Hello! Welcome to Ivory Pumpkin. Here you'll find snippets of things that I like and, hopefully soon, of things that I've created. Please stay awhile and browse.

Friday, December 1, 2017

Thursday, October 5, 2017

October is here.....

....it's that time of year, YAY!!!!!!

Friday, June 16, 2017

Faerie Friday

Happy Friday Everyone!

Isn't this a lovely spot for a faerie tea party?

Have a lovely weekend!
Ivory Pumpkin

Friday, March 17, 2017

Happy St. Patrick's Day

An Irish Blessing

May you always walk in sunshine.
May you never want for more.
May Irish angels rest their wings right beside your door.

Friday, November 11, 2016

Fairy Friday - The Song of the Wayfaring Tree Fairy

The Song of the Wayfaring Tree Fairy

My shoots are tipped with buds as dusty-grey 
As ancient pilgrims toiling on their way.

Like Thursday's child with far to go, I stand, 
All ready for the road to Fairyland;

With hood, and bag, and shoes, my name to suit, 
And in my hand my gorgeous-tinted fruit.

~Cicely Mary Barker~

Tuesday, November 1, 2016

Autumn in the Garden

When the frosty kiss of Autumn in the dark
Makes its mark 
On the flowers, and the misty morning grieves 
Over fallen leaves; 
Then my olden garden, where the golden soil 
Through the toil 
Of a hundred years is mellow, rich, and deep, 
Whispers in its sleep. 

'Mid the crumpled beds of marigold and phlox, 
Where the box 
Borders with its glossy green the ancient walks, 
There's a voice that talks 
Of the human hopes that bloomed and withered here 
Year by year,-- 
Dreams of joy, that brightened all the labouring hours, 
Fading as the flowers. 

Yet the whispered story does not deepen grief; 
But relief 
For the loneliness of sorrow seems to flow 
From the Long-Ago, 
When I think of other lives that learned, like mine, 
To resign, 
And remember that the sadness of the fall 
Comes alike to all.

What regrets, what longings for the lost were theirs! 
And what prayers 
For the silent strength that nerves us to endure 
Things we cannot cure! 
Pacing up and down the garden where they paced, 
I have traced 
All their well-worn paths of patience, till I find 
Comfort in my mind. 

Faint and far away their ancient griefs appear: 
Yet how near 
Is the tender voice, the careworn, kindly face, 
Of the human race! 
Let us walk together in the garden, dearest heart, 
Not apart! 
They who know the sorrows other lives have known 
Never walk alone. 

Henry Van Dyke 

Tuesday, October 25, 2016

Haunted House by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

All houses wherein men have lived and died 
Are haunted houses. Through the open doors 
The harmless phantoms on their errands glide, 
With feet that make no sound upon the floors. 

We meet them at the door-way, on the stair, 
Along the passages they come and go,
 Impalpable impressions on the air, 
A sense of something moving to and fro. 

There are more guests at table than the hosts 
Invited; the illuminated hall 
Is thronged with quiet, inoffensive ghosts, 
As silent as the pictures on the wall. 

The stranger at my fireside cannot see 
The forms I see, nor hear the sounds I hear; 
He but perceives what is; while unto me 
All that has been is visible and clear. 

We have no title-deeds to house or lands; 
Owners and occupants of earlier dates 
From graves forgotten stretch their dusty hands, 
And hold in mortmain still their old estates. 

The spirit-world around this world of sense 
Floats like an atmosphere, and everywhere 
Wafts through these earthly mists and vapours dense 
A vital breath of more ethereal air. 

Our little lives are kept in equipoise
 By opposite attractions and desires; 
The struggle of the instinct that enjoys, 
And the more noble instinct that aspires. 

These perturbations, this perpetual jar 
Of earthly wants and aspirations high, 
Come from the influence of an unseen star 
An undiscovered planet in our sky. 

And as the moon from some dark gate of cloud 
Throws o’er the sea a floating bridge of light, 
Across whose trembling planks our fancies crowd 
Into the realm of mystery and night,— 

So from the world of spirits there descends 
A bridge of light, connecting it with this,
 O’er whose unsteady floor, that sways and bends, 
Wander our thoughts above the dark abyss.