May is National Photography Month

      The First Photograph, or more specifically, the earliest known surviving photograph made in a camera, was taken by Joseph Nicéphore Niépce in 1826 or 1827. The image depicts the view from an upstairs window at Niépce’s estate, Le Gras, in the Burgundy region of France.
      The First Color Photography was not taken until 1861 when James Clerk Maxwell presents a projected additive color image of a multicolored ribbon, the first demonstration of color photography by the three-color method he suggested in 1855. It uses three separate black-and-white photographs taken and projected through red, green and blue color filters.

My Life is a Bowl

My Life is a Bowl
 
My life is a bowl which is mine to brim
With loveliness old and new.
So I fill its clay from stem to rim
With you, dear heart,
With you.
 
My life is a pool which can only hold
One star and glimpse of blue.
But the blue and the little lamp of gold
Are you, dear heart,
Are you.
 
My life is a homing bird that flies
Through the starry dusk and dew
Home to the heaven of your true eyes,
Home, dear heart,
To you.
 
~May Riley Smith

The Rainy Day

The Rainy Day

The day is cold, and dark, and dreary;
It rains, and the wind is never weary;
The vine still clings to the mouldering wall,
But at every gust the dead leaves fall,
And the day is dark and dreary.

My life is cold, and dark and dreary;
It rains, and the wind is never weary;
My thoughts still cling to the mouldering past,
But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast,
And the days are dark and dreary.

But still, sad heart, and cease repining;
Behind the clouds is the sun still shining;
Thy fate is the common fate of all,
Into each life some rain must fall,
Some days must be dark and dreary.

~Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

 

 

Dried Apple Pie

Dried Apple Pie

I Loathe, abhor, detest, despise,
Abominate dried-apple pies.
I like good bread, I like good meat,
Or anything that’s fit to eat;
But of all the poor grub beneath the skies,
The poorest is dried apple pies.
Give me the toothache, or sore eyes,
But don’t give me dried apple pies.
The farmers takes his gnarliest fruit;
‘Tis wormy bitter, and hard, to boot;
He leaves the hulls to make us cough,
And don’t take half the peeling off.
Then on a dirty cord ’tis strung
And in a garret window hung,
And there it serves as roost for flies,
Until it’s made up into pies.
Tread on my corns, or tell me lies,
But don’t pass me dried apple pies.
~Author Unknown

The Rainbow

The Rainbow

My Heart leaps up when I behold

A Rainbow in the sky;

So was it when my life began;

So is it now I am a Man;

So be it when I shall grow old,

Or let me die!

The Child is Father of the Man;

And I could wish my days to be

Bound each to each by natural piety.

~ William Wordsworth

The Wind

The Wind

I can get through a doorway without any key,

And strip the leaves from the great oak tree.

I can drive storm-cloud and shake tall towers,

Or steal through a garden and not wake the flowers

Seas I can moves and ships I can sink;

I can carry a house-top or the sent of a pink.

When I am angry I can rave and riot;

And when I am spent, I lie quiet as quiet.

~James Reeves

Something Left Undone

Something Left Undone
Labor with what zeal we will,
Something still remains undone,
Something uncompleted still
Waits the raising of the sun.
By the bedside, on the stair,
At the threshold, near the gates,
With its menace or its prayer,
Like a mendicant it waits;
Waits, and will not go away;
Waits, and will not be gainsaid;
By the cares of yesterday
Each to-day is heavier made;
Till at length the burden seems
Greater than our strength can bear,
Heavy as the weight of dreams,
Pressing on us everywhere.
And we stand from day to day,
Like the dwarfs of times gone by,
Who, as Northern legends say,
On their shoulders held the sky.
~Henry Wadsworth Longfellow