Traitors and doubts : quote of the week

Welcome to a brand new week Clovers! It’s been a while since I did the usual Monday motivational post and I truly apologize for that.

Here’s the thing, I was putting off writing this post for some time due to a couple of reasons.

First off, I was starting to think there was no point in it all. I was exhausted and thought it was a waste of time if no one would gain from it. I wanted to make a positive impact. I wanted to speak to someone out there who was on the verge of giving up. I wanted to reach out to everyone sad or lonely to find a reason to keep going. I wanted those who were in happy places to enjoy and share their happy moments with others.

Secondly, I was doubting that my ideas or thoughts made sense to others. Were my ideas much more like fantasy and difficult to attain? The more I thought about it, the louder the voices of doubts in my head became. I even became reluctant to do other things too. Every new idea or plan I had in mind was seeming like a waste of time. I felt there was no point of it.

Here’s one thing I realised. These were merely doubts in my mind. That doesn’t mean it’s true. It was just feeding on all the fears I have had.

I mean, sure you may not get much feedback or any response at all from some things you do but that doesn’t mean it’s pointless. I got a message from a couple of people sometime last month about reading my post and it encouraged them to move on. It was an unexpected one for me. I got more messages later on from some of my really old post and how calm and at peace they felt after reading.

It’s all still much of a shocker to me but I keep saying “do what you want to do now”. I’m still much a young adult trying to figure out this journey and I like to say I’m on a quest to find myself. But the point of all this is to keep trying. Life has no manual and a little trial and error method might seem risky but at least you learn from it.

Sometimes, the voices in your head remind you of things to do and sometimes, they say things that are not true. Strive to conquer your mind, let it give only positive ideals

Our doubts are traitors, And make us lose the good we oft might win, By fearing to attempt.

– William Shakespeare 

What’s the point of it all, you might wonder? You’d see the point later on. Just try to write the things you want down. Perhaps keep a journal or a small notebook. But don’t give up now or disregard it. Don’t be too scared to try it out. Don’t wait till your doubts are cleared or you have conquered your fears. Sometimes you have to do things while you’re scared.

I hope you take a chance today dear Clovers! Don’t be scared to attempt new things.

Till next time! Keep striving for the best and see you at the top.

May by J. Galassi

Voice of the grey clover

The backyard apple tree gets sad so soon,
takes on a used-up, feather-duster look
within a week.

The ivy’s spring reconnaissance campaign
sends red feelers out and up and down
to find the sun.

Ivy from last summer clogs the pool,
brewing a loamy, wormy, tea-leaf mulch
soft to the touch

and rank with interface of rut and rot.
The month after the month they say is cruel
is and is not.

May by Christina Rosetti

Voice of The grey clover
By Christina Rossetti
I cannot tell you how it was,
But this I know: it came to pass
Upon a bright and sunny day
When May was young; ah, pleasant May!
As yet the poppies were not born
Between the blades of tender corn;
The last egg had not hatched as yet,
Nor any bird foregone its mate.

I cannot tell you what it was,
But this I know: it did but pass.
It passed away with sunny May,
Like all sweet things it passed away,
And left me old, and cold, and gray.

May; poem of the day

Voice of the grey clover
By Sara Teasdale
The wind is tossing the lilacs,
The new leaves laugh in the sun,
And the petals fall on the orchard wall,
But for me the spring is done.

Beneath the apple blossoms
I go a wintry way,
For love that smiled in April
Is false to me in May.

A new chapter : my bookish adventure

Hello Clovers! I hope this time, you’re getting closer to being a better person and choosing happiness.

I haven’t been excited about birthdays in years. As a matter of fact, i’d say the last I was excited about was my 16th and I was writing my IGCSE’s then.

I know I’ve been talking a lot about changing things, making yourself happy and all. So I decided to get myself a little present this year. I suppose it was the least I could do considering the fact that I was so sure I’d be spending it in my room (all because going out exhausts me these days

So what did I do? And what did I get for myself?

A stack of books! Yes that was it. ( My birthday was last Monday by the way)

I actually did a photo shoot of my books with different backgrounds. These are some of the books I got

So I started getting the books some months before and got them all delivered at my doorstep all at once.

I was extremely excited as I have not added to my mini-library since the pandemic. Something about new books just gets me super excited. I got 28 new books in total! And the best part? I got five of them free from the business owner!! (Try to patronize small businesses too)

What's next?

I’ve always wanted to add book reviews to my blog and to be honest, when I started The Grey Clover, it was part of the plan among other things.

Twenty eight new books to my library has also motivated me to want to start posting about them on my Instagram too.

You know what that means guys?

I’m going to become a bookstagrammer. Sounds like a whole exciting adventure to me and I hope you follow this with me both here and on my Instagram

Do not fret fellow poem lovers, I would still share poems too. I’m not going to stop that. I would be having them all here. Poetry, book reviews, recommendations and don’t forget the weekly Monday motivation posts will be back and there will be more to come. I’d be bringing all the contents back. I hope you enjoy them all.

If at any point you’d be more interested in one thing than the other. Poetry for instance, don’t forget to use the tags and categories at the end of the page.

Looking forward to sharing my new journey with you Clovers!

Till then, don’t give up, don’t give in. You’ve got what it takes.

Continue reading “A new chapter : my bookish adventure”

Invictus: poem of the day

Voice of The grey Clover

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds and shall find me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate,
I am the captain of my soul.

Quoth the Raven, Nevermore!

Voice of The Grey Clover
By Edgar Allan Poe

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore—
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
“’Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door—
Only this and nothing more.”

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore—
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore—
Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
“’Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door—
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;—
This it is and nothing more.”

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
“Sir,” said I, “or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you”—here I opened wide the door;—
Darkness there and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, “Lenore?”
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, “Lenore!”—
Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
“Surely,” said I, “surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore—
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;—
’Tis the wind and nothing more!”

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door—
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door—
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
“Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” I said, “art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore—
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning—little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door—
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as “Nevermore.”

But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing farther then he uttered—not a feather then he fluttered—
Till I scarcely more than muttered “Other friends have flown before—
On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before.”
Then the bird said “Nevermore.”

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
“Doubtless,” said I, “what it utters is its only stock and store
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore—
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
Of ‘Never—nevermore’.”

But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore—
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking “Nevermore.”

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o’er,
But whose velvet-violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o’er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
“Wretch,” I cried, “thy God hath lent thee—by these angels he hath sent thee
Respite—respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore;
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!—
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted—
On this home by Horror haunted—tell me truly, I implore—
Is there—is there balm in Gilead?—tell me—tell me, I implore!”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us—by that God we both adore—
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore—
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

“Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!” I shrieked, upstarting—
“Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken!—quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted—nevermore!
Hello, Clovers! It's been a while. I know this poem is quite long but I suppose it suffices for the times I haven't been posting. Besides, it's one of my favourite poems ever. I've wanted to post it for a long time but I've been waiting for a special moment and I think this is it. I did a little poetry reading for it although it was kinda in a hurry. I hope you enjoy reading and listening to this as much as I do. Cheers to better days ahead

Till next time
The Grey Clover

I shall not care: poem of the day

Voice of The Grey Clover
By Sara Teasdale
When I am dead and over me bright April
Shakes out her rain-drenched hair,
Tho' you should lean above me broken-hearted,
I shall not care.

I shall have peace, as leafy trees are peaceful
When rain bends down the bough,
And I shall be more silent and cold-hearted
Than you are now.

Heavy; poem of the day

Voice of The Grey Clover

By Mary Oliver

That time
I thought I could not
go any closer to grief
without dying

I went closer,
and I did not die.
Surely God
had his hand in this,

as well as friends.
Still, I was bent,
and my laughter,
as the poet said,

was nowhere to be found.
Then said my friend Daniel,
(brave even among lions),
“It’s not the weight you carry

but how you carry it –
books, bricks, grief –
it’s all in the way
you embrace it, balance it, carry it

when you cannot, and would not,
put it down.”
So I went practicing.
Have you noticed?

Have you heard
the laughter
that comes, now and again,
out of my startled mouth?

How I linger
to admire, admire, admire
the things of this world
that are kind, and maybe

also troubled –
roses in the wind,
the sea geese on the steep waves,
a love
to which there is no reply?

If you forget me: poem of the day

The grey clover

Voice of The Grey Clover

By Pablo Neruda

If You Forget Me
I want you to know
one thing.

You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.

Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.

If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.

If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore

View original post 101 more words

%d bloggers like this: