This is a diverse and inspirational book about fine art and poetry and will appeal to those who love life, nature, and creativity. There are forty-one poems, and each poem is illustrated by the poet by means of art and photography relative to a specific poem.
Art overflows into poetry. This book is a culmination of thoughts and feelings about life and nature through the process of creativity. Simply stated, the author becomes the flower, animal, landscape, etc., that is created on canvas. Thoughts and love become words hastily scribbled onto pieces of paper which evolves into poetry. The incredible order, detail, beauty, and perfection of creation are expressed through the authors creativity. By studying, painting, and writing about nature, the author has come to the unswerving realisation that the universe can only be attributed to the supreme intelligence of God, and just as He is capable of doing the impossible in nature, so too can He do the impossible in the lives of His greatest creation: mankind.
|Publisher:||Partridge Publishing Africa|
|Product dimensions:||8.50(w) x 11.00(h) x 0.23(d)|
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
Take a Walk with Me
By Caroline Street
Partridge AfricaCopyright © 2016 Caroline Street
All rights reserved.
A Rhino's Tale
I was born free on the African plains,
Underneath the Umbrella Thorn tree.
Whilst still wet from birth,
I lay in the long sweet grass,
And the gentle morning sun spread its warmth
Throughout perfect little me.
I welcomed the world cosseted and carefree.
That first sweet drink
Of my mother's milk,
Strengthened my frailty.
A soft nudge on my cheek from mom,
Was all the encouragement I needed,
To quickly raise me to my feet.
For the next few days,
My life was spent in an idyllic haze;
Food on tap was assured - I was content
And safe in my environment.
Mother taught me the ways of a Rhino
And what to forage for survival.
She was a constant comfort and guardian
To my fragility and innocence.
As I grew bigger and stronger,
Our days were spent relaxing in the shade.
Under the bright moon, we foraged for food;
Grass, twigs and sand our daily diet,
An existence perfect for us,
In the quietude of the African bush.
A thundering explosion broke the silence!
I was mortified, my instinct was to run and hide;
Mom lay broken, her lifeblood seeping
Into the dry, warm earth.
Mortally wounded, she moaned in agony,
The bullet that struck her had been deadly,
Her cries now of sorrow and concern for me.
The poachers came and in their haste
To prevent being tracked and chased,
Crudely hacked off mom's horns;
Her protection and adornment.
Amidst her struggles of protest,
They did not care for her pain,
Only for their monetary gain.
I, incredibly was left unharmed,
But was left trembling, shocked at the horror.
I stared in disbelief, appalled
At the mutilated body of my mother,
Dying under the Umbrella Thorn,
The place where I was born.
Compassionate humans came to my rescue,
Bottle-food was my daily fare.
My caregivers and I formed a loving bond;
They saw to it that I grew up nourished and strong.
In my youth, I was returned to my natural habitat,
Where I belong - the African Bushveld,
Underneath the Umbrella Thorn.
I was brimming with vitality and vigour
And proud of my prominent horn,
Which was necessary for the challenges ahead;
To find a mate and procreate.
For one and a half years my days
Were spent in gestation; I was blessed.
I had laid my tragic past to rest
And the best was yet to come.
My calf was born as free as me,
In the shade of the Umbrella tree,
On the plains where my mother died.
A new life of survival and peace had arrived
Or was this just a wishful thought?
My tranquillity was destroyed in seconds
By the (remembered) explosion of a gun.
In disbelief, my mind was stunned!
My calf in her sweet innocence, lay dead,
Not a full day of her life had she lived.
Just like mother, her lifeblood too,
Was staining the warm sand red.
A second explosion rent the air,
This bullet was aimed at my head;
As I lay dying, I was brutally dehorned.
The loss and pain from the injuries I sustained
Was too much for my body to endure.
I welcomed death and took my last breath
Next to my lifeless calf under the Umbrella Thorn
The place where we were born.
And so my species has been
Obliterated from this land.
The Rhinos will no longer be seen
Grazing on Africa's warm sands,
Or resting under the shade of a tree.
Once again mankind's cruelty has prevailed,
But in the larger scheme of life, they have failed
And will ultimately pay the highest price.
What God entrusted to man,
Through disrespect and greed, has been taken away
And will no longer see another day.
In the dark, disturbing
Hours of one early morn,
When sleep was evasive
And worry was norm,
When quiet was ringing loud
The divine messenger
Made his presence felt.
A vision, dazzling white
In the dark of the night;
His wings a symbol
Of divine freedom.
This angel was sent from
The Heavenly Kingdom;
Yahweh Nissi, El Shaddai,
Dispatched His angel in a time
Of anxiety and upheaval.
He was the last resort
I was defeated,
My life almost completed.
The angel was a heart-warming
Almost inconceivable sight;
A heavenly host,
An authentic angel
Of this, I can boast.
No symbols adorned him,
No seductive darkness
He came not in shadow
But in pure white light.
God's omnipresence I felt;
A profound holiness
And graciousness - a quiet.
The visitation left me
With an unwavering belief
In the one above;
A positive reaction
And a great sense of relief,
With generous helpings
Of love, hope and faith.
A Profound peace
And belief that as long as
I remain in God's sight
He will guide me into His light.
Traversing the winding, gravelly road,
Wherever I gaze, just grey
Acacia thorn and stick trees,
Stunted from fires and drought,
With intermittent splashes of green.
Despite the hardship of the land,
The flora thrives in the warm, grainy sand.
The quirky Hornbill arches his spotted head,
Eyes scanning the ground for a treat;
Bulbuls chitta-chatta loudly in the trees
Searching eagerly for bugs and berries.
An eagle soaring high is difficult to identify
With the sun glinting in my eyes.
Spoor of Impala, giraffe, zebra and civet
Are distinct upon the sand,
Each print shows its brand.
Perfect indentations of hooves and pads
Indicate the animal's direction across the land.
At noon time stands still,
Nothing stirs the intersecting branches
Scorching under the sun.
I take my chances and go for a stroll
And notice how the drought has taken its toll.
Just a slightly discernible breeze sways
The long bleached grass,
Adding an aura of softness
To the arid landscape in my path.
My thoughts are filled with the elusive leopard
That has been spotted around.
Healthy trepidation fills my senses;
I am on the lookout!
My subconscious fears
That should the leopard appear,
I might not welcome sunset.
This princely cat is decisive and swift
And is not a predator I want to attract.
Large spider webs cover a Milkberry tree,
The spiders are unseen by me,
But no doubt they have espied me
And moved into the centre of the tree.
Traces of fur and bone are strewn on the ground.
I surmise a recent kill or altercation
Took place during the night
When sight for cats is bright.
The victor now, no doubt licking his paws,
The victim it appears is no more.
Here and there are prodigious sandy hills
Created by assiduous ant colonies -
The abstract artists of the bushveld,
And an anteater's dream.
I am aware that the gaping holes
Could be the habitat of a snake
And poking around could result
In a deadly mistake.
At day's end, the sun slowly
Sets into the horizon -
The bushveld is swathed in gold;
A touch of coolness descends
And the eagle soars no more.
Will the quietude of the night
Be interrupted by the lion's roar?
In the boma, the fire is lit and just
Beyond that in the darkness, we sit.
The clarity of the stars takes my breath away,
Yet torches are still essential to light the way.
No wildlife will approach tonight,
Deterred by the flame of the firelight,
But will sniff the tantalising aroma of the braaivleis.
Dawn will reveal animal spoor,
The tell-tale search for left-over food.
At daybreak, the silhouettes of trees and cactus
Creates an intricate pattern against the violet-blue sky.
A solitary beetle is hard at work
Rolling dung to an underground hide.
As I huddle over my coffee
A thought comes to mind,
It's just God, His angels and I
Who witness this golden silence of the sky;
The creation of a new day
In this harsh inspirational bushveld.
Cat is Cat, just That!
Cat is cat, just that!
Independent and aloof,
Is what his persona conveys;
His wanderings are legend,
Where he goes to, no one knows.
A swift and skilful hunter;
He toys with his prey,
(A lizard, a mouse, a bird)
This tactic is his usual way.
His actions seem absurd;
Stalk, pounce and kill,
A game of throw and catch
And into the air the victim goes.
When cat is bored he discards his prey
And seeks a cosy spot to doze.
The nature of cat, is that, just that!
Cat will tout his beauty to own your heart,
He will sit at your feet and look lovingly up
To garner a saucer of milk
Or his favourite tit-bit.
His purr will melt your heart;
He knows how to gain approval
Because he is so smart!
His eccentricities are forgiven with ease;
With his tail a neat curl
He will claim the kitchen counter as his throne;
From here he'll view the world with proud disdain.
Disapproval of his actions
Will be met with a moan,
This means, "leave me alone!"
With a purr and pleading eyes
And that oh, so strokable fur,
Cat will curl up in your lap and take a nap,
And you'll wonder what you did to deserve that!
But that is just a part of his mental game -
Cat is cat, just that!!
Day is at its restful end;
Sea, sky and hues blend.
Melting, merging into one;
A colour scape designed by the sun.
Birds descending in happy frolic;
A silhouette of wings at play.
Dashing, splashing, some at rest,
Enjoying the final merriment of the day.
'Champagne Sunset' -
Captured on canvas;
What the eye to hand has perceived.
A creation of thick impasto
In lilac, red and tangerine.
Oil paints cut, edged and coaxed,
Into a scene, beautifully serene.
An everlasting moment in time
Is what the artist has achieved.
The viewer's eye coaxed again and again,
On an upward journey across
The gentle champagne sea;
Drawn into the melting horizon -
The last vestige of the dying amber sun.
Clouds gently adrift on a warm day,
Not a smudge of gray,
Just daubs of white on blue.
Puffy, wispy and feather light,
Outlined in a silvery hue,
Evanescing in the heat of the sunlight.
Semblances of bugs and blossoms evolve
Into harlequins, horses, dwarfed men
And other such wild imaginings.
The idyllic firmament is transformed
Into threatening purple and indigo,
A signature of the gathering storm.
Blobs of cloud are fattened as if by yeast,
Into thundering, rolling banks,
Akin to mutating beasts.
Unable to restrain the expanding moisture within,
Torrents burst forth amidst jagged spears of lightning,
And rumbles of energy colliding.
A deluge of rain o'er mountains and plains
Saturates the cracked earth,
Giving rise to nature's birth.
A brilliant new canvas emerges;
Myriad greens of forests and fields
And colourful blurs of fresh landscapes converge,
To stir the imagination once again.
Death of a Child
A child is a remarkable blessing,
Surpassing all the treasures on earth,
Who brings forth indescribable happiness
From inception to incredible birth.
The little being who adds significance
To our existence on earth.
An astounding miniature of human form,
With wispy hair and downy skin;
Tiny fingers that reach out for warmth;
Bright new eyes that seek spiritual connection
And noisy pleas that demand attention.
A child's grasping hugs require reciprocation;
The vision of them captivates a mother's eyes,
Compelling a need within to protect them;
Their chuckles and giggles effect a million smiles!
The frailty and innocence of a child
Is often the catalyst for a traumatic event,
Which can sadly lead to an untimely death.
When a child is called to Heaven,
The heart is permanently broken.
Thankfully, every cloud has a silver lining,
And as the passing of time is healing
The gentle wave of acceptance
Will raise the spirits of a tender heart again,
As assuredly as the sun rises each day
And the stars shimmer in the Milky way.
Reflecting on the spectacle of nature
Will harmonise and edify the soul:
A raindrop as it reflects prisms of light,
A magnificent rainbow after a storm,
The halo around the moon on a dark night.
Just so, the unique spirit of a child
Exists and is discernible in a similar way;
Instead of tears this will inspire a smile,
Reviving fond memories of days gone by.
And so a child's particular essence remains
In the heart of the bereaved from day to day.
Eulogy of Trees
Trees perceive the purpose of their being;
To nourish humanity and other living things.
They distribute food from crown to roots,
In the form of flowers, berries, nuts and fruits.
Trees beautify earth and cool the atmosphere,
Their canopies offer shade from the sun's glare
Whilst they oxygenate and purify the air.
Trees mask ugliness and soften noise;
Their wood is utilised for handicrafts and fuel.
Nature's melodies are enjoyed
In the close proximity of a tree,
As they attract the birds and bees.
Secure habitats and shelter they proffer
From harsh seasons and inclement weather.
In the shade of their limbs,
Micro forests give birth.
The green of the tree is symbolic
Of regeneration; a mental tonic.
Trees are sharing and kind
And a great blessing to mankind.
Plant a tree and help save a forest -
Celebrate Arbor Day in a generous way.
Trees are the lungs of earth,
And without them, life as we know it
Will cease to exist.
Excerpted from Take a Walk with Me by Caroline Street. Copyright © 2016 Caroline Street. Excerpted by permission of Partridge Africa.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Table of Contents
ContentsA Rhino's Tale, 8,
Angel Encounter, 10,
Bushveld Bliss, 12,
Cat is Cat, just That!, 14,
Champagne Sunset, 17,
Death of a Child, 20,
Eulogy of Trees, 21,
Feed the Birds, 23,
Frenzied Inspiration, 25,
Hidden Identities, 27,
It is not for a Tree to tell a Tale, 30,
Little Lizard, 32,
Living Desert, 35,
Memories of the Forest, 36,
My Gift, 38,
My Piece of Paradise, 40,
Pause for a While, 44,
River of Time, 47,
Scattered Thoughts, 48,
Spirit of Nature, 51,
Sunrise, Sunset, 53,
Sweet Magnolia, 55,
Take a Walk with Me, 57,
The Artist, 58,
The Gate to Hate, 60,
The Illustrious Orchid, 63,
The Laundered Soul, 64,
The Loneliest Buffalo, 66,
The Quintessential Woman, 69,
The Significance of a Rose, 70,
The Storm, 73,
The Swing, 74,
The Tombstone, 76,
Tiny Spider, 78,
Touch of a Garden, 79,
Waterfalls, Streams and Dreams, 80,
Whispering's of Spring, 83,
Winter Reflections, 84,