Tag Archives: joy

Book Review: “The Ocean’s Lullaby” By Victoria Zigler

This review is of “The Ocean’s Lullaby” by Victoria Zigler.
Disclaimer : I received a free copy of this book in return for an honest review.

The Ocean’s Lullaby does, as the title suggests have a strong ocean theme. The poems in this collection range from the humorous to verses which bring a tear to the eye. Many of the poems are suitable for children, while others will be more readily appreciated by an adult audience.
One of the poems which particularly charmed me is “If I was A Mermaid” which runs thus:
“If I was a mermaid,

I wouldn’t need to sail.

I’d swim through the world’s waters,

With a flick of my silvery tail.

If I was a mermaid,

Who lived beneath the sea,

I’d zoom through the water,

So fast you’d never catch me”.
While the above will, I think appeal in particular to a younger audience, the touching simplicity of the verse will, I think bring a smile to the face of many an older reader.

Victoria also tackles serious issues, for example in her short poem entitled “Wounding Words”:
“Wounding words, like vicious knives,

Rip to shreds our pleasant lives,

Until no joy or hope survives,

And only pain and sorrow thrives”.
We have, I am sure all experienced what is so pithily expressed in the above piece.

Among my favourite poems in the humorous category are “When Words Don’t Mean The Same” and “When North Wind Does Blow”.
I have read “The Ocean’s Lullaby” several times and recommend it as a pleasant and sometimes thought provoking read.

“The Ocean’s Lullaby” can be found here, https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/641375

Ode On Melancholy By John Keats

No, no, go not to Lethe, neither twist
Wolf’s-bane, tight-rooted, for its poisonous wine;
Nor suffer thy pale forehead to be kiss’d
By nightshade, ruby grape of Proserpine;
Make not your rosary of yew-berries,
Nor let the beetle, nor the death-moth be
Your mournful Psyche, nor the downy owl
A partner in your sorrow’s mysteries;
For shade to shade will come too drowsily,
And drown the wakeful anguish of the soul.
But when the melancholy fit shall fall
Sudden from heaven like a weeping cloud,
That fosters the droop-headed flowers all,
And hides the green hill in an April shroud;
Then glut thy sorrow on a morning rose,
Or on the rainbow of the salt sand-wave,
Or on the wealth of globed peonies;
Or if thy mistress some rich anger shows,
Emprison her soft hand, and let her rave,
And feed deep, deep upon her peerless eyes.
She dwells with Beauty—Beauty that must die;
And Joy, whose hand is ever at his lips
Bidding adieu; and aching Pleasure nigh,
Turning to poison while the bee-mouth sips:
Ay, in the very temple of Delight
Veil’d Melancholy has her sovran shrine,
Though seen of none save him whose strenuous tongue
Can burst Joy’s grape against his palate fine;
His soul shalt taste the sadness of her might,
And be among her cloudy trophies hung.

The Darkling Thrush By Thomas Hardy

Thomas Hardy’s The Darkling Thrush is one of my favourite poems. I recollect having had similar thoughts to those described by Hardy while pausing to listen to the song of a bird. In my case it was, I think a blackbird rather than a thrush which produced the emotions so aptly described by the poet in the below poem.

 

“I leant upon a coppice gate

When Frost was spectre-grey,

And Winter’s dregs made desolate

The weakening eye of day.

The tangled bine-stems scored the sky

Like strings of broken lyres,

And all mankind that haunted nigh

Had sought their household fires.

The land’s sharp features seemed to be

The Century’s corpse outleant,

His crypt the cloudy canopy,

The wind his death-lament.

The ancient pulse of germ and birth

Was shrunken hard and dry,

And every spirit upon earth

Seemed fervourless as I.

At once a voice arose among

The bleak twigs overhead

In a full-hearted evensong

Of joy illimited;

An aged thrush, frail, gaunt, and small,

In blast-beruffled plume,

Had chosen thus to fling his soul

Upon the growing gloom.

So little cause for carolings

Of such ecstatic sound

Was written on terrestrial things

Afar or nigh around,

That I could think there trembled through

His happy good-night air

Some blessed Hope, whereof he knew

And I was unaware.”