf becomes satin. 
Chinese Proverb



Wildflower
by Elece Hollis

Like cream in a pink china cup
She is a considerable beauty for a weed.
Wreathed in green and soft as silk
She is a wonder indeed.

Feelin' Blue




O God from my youth you have taught me, 
and I still proclaim your wondrous deeds,
 and even when I am old and gray, 
O God, do not forsake me, until I declare your strength
 to this generation, 
your power to all who are to come.
 Psalm 71:17-18




Feelin' Blue
By  Elece Hollis

Ever get to feelin' blue? 
Old and used and broken too?

Ever think your time has past,
You've done your part, you've seen the last

Of being useful––being one who can
Serve his God and his fellow man?

This old window made me think
I know I'm old, but not extinct!

Though the frame is worn and paint has peeled
Look close––you'll see its worth revealed.

The sky is reflected in the pane
It manages still to keep out rain.

The whole is set in old red brick
That solid wall is strong and thick.

So when you get to feelin' blue
Think of what you still can do.

Remember of the colors too
What a lovely wonderful shade is blue!

Friday, July 7, 2017

The Prairie Speaks


The Prairie Speaks
 By Elece Hollis

The prairie speaks in color. 
Oh so quiet sound;
Sweet and soft––to the point 
Always most profound.

The prairie speaks in texture,
Rough and rustling grass
She speaks in ribs, in lines, in points
She touches all who pass.

The prairie speaks in light somehow;
Finds just the words to say,
To let your listening soul hear
What it needs today.

The prairie speaks with fragrance,
Speaks distinctly, I suppose.
Whispers the secrets that she tells
Directly to your nose.

The prairie speaks with music
That no symphony can play.
Wind, rain, grasshoppers, birds 
Sound both night and day.

So walk out on the prairie, 
Listen with your heart;
And you will find there notes to read
Before you must depart.



Thursday, July 6, 2017

Working



The best kind of play contains an element of work, 
and the most productive kind of work must include 
something of the spirit of play.
Sydney J. Harris


Working
By Elece Hollis 

His work is never done. 
From dawn to setting sun
The bee works––never shirks his duty
Visiting beauty 
He carries it to others.


Our work should be so grand!
From dawn till darkness fills the land
We should work––never shirk our duty
Finding beauty
Then carrying it to others.