Selected Poems at Barnes & Noble

Hardcover New Release

Selected Poems contains "The Apple Orchard" and more watercolors than the past paperback. Looks like Barnes & Noble has a ten book limit, so The Three Witches Magic Shoppe Adventures in Doll Land, Dana's Dreams, The Taties, & Hoagie will be published elsewhere, perhaps Kobo & Apple Books. The same goes for paperbacks and eBooks. In the meantime, these ten hardcovers & fab paper doll books are now available at Barnes & Noble: 

The Art of Dana Lee

Selected Poems by Dana Lee

Ghost Stories by Dana Lee

Minie' Ball

Dana's Dolls

Fun with DARK SHADOWS

Fanging with Claude

DOC

Hot Blood

Fabulous Fellini Paper Dolls

 

From The Apple Orchard

 

One

  My father, Samuel Townsend, moved to Oyster Bay in 1750 along with my mother, Sarah, and my older brothers, Solomon and Sam. Pappy was in his forties, and Mummy in her late twenties. He hadn’t only robbed the cradle, but he’d married an Episcopalian to boot. Pappy’s family were Quakers and came from England in the middle of the fifteenth-century. You might wonder how I know. John Townsend is sleeping in the family plot. They met at Mott’s meeting house that had been built for corn and pork, a well known fact amongst the Friends, as they called themselves. The house became too small being a one up two down, and within a couple of years Pappy had his slaves build a four room addition to accommodate my brother Billy, sister Audrey, and myself, Robert Townsend, born November 26, 1753, under the sign of Scorpio. This is my tale. 

  My first memory was of the apple orchard in spring; there were a hundred trees, planted from red apples, by John Townsend, himself. He didn’t live long after arriving here, so they were his legacy, and the beginning of our dynasty providing cider, honey, and apples which we traded. That was the beginning. Pappy inherited a ship, Glasgow, from my grandfather, a ship captain, who brought our sweet goods to Scotland.

  Pappy was industrious. He had a family of slaves that he treated as well as his own children. Mammy and Papa lived upstairs. We played with their many children, Hezekiah, Jeremiah, Henry, Francis, and Matt as if they were brothers. Of course this put Pappy off amongst the Friends who condemned slavery. Pappy was his own man. He thought for himself and raised us to do the same. He said, “Watch for your chances to do good.” He was an amazing man. 

  Mammy was midwife, nanny, and wet nurse. Mummy had lost a couple babies but had eight more to make up for it. We heeded Mammy as well as we did Pappy. “Git out of dat mud before I take a switch to you!” She was quite the character, but very loving and treated us as well as her own children. Both she and Papa were born in Oyster Bay, like Pappy who grew up with them. It was their home. The Friends did not get it and never would. We were a family. Pappy taught us not to worry what other people thought of us. 

  “Don’t concern yourself with things out of your control,” he said. “You cannot change what they think anymore than you can order a honeybee about. Focus on what is in your power; otherwise, forget about it.” He was very wise. 

  He captained his ship; Solomon and Sam were his apprentices while Hezekiah and Jeremiah were stewards, responsible for keeping everything ship shape, scrubbing, mopping, and polishing. Billy, Henry, and I came along, learning, while playing pirates and looking for mermaids. We had a wonderful time. 

  Meanwhile Mummy and little Audrey were not idle back at Raynham Hall which was now known as a stately mansion in Oyster Bay. Mammy could read and they taught Audrey to do the same, reading from The Bible, Shakespeare, Fielding, Pope, and Swedenborg. Audrey could spin by the time that she could walk. They helped Mammy with the baking and the laundry. It was a full house, full of laughter and love. There were a lot of us, and we kept coming. 

  David was born around Easter when I was six, and Sally came along a year after. By the time Phebe followed, three years later, Audrey was helping like a little mother. Papa carved little dolls for them, the Apple Darling family, from fallen branches, broken in storms. Audrey’s were Mr. Johnny Apple Darling and his wife, June. Sally treasured little Blossom, and Phebe kept May. They sewed and embroidered entire wardrobes for them from scraps. Those dolls were better dressed than we were. Quakers dress drably, gray and brown, but Pappy saw to it that our clothes were well made of wool, and even Papa had fancy gold buckles on his black leather shoes. He was proud of those buckles. 

  We were not proud. We all worked, but we played too, Pappy insisted upon it. We swung from the apple trees, built a treehouse, Solomon, Sam, Hezekiah, and Jeremiah helped with the sawing, and had our own peaceful kingdom amongst the apple trees along with the Little People, birds, squirrels, possums, and bees.

The Apple Orchard

The Apple Orchard

Have you the time to spend

with the quiet patriot, Robert Townsend?

He was hiding for hundreds of years,

from glories, not fears.

Time to make his acquaintance, friend. 

He played with his siblings in Oyster Bay,

in the apple trees,

round Raynham way.

Eight children, and the bees,

apple blossoms,

swinging possums,

blissful, happy, 

daring, scrappy. 

Samuel Townsend was their Pappy. 

He owned three ships,

that were well equipped, 

Glasgow, Sarah, and Sally,

laden with goods to stock the galley:

beeswax, barrel staves, butter, rums,

molasses, calico, plums,

fetching quite a sum.

He sailed to England

and back, again. 

Then the limeys came

and took over the manor,

waving their English banner. 

They cut down 

all the apple trees

and built a fort.

The Townsends cried.

Rebellion caught up in the breeze. 

Captain Simcoe loved

little sister, Sally.

He gave her a valentine,

thinking her very fine. 

He kissed her little hand, gloved, 

knowing it impossible.

She did not think him horrible,

not at all.

He was sweet; he was tall.

It wasn’t enough. 

Little Sally was very tough. 

She kept him enthralled. 

Our Robert met Abraham Woodhull,

at his cousin’s boarding house,

living quiet as a mouse,

playing backgammon, having a ball. 

Abe whispered of Washington’s spy ring. 

Robert was perfect, he’d never sing. 

They used Jay’s invisible ink,

sweet Sally, the secret link. 

The little queen had quite the sting. 

Packed with enemy ships was Oyster Bay,

Robert Townsend gave them away. 

Counterfeiters, gun boats,

anything afloat. 

And, oh, Captain Townsend could ride!

Who would keep up with his secretive stride?

Paul Revere?

With the enemy by his side

Robert Townsend kept an open ear.

723

was his number, you see?

Culper Junior,

Woodhull was Senior.

What’s a name?

Another game.

Robbie hobnobbed,

snobbed,

with the braggarts

and officers,

faggots, and swaggers. 

They were vain.

He was sly,

maybe Washington’s greatest spy. 

After hours, he’d remain,

so near,

no beer,

keeping it clear.

What they divulged!

Fat, drunken limeys,

never a stymie,

and our Robbie let them indulge. 

He told Washington all about the rangers.

Sister Sally helped,

she wasn’t a stranger. 

Washington came to rely

upon the intelligence of his special spy. 

Culper Junior hoped he helped. 

Loyal letters,

disinformation,

getting better,

Junior passed

to Culper, there,

when he so dared,

so fast,

revelation. 

Washington, himself, 

humble and stealth,

knew not his true name. 

Culper Junior knew no fame. 

But, oh, he was good,

doing what he could, 

saving the French fleet!

Secret scorpion, so neat!

Britain bought the bluff,

fake news, faker funds,

enough was enough!

Dirty spies,

in disguise, 

His horse galloped across the schrunds

from Holy Ground,

the last packet,

over the sound,

wind in his jacket.

We had won, friend,

it was the end.

He had a ball,

but that was all.

He lived across the alley

with sister Sally. 

Thank Robert and his sister.

You probably missed her. 

So, The Royal Navy,

and all its beaus,

America’s foes, 

King George, himself, maybe, 

fell from his sting.

We did not want a king. 

Our country’s past,

will we last?

With another Robert Townsend or two,

heroes are so few.

My tale is true.

Listen, I’ve got a secret, I do. 

Selected Poems by Dana Lee

DOC

Fanging with Claude

  I've started another musical satire of the same name. I will be working on a doll too. I get obsessed, I do. This poem was inspired by Longfellow's The Midnight Ride of Paul Revere. I was at his grave in England, Longfellow, that is. I'm a big fan.

Books on Amazon

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  Very excited! Easter would have been Purple Witch's fiftieth birthday. Last year was not the first time we celebrated our birthdays in Gettysburg. In fact, Blue Witch was born the last week, April 15th, we are each a week apart. I'm the first and oldest. Now that Mummy's gone; she was born on Halloween, I'm Supreme. Ron has booked me the Sweney room, the only room in the old house that I haven't stayed, at the Farnsworth House. Little Ron and the witches certainly will be coming along. There is a desk, and maybe the epic poem, The Apple Orchard, about Robert Townsend, George Washington's spy in New York, will be complete. It is running round my mind, and my research has led me way around TURN, which I love and have watched twice. The poem will be the outline for my next musical satire of the same name. There certainly will be a Robert Townsend doll. He was a Scorpio, and I don't know why I write from a man's point of view. I always seem to. Anyway, I will TTYL... Arthur is begging me. It is likely because Peter Rabbit came right up to us in the backyard. It was bizarre, and I thought, oh, my ghoul, Starve Acre. 🐰Why don't we have hares and hedgehogs in Pennsylvania? Release the hedgies!