If, on these library steps I had been

You may never have seen me again,

I’d read all the books from the top to the ground,

Deaf to the world I might never be found.

As the pages of each book became unfurled,

I’d escape to the beauty of each fantasy world.

I could stay in this quiet world casually reading,

Awareness of the real world slowly receding.

For who wouldn’t want this glorious respite.

From the chaos of the world we find now in our sight.

© DiAnne Ebejer


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Where is that girl?

The one that used
to wake up every morning
with a smile on her face,
The one who couldn’t wait
to begin the day.

Where did she go?
The one that thought
you came alive
in every game,
And all you had to do
was want to play.

You know the one
I’m speaking of,
The one with innocent eyes;
always looking ahead.  Because
for her everything discovered
was a thing of beauty and
true surprise.

When was it that she had
started to disappear?
And did she really
have a chance
to thrive?

Or was she served up
a bowl of fierce control
On every table?
And was her desire to bloom
Snuffed out around every corner?

Where is that girl?

© DiAnne Ebejer

Posted in Poetry by me II | 1 Comment

Other Eyes


Though sitting on the same beach

it seems somehow changed

And sifting these same fingers through cool sand

I feel no shells

Staring out at the far raging sea

I don’t see the promises it brings in its waves

The Sandpipers seem to have moved on

to fairer ground

And where are the sand crabs

poking heads out of small holes in the sand?

Sea grapes lie limply on the beach path

Tall grass stands still in the wind

I look through the cumulus clouds

No gulls appear …

Looking through other eyes

I used to see so much more

© DiAnne Ebejer

Posted in Poetry by me II | 3 Comments

Edna – (a treat for Saturday)


In 2010 my husband an I  went to visit Edna’s monument in Camden Maine, pictured above.  The feature picture is a view from the mount where Edna’s plaque resides. I was told by a local that  her home used to be on that hill as well but there was no evidence of it there now.  She was  born not far from here in Rockland Maine.

Edna St. Vincent Millay (February 22, 1892 – October 19, 1950) was an American poet and playwright. She received the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry in 1923, the third woman to win the award for poetry, and was also known for her feminist activism. She used the pseudonym Nancy Boyd for her prose work. The poet Richard Wilbur asserted, “She wrote some of the best sonnets of the century.” (source Wickipedia)


Me attempting to get into the picture with Edna’s plaque.

Below is my favorite (and perhaps her most famous) piece “Renascence”; part of which is featured on the plaque.  Enjoy!

Edna St. Vincent Millay  “Renascence”


All I could see from where I stood
Was three long mountains and a wood;
I turned and looked the other way,
And saw three islands in a bay.
So with my eyes I traced the line
Of the horizon, thin and fine,
Straight around till I was come
Back to where I’d started from;
And all I saw from where I stood
Was three long mountains and a wood.
Over these things I could not see:
These were the things that bounded me;
And I could touch them with my hand,
Almost, I thought, from where I stand.
And all at once things seemed so small
My breath came short, and scarce at all.
But, sure, the sky is big, I said;
Miles and miles above my head;
So here upon my back I’ll lie
And look my fill into the sky.
And so I looked, and, after all,
The sky was not so very tall.
The sky, I said, must somewhere stop,
And—sure enough!—I see the top!
The sky, I thought, is not so grand;
I ’most could touch it with my hand!
And reaching up my hand to try,
I screamed to feel it touch the sky.
I screamed, and—lo!—Infinity
Came down and settled over me;
Forced back my scream into my chest,
Bent back my arm upon my breast,
And, pressing of the Undefined
The definition on my mind,
Held up before my eyes a glass
Through which my shrinking sight did pass
Until it seemed I must behold
Immensity made manifold;
Whispered to me a word whose sound
Deafened the air for worlds around,
And brought unmuffled to my ears
The gossiping of friendly spheres,
The creaking of the tented sky,
The ticking of Eternity.
I saw and heard and knew at last
The How and Why of all things, past,
And present, and forevermore.
The Universe, cleft to the core,
Lay open to my probing sense
That, sick’ning, I would fain pluck thence
But could not,—nay! But needs must suck
At the great wound, and could not pluck
My lips away till I had drawn
All venom out.—Ah, fearful pawn!
For my omniscience paid I toll
In infinite remorse of soul.
All sin was of my sinning, all
Atoning mine, and mine the gall
Of all regret. Mine was the weight
Of every brooded wrong, the hate
That stood behind each envious thrust,
Mine every greed, mine every lust.
And all the while for every grief,
Each suffering, I craved relief
With individual desire,—
Craved all in vain! And felt fierce fire
About a thousand people crawl;
Perished with each,—then mourned for all!
A man was starving in Capri;
He moved his eyes and looked at me;
I felt his gaze, I heard his moan,
And knew his hunger as my own.
I saw at sea a great fog bank
Between two ships that struck and sank;
A thousand screams the heavens smote;
And every scream tore through my throat.
No hurt I did not feel, no death
That was not mine; mine each last breath
That, crying, met an answering cry
From the compassion that was I.
All suffering mine, and mine its rod;
Mine, pity like the pity of God.
Ah, awful weight! Infinity
Pressed down upon the finite Me!
My anguished spirit, like a bird,
Beating against my lips I heard;
Yet lay the weight so close about
There was no room for it without.
And so beneath the weight lay I
And suffered death, but could not die.

Long had I lain thus, craving death,
When quietly the earth beneath
Gave way, and inch by inch, so great
At last had grown the crushing weight,
Into the earth I sank till I
Full six feet under ground did lie,
And sank no more,—there is no weight
Can follow here, however great.
From off my breast I felt it roll,
And as it went my tortured soul
Burst forth and fled in such a gust
That all about me swirled the dust.

Deep in the earth I rested now;
Cool is its hand upon the brow
And soft its breast beneath the head
Of one who is so gladly dead.
And all at once, and over all
The pitying rain began to fall;
I lay and heard each pattering hoof
Upon my lowly, thatchèd roof,
And seemed to love the sound far more
Than ever I had done before.
For rain it hath a friendly sound
To one who’s six feet under ground;
And scarce the friendly voice or face:
A grave is such a quiet place.

The rain, I said, is kind to come
And speak to me in my new home.
I would I were alive again
To kiss the fingers of the rain,
To drink into my eyes the shine
Of every slanting silver line,
To catch the freshened, fragrant breeze
From drenched and dripping apple-trees.
For soon the shower will be done,
And then the broad face of the sun
Will laugh above the rain-soaked earth
Until the world with answering mirth
Shakes joyously, and each round drop
Rolls, twinkling, from its grass-blade top.
How can I bear it; buried here,
While overhead the sky grows clear
And blue again after the storm?
O, multi-colored, multiform,
Beloved beauty over me,
That I shall never, never see
Again! Spring-silver, autumn-gold,
That I shall never more behold!
Sleeping your myriad magics through,
Close-sepulchred away from you!
O God, I cried, give me new birth,
And put me back upon the earth!
Upset each cloud’s gigantic gourd
And let the heavy rain, down-poured
In one big torrent, set me free,
Washing my grave away from me!

I ceased; and through the breathless hush
That answered me, the far-off rush
Of herald wings came whispering
Like music down the vibrant string
Of my ascending prayer, and—crash!
Before the wild wind’s whistling lash
The startled storm-clouds reared on high
And plunged in terror down the sky,
And the big rain in one black wave
Fell from the sky and struck my grave.
I know not how such things can be;
I only know there came to me
A fragrance such as never clings
To aught save happy living things;
A sound as of some joyous elf
Singing sweet songs to please himself,
And, through and over everything,
A sense of glad awakening.
The grass, a-tiptoe at my ear,
Whispering to me I could hear;
I felt the rain’s cool finger-tips
Brushed tenderly across my lips,
Laid gently on my sealèd sight,
And all at once the heavy night
Fell from my eyes and I could see,—
A drenched and dripping apple-tree,
A last long line of silver rain,
A sky grown clear and blue again.
And as I looked a quickening gust
Of wind blew up to me and thrust
Into my face a miracle
Of orchard-breath, and with the smell,—
I know not how such things can be!—
I breathed my soul back into me.
Ah! Up then from the ground sprang I
And hailed the earth with such a cry
As is not heard save from a man
Who has been dead, and lives again.
About the trees my arms I wound;
Like one gone mad I hugged the ground;
I raised my quivering arms on high;
I laughed and laughed into the sky,
Till at my throat a strangling sob
Caught fiercely, and a great heart-throb
Sent instant tears into my eyes;
O God, I cried, no dark disguise
Can e’er hereafter hide from me
Thy radiant identity!
Thou canst not move across the grass
But my quick eyes will see Thee pass,
Nor speak, however silently,
But my hushed voice will answer Thee.
I know the path that tells Thy way
Through the cool eve of every day;
God, I can push the grass apart
And lay my finger on Thy heart!

The world stands out on either side
No wider than the heart is wide;
Above the world is stretched the sky,—
No higher than the soul is high.
The heart can push the sea and land
Farther away on either hand;
The soul can split the sky in two,
And let the face of God shine through.
But East and West will pinch the heart
That can not keep them pushed apart;
And he whose soul is flat—the sky
Will cave in on him by and by.

Edna St. Vincent Millay

Posted in Poetry by me II | 7 Comments

Green Snake Face (a fun post for Friday)


This is an older picture of my granddaughter Natalie who is now 10. We had been to the local art festival that day. A fun memory.

Green Snake Face….a true story.

All my life I’ve dealt with boys,
snakes and dirt instead of toys.
They knew my first name in the local ER,
Big wheels on toes, hair stuck in tar
I had two boys of my own that were wild as two boars,
Then I remarried and I got two boys more.

But then a very happy and wonderful surprise!
A son and daughter in law pregnant before our eyes.
I paced in that birthing room forward and back,
And at last came the baby,,,,,beautiful “Jack”!
I loved him so much I’ll have to say,
Girls just didn’t matter on that wonderful day.

But a couple of years later they “blossomed” once more,
I said, I’m not even going through that girl wish door!
But of course the “frills” were in the back of my mind,
And yay,  here came “Natalie”, a  one of a kind!
I honestly didn’t know quite how to act!
I thought I might break her as a matter of fact,
I bought dolls and pink blankets and girly things of all manner,
I even bought a “HOW TO” For Dumb Grammy planner.


I fixed up a room full of girly and more,
They loved to see me coming at the baby stores!
But as time passed we noticed through our joys,
The frill-girl started acting just like the boys!
I needn’t have stocked up on all that pink lace,
Cause we got us a Tom-girl with a green snake face.

© DiAnne Ebejer


Natalie and Daddy, my son Justin

Posted in Poetry by me II | 2 Comments

100% Chance of Rain


Marek Langowski


I think my heart
might rain today
I’m waking heavy
with the blues –
The sun came crashing
through my window
but all I saw
was a vision of you –
Perhaps it was
a dream I had
that rode the sunshine
into the dawn –
Now clouds are forming
around my heart
and you’re refusing
to be gone –

© DiAnne Ebejer


Posted in Poetry by me II | 5 Comments



Many words are left trapped in the dark

Until we are brave enough to set them free,

Many hurts stay lodged in our hearts

Until we stop feeding them and let them be.
© DiAnne Ebejer

Posted in Poetry by me II | 1 Comment